The man who is responsible for us being here. James Henries. He had his mercenaries drug you and put you in those clothes.

[ Lexa speaks directly and frankly. She doesn't have the softest touch when it comes to new people, but they can expect to get the truth from her. Her gaze until then didn't falter or blink, but now that she's gotten some type of measure of the woman, she remembers not to be unnerving. It's one of the traits she's been trying to work on, especially since she's about to start working with some scared and uncertain civilians. This is practice.

She gestures for Abby to follow her. She has a stiff posture and proud bearing that might come off as soldier-like. The back room is full of all kinds of objects, for whatever they might need between the business and newcomers, and there's a decent amount of clothes in different sizes. They're not fancy, not any of them, but they work. ]

Pick what you like. There's more in the safehouse where you'll eventually have to go. I'm Lexa, my partner owns this business. It's owned and operated by people like us, like you.