The world was kind of fuzzy. Not quite spinning, but Hans wasn't quite sure where he was or what he was doing. Maybe it was some sort of divine message, a spiritual sending from the Lord to guide him in this time of darkness. Or maybe he was just going crazy, that was a distinct possibility too.<br/><br/>Somehow, though, he found himself in the lobby of the motel. In jeans, a muted green turtleneck shirt, and a heavy overcoat - Detroit was<em>cold</em>this time of year - he would have been entirely unremarkable, or even unnoticed entirely, without his sheer height. There was already a crowd there, what looked like various guests and the little Japanese desk receptionist, currently withdrawn around a guitar as she played and sang softly to herself. In the doorway, though, was another stranger, a girl bleeding from a long scrape on her knee.<br/><br/>A hurt person. This he could handle. It was his calling, after all, Judgement Day and reanimated dead nonwithstanding. "You are hurt - vhat happened? Ver you bitten by somevone?" He hadn't been in America long enough to lose his accent, but he had learned to suppress it when he needed to be understood. Sometimes, though, it did come creeping back.