Naked now, and with a hands full of sopping wet cloth, he ducked briefly into the bathroom to hang them to dry. It wouldn't do to just leave them on the floor.
Still naked, he went and poked through things, ignoring the way the edges of the scars on his back still pulled when he stretched. "Aren't I meant to be doing that?" he asked, looking worriedly up at his Master. His first Master, he supposed, though he knew his paperwork showed differently. He cleared his throat. "They fed me before I left, Master. They said they didn't want you disappointed with your purchase and saying they sold weak stock." They did, of course, but he knew the house had an already negative view and probably just didn't want to have to try to sell him again.
He let his hand linger on the edge of one of the bags, the other one curled around the top of a chair with a coat draped over it. Samandriel looked at the pile of stuff once more and then again at the food. "If...if I'm not supposed to be cooking and you haven't asked me to clean up yet and...you're spending all this money on me what..." Unashamed of his body, and more confused than anything, he walked over to Mitchell. "I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever you bought. Thank you." He couldn't quite bring himself to ask what was actually expected of him.