Character might not have been a strange thing to look for in lodgings, but it was pretty far down on John's list of priorities. Of course, when he thought of character it brought to mind sticking doorways and creaking floors and oddly-placed windows that needed some euphemism to make them seem quaint, but at this point it seemed pretty likely that Rolf might be using the word in another sense. All words, for that matter. He was a little surprised to find it more interesting than irritating. "Personality? No, I suppose not. This neighborhood's got some, I guess - used to be crawling with writers, about a hundred years ago. Couldn't say if it still is." Or if that meant anything.
"It's convenient, anyway," he continued, not to give an impression of himself as someone who spent too much time dwelling on the historical curiosities of London neighborhoods. "Close to work, for me. Safe. Not as quiet as it could be, maybe, but - not bad, you know. I'm not home all that much, like I said." And it had flats available, which was really his most pressing requirement. A room and a flatmate who wasn't going to burn the place down were all he needed, and he felt like he was getting there.