Jorvaskrr is about what you can expect the inside of a giant overturned boat building to be. It's certainly spacious, and also dimly lit and kind of smelly and surprisingly aesthetically pleasing.
Of course, Desmond doesn't really take this in until a few minutes into his stay, because Aela kind of physically tosses him through the front door she just kicked open and he spends the next minute or so trying not to choke on his empty lungs.
Because he has no filter, his next move is trying to get himself killed.
"Aaaaaeeeelllllllaaaaa," he whines dragging her name out in the most annoying, grating way he possibly can. "What was that for?" He grins up at her, still sprawled across the floor on his back. "We were doing so well! You alluded to having feelings other than casual simmering hatred, nobody died on the way over here- where did we go wrong?"
She cracks her knuckles, staring down at him intimidatingly, eyes half amused. He takes it as a good sign. "Oh believe me, someone could definitely still die." He just grins. She kicks him none too subtly on the way to a chair, teeth bared in satisfaction at his yelp of indignation and pain. "And don't change the subject. Putting attention on someone else is not going to get you out of- what did you call it? When i was dragging you feet first up the steps?"
"Group therapy," he mutters, wincing in pain as he sits up, throbbing bruises on his back making themselves known. Those stone steps were a bitch.
He throws a half-assed wave at Farkas and Vilkas, who have been staring since he entered the door, but then, to be fair, so has everyone else. Farkas offers him a wave back, but drops his hand after Vilkas elbowed him in the side, not in the least bit discreet. He would snicker, but they look like they're trying so hard to be professional, and he doesn't want to make them feel bad.
"Ah, yes," Aela nods distractedly. "Go downstairs and wait for me, my room is in the second hallway on the left side." She gestures vaguely to the staircase, and sends him threatening looks when he doesn't move fast enough for her liking, and he likes his collarbones intact and inside his body where they belong, so he obligingly hurries it up. "Don't break anything."
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, mother." Then he barely manages to survive the onslaught of bread she throws at him for his sass, catching the loaves just in time to keep them from smacking him in the face.
*Bread (47) Added
He paused. "...Did you just throw forty seven fucking loaves of bread at me?"
"...Yes?"
He sighs and munches viciously on his newly acquired snack and nearly kicks open the door at the bottom of the stairs. "Fucking video games."