The thing is, K should be better at disappearing into the crowd than this. He wasn't made to stand out—from his average height and build (most combat models tend to be Big), to his sort of inoffensively hangdog face and subdued demeanor—but all of this is baffling enough that he can't help staring wide-eyed at, specifically... the food.

Hell of a thing to get so easily caught up on, considering the weirdness of everything else going on, but.

While he hasn't had a long lifetime, even in his fabricated memories he ate only Wallace Corporation synthesized product, grubs from the protein farms that had saved Earth's population from starvation and things like re-hydrated noodles and rice. Sustenance, the necessary nutrients without frivolities such as flavor (the LAPD didn't pay enough for those sorts of luxuries.)

Which is a long way to say that he's one of the idiots who gets suckered into trying a pickle brine popsicle. It even gets him to make an entire expression the first time he puts it in his mouth, and though he manages to finish it anyway with an almost hauntingly grim determination... he does hesitate when he makes his way over to the buffets, lesson apparently learned.

He casts about for literally anyone who seems like they're more familiar with the food choices on display, gesturing towards the tables with his empty plate and asking, "Got any suggestions for what's good?" He's hoping he sounds less like he's never seen 90% of this stuff and more that he's any other indecisive yokel. It'd probably be a better effort at blending if he weren't wearing the weird white scrubs.

At the safehouse, K mostly just... exists. He'll do what's asked of him long after sleeping the drug's effects off, with a sort of blankness that's probably kind of worrying to behold if one isn't used to working with robot/robot-adjacent folks. He collects a few of the worn pants and plain shirts in muted colors from the charitable donations, seems momentarily baffled at the length of shower one can take in the communal bathroom, and otherwise spends most of his time studying the Network as unobtrusively as possible.

It's only on the third day that he finally musters up his first complaint, which is sighed into a cup of the meager alcohol on offer: "Really wish I had a cigarette."

All in all... underwhelming.

[Want a different starter? PM/PP me at relatable to plot! (Also permissions post for K's memory reading ability is here!)]