The imprisonment of the man downstairs was a subject of deepest curiosity for Reginald, and though he trusted Cecilia telling of the story implicitly it had been something of a disappointment to find so little about it on the network. From what he could piece together, it had all happened very, very swiftly. He was in some ways relieved that they had the means to contain him while simultaneously deeply unsettled by so many other implications. He had realized one thing though -- they desperately needed to begin transcribing house meetings. It was, in his opinion, a most unfortunate oversight that they hadn't done thus far. In the future, he would have to start.
He had seen Cecilia grudgingly agree to update the man on the matter, and Reginald quite thought this was a job for him. He had discovered who had morning guard duty, relieved them, and gone to make breakfast. When he returned it was with a push tray of food and coffee, a lit flashlight balancing upwards. "I cannot," he replied simply, as he pushed his way into the room carefully. He went about setting a few candles on the desk and lighting them, slowly casting the room in a glow that was either warm or eery, depending on how you chose to look at it. "Our captors have seen fit to give us a power outage. Lucky for you there's a generator for the lift." Having finished with the candles, he finally faced Simms and got a proper look at the man. "Hello," Reginald said in that same calm, easy way of his. "My name is Reginald Woodward. And you are?"