"God, yes." He stalks his way through the room (not bad, not the ritz, but not bad), toeing off his boots as he goes. His belt, coat, and shirt are peeled off before he hits the door. As soon as he's in the bathroom the door's kicked shut behind him and the jeans follow. A long, hot shower does plenty to soothe him. To ease the tension from his muscles and get him back in good spirits.

He's damn near whistling by the time he swings out, towel around his shoulders, jeans slung low on his hips. Now with a mind to appreciate the view he flops down on the twin bed. "Awright. Room with a view it is."

Downright settling, honestly. Like a painting.