'Bonjour, ca va?'
The lady at the desk with the pheasant feather on her hat nodded graciously. Humphrey liked to think that she was responding to him. He was perched in a safe corner just above the receptionist chair with easy access to the reception book, out of the way of being swept to the floor and could meet and greet as he liked. He'd picked up many basic words from various languages. He could ask where the toilet was in Hungarian and if the breakfast buffet did gluten free options in German. He practiced diligently. Sometimes when the receptionist picked up the phone, he did his Mr Cheese routine, especially when there was an angry customer. Mr Cheese felt like an alter ego. The only thing he could wear as he wished, now that his body was walking around doing goodness knows what. Once a week Kitty would find his body and corral it to reunite with his head when they all gathered around for their catchup. It didn't last long but it was so considerate of her. And now that he had so many people around him, he couldn't feel resentful that his lone head was rolled into one place during the day with only his thoughts for company. Some days Robin or Kitty would change up the scenery and place him in the kitchen where he could pretend to be the food inspector.
Having felt useless for much of his life, Humphrey was thrilled to find that he had finally found a purpose. He provided a hotline to Thomas's muse. Every evening Thomas would lift him down and take him upstairs to his study where they would gossip and exchange stories. Thomas would write up several pages of the life of the hotel guests, sensationally fictionalised for his audience. He would read them to the group every Sunday night. He kept them all for Alison to read whenever she visited. She liked his stories better than his poetry and suggested that she type them up and send to a publisher. Perhaps, with his permission, edit it like a play so people could use it for am dram. Humphrey approved.