[i][b]—— Earth-F67X: North Capital City: New Venice[/b][/i]

Within, the Honorable Knights of Terra's regional headquarters is abustle. Strangers mill and cluster, their voices coalescing to a din demonstrative of the unsuitability of the hall for casual conversation. Linoleum snap-groove textile that looks kind of like maple is glued over disintegrating subway tile, pipes, and wires. A sconce flickers, a testament to a shoddy wiring job. There's a word for the style, but Dom can't remember it. Lots of cheap wood accents and wallpaper featuring stags and water fowl. Dark. Gloomy. A poor man's idea of a rich man's study. Attire is generally motley, although Dom's own gray sweat suit sulks at the bottom of the spectrum of decorum. For the time being, he won't come here in uniform. Not until he knows it is safe, anyway. Maybe after he earns his gold oak leaf.

Speaking of uniforms, he scans the room for his bird dog. 

There, in a long open pale suede duster with minimal accents. The silver coyote seems cool, even though the room feels, to Dom, uncomfortably warm. Probably on purpose. There's likely technology hidden underneath the silver paisley ascot, plain white dress shirt, and sepia blazer that keeps him comfortable in spite of his environs. Personalized climate control, a way of life for anyone over 40 who can afford it.

Dom considers making his way over, but decides not to embarrass his superior with unsolicited fraternization. He just waits for eye contact, his dark chocolate eyes briefly catching artificial blues. A brief nod. Acknowledgment. Then, out of nowhere, he's accosted by a blunt blonde. Dom tried to place her accent, manner, ethnicity, but to no avail. She's almost alien or—no: almost robotic in her precise, concise approach, so much so that it initially strikes him as a contrivance. 

[i]"You give me good vibes. Can I work for you? I need to eat so I don’t die,"[/i] she blurts out.

Speechless, he glances down at himself, his short solid frame presumably inconspicuous in rain-flecked gray sweats. Except for the prominent bulge in his crotch where his Belkrait is stashed. The blonde likewise appears to be packing. Her attire isn't much better than his, a band metal t-shirt and simple black jeans. Her boots are peculiar, though. There's something oddly familiar about them, like something from a black-and-white movie he watched in junior high.

[i]"I'm looking for work, too—well, not so much work, but guidance. If you need to eat, there's food here,"[/i] and points at a spread of mini hotdogs, fried chicken, and baked beans. Not a vegetable in sight. Not even cheese. Anything resembling a charcuterie might be construed as effete.

He walks with her over to the table, and introduces himself, [i]"I'm Dom. What type of work are you looking for? Although, I guess if you're here, heh. We'll both know more after things settle down and we listen to what the realm Dragon has to say."[/i]