"Mm," Ianto hums absently, resting the wadded up ball on the windowsill. It must be nice out in the garden, as horridly in need of a weeding as it is. Fresh air. Fresh... er than inside. He only has a few rooms of the house mapped out so far - some were impassible, for supernatural or practical obstacles, and he hasn't yet found a door to the outside.

"This would go faster if you burnt it," he points out. "Could imagine it away, but... more fun to burn it."