He looks a bit lost.

Not entirely in the way that any new arrival to the Barge looks 'a bit lost', but a bit lost in the way that you get lost in a grocery store when they move all the aisles around and suddenly you can't find where the hummus is. R doesn't seem particularly distressed, but he's definitely meandering his way through the same spaces over and over with an expression of mild consternation. The lights are on and there's definitely somebody home, in spite of what his dreadful pallor and fire-frazzled clothes might say.

When he sees anyone coming from the other direction, he hesitates. There's a faint deer-in-the-headlights look at anybody who meets his eyes before he blinks and does his best to try and put on a good show of being normal.

Don't be creepy, don't be creepy...

Without anything familiar - without Julie - he feels... more lost and alone than he has in a long time. He knows why he's here, what he's here for, and vaguely what he needs to do in order to leave and he's all about it, but... where do you even begin?

There's a bee on his finger.

R can't remember if he ever really liked insects that much. Julie doesn't so much as squeak when she finds a spider or a cockroach or some other creepycrawly in their ramshackle fixer-upper, and his own fumbling hands are ill equipped to deal with catching any delicate creature safely. He thinks he likes bees, though, as this one craws inquisively along the length of his finger after landing on his arm and working its way up to his raised hand.

By the time he finds his way into this lush place full of life and greenery he's managed to get a shower and some clean clothes, and it's remarkable what being clean and not dressed in ragged clothing can do for a guy's appearance. He barely looks like there's anything different about him at all.

When a shadow falls over him he looks up, blinking, and unconsciously straightens his shoulders. The bee is immediately forgotten. Perhaps it flies away, or perhaps it begins another march up his arm to higher ground as he drops his hand into his lap.

"Can I, uh..." Words. Come on. Pull it together. "... Can I h-help you?"

R doesn't think he's ever seen this many books. At least, not in a condition where he'd be able to pick them up and flip through the pages. He does this with a few volumes, watching the symbols that he knows are letters but which refuse to resolve into anything he can understand dance around in front of his eyes. His brow pinches in a small frown as he turns the book over to look at the spine, traces the shape of a letter, and then looks up to find a similar one so he can put it back in the right place.

Something tells him that books are supposed to be shelved like that. He's not sure why he knows, or why it feels important.

It takes a few minutes. Some trial and error. He's pretty sure he put it back where it's meant to be, or well enough that no one will be too annoyed about it. A puff of air leaves him in a softly wheezing little sigh. Keeping him out of jobs that required any amount of dexterity wasn't the worst idea (he'd be terrible in the kitchen), but he isn't sure that the library is a much better option...

Hit me with something else, or use a prompt from my TDM!