Nikolai picks up the cleaver in his left hand, gripping it so hard his knuckles whiten.
"Somehow, I doubt that. It doesn't seem like there's much in here. Think we should go back and just barricade the door to the kitchen? I'm not sure we have enough in here to secure the room."
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"More hobos," he observes, outwardly calm. "Something's going on. Something bad. Extremely bad."
((OOC: And by knife rack, I mean cooking knives, not eating knives))
Nikolai can't see any suitable knives lying around, but there is (small) meat cleaver lying on the counter.
"Somehow, I doubt that. It doesn't seem like there's much in here. Think we should go back and just barricade the door to the kitchen? I'm not sure we have enough in here to secure the room."