In his quest to find money and accommodation, Cheri was going “where the whores go” aka a beautiful Tudor building. Attracted by the white walls against the wood trim, he could not prevent himself from examining it with more care. Wondering what sort of function might said-building have, maybe hoping for an unlikely cheap accommodation, he placed himself on the other side of the street and observed it calmly, hoping to see some sort of activity that could reveal its nature.
He couldn’t ask around or guess by its location, still alien to the standard workings of English towns, but he could try to guess based on who would enter or exit said building.

Cheri looked at the very least unusual: of average height, his petite frame and long muscle made him look smaller and reminded any observer of his young age. His delicate features were something out of a Renaissance painting and his exquisite and flamboyant clothes firmly placed him in the oddity category, besides clashing with the relaxed pose and the self-assured demeanour he displayed. If there was something he had learnt was that distress had to be shown in limited capacity and only at the right time.