Hannah wasn't sure what she thought about her housemates yet. At least, the ones she'd talked to so far. She appreciated the sassy ones (even if she still thought that one dude was a total douche) but she'd gotten sick of the 'let's pretend we're not all varying degrees of creeps for doing this and make nice' conversations pretty fast. At least the cupcakes had been awesome. She'd done a little exploring after leaving the party, but didn't want to do too much in one day - she needed a little time to let the floorplans really sink into her mental map. She didn't fancy wandering about the house tripping over doorways or running into walls and shit.
The kitchen, however, was a route she already knew pretty well - it wasn't hard, which made memorizing it all the faster. She'd eaten earlier, a sandwich because that was relatively easy to make, but she couldn't sleep, was craving sweets, and she'd heard the one chick (who'd presumably made the stuff for the party) talk about freezing and refrigerating the leftovers. A faint scraping, tapping noise preceeded her entry into the kitchen, the source of which was the long, red-tipped white cane she used to make sure nothing was in her path. She hated it - because really, could it get any more obvious? - but couldn't ignore the fact that the bitch was useful.
She was at the fridge before the sense of another presence permeated her awareness, and she paused with one hand on the handle. "I'mma be pissed if you're eating all the leftover goodies," she announced, before hauling the fridge door open and sticking one hand in to search for the snack in question. Why no, she had no idea who might be in the kitchen with her, and she didn't much care, either.