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Bodies, Lyra had long ago concluded, had no sense of occasion. No matter what happened in one's life, one's body wanted feeding and watering, and then it wanted to get rid of the remains of what you'd fed it and poured down its throat.
As such, she woke in Will's bed, in Will's world, with Will, and her first thought was a wondering one, and what she wondered was which kind of lavatory and toilet were standard in quarters such as Will's.
"It's over this way," Pan told her, as she reached up to rub her eyes. "I'll show you." Pan had been, Lyra thought, sleeping curled with Kirjava but he disentangled himself happily enough. Will stayed asleep, curled under his blankets. Lyra was distracted from bodily needs for a minute or two just looking at him. He still looked fierce in his sleep. His bed was large, which was a good thing: neither of them was accustomed to sleeping with someone else very much, and this way they could both just sleep in the same bed and happen to reach out and assure themselves that the other was there, instead of trying to figure out how to wrap themselves around one another more efficiently.
Will slept deeply now. She supposed he had to: from what he said about his practice, it kept him almost as busy as her affairs kept her, and so he would need to sleep deeply and efficiently when he could. Lyra wasn't upset by this: it meant that when she did slide out from under the covers, she didn't disturb him. It also meant she could go in search of his toilet without fear of embarrassment.
All the years between, and the kitchen in Cittàgaz still stung, just a touch.
Bath, sink and toilet were all in one room, not particularly large, with tiled floors and something in the ceiling that made a hell of a lot of noise until Lyra figured out which switch turned it off. While she used the facilities, Pan peered into everything, sniffing at Will's soaps and things that Lyra couldn't've named. Even with those, though, it was a plain little room. Functional.
It only took Lyra a very little hunting and quiet cursing before she discovered that the way to flush the toilet was to push a button on its top. There were two buttons, actually. She had no idea what the difference was: she pushed them both, and they both seemed to flush.
Now, of course, she was fully awake. Frustration did that to her. She thought about going back to Will anyway, but when she came to the bedroom he looked so peaceful - for Will - asleep that she decided she didn't want to. If she went back to bed, she would inevitably wake him up.
Besides. Now her stomach asserted itself, demanding food. She considered her discarded clothes and then made a face at them: she did not want to get fully dressed in yesterday's clothes, but all her other things were still down in Will's car. She didn't want to wander around Will's home naked either, however, because she didn't know where all the windows looked to or what precisely might scandalize neighbours. Besides, if she was going to try to cook anything, she didn't want to be spattered.
After short, irritated deliberation, she pulled on her knickers and then put on Will's shirt. It buttoned and was large enough on her that it satisfied basic modesty and modest protection. She held her arm out to Pan to lift him up off the chest of drawers, and he settled himself around her neck.
"You're just going to get angry at everything you don't know how to use," he told her, in a contented sort of knowing voice.
"At the very least there must be something I can eat raw," she retorted. "Now hush."