[Face-Down in Gravel]
Sam nods. He wants to take her hand but that's probably not appropriate or whatever even if she understands that he's just a touchy guy. Either way, he'll lead her to Trog's. Or at least that direction.
Intersection HQ
The receptionist turns their way. Where once was only a shadow, a vague impression of someone with no description at all, there is now an NPC.
Funny how people only really exist when PC's need them.
In this case, the receptionist is a portly tiger-lady, claws clicking against the desk.
"Well, dearie. You look and smell like you're fresh off the rift. Generally we like to take police recruits-" she uses the term gently, as a correction as opposed to chiding the man's error. "Who have gotten some acclamation to the Nexus first. We need to make sure they can handle the place. You should really get some living arrangements before you skip straight to a job." she suggests.