Clenching her fists at her side tightly enough that her already pale hands went white around the knuckles, Tara turned where Steve indicated. She saw the hotel. And, slowly, more slowly than she would have liked, she started walking towards it.

That, in and of itself, was a good sign. Her past owner had been the sort to make her wait for orders before so much as taking a step. Or perhaps she was just trusting to how utterly awful she knew she looked to avoid anything too harsh.

"...are you from America?" she finally asked. He sounded American. So did she, under the layers of cobbled together accent she'd picked up from all her years under different owners. He didn't seem like he was about to get angry now, at least, and so she knew she should take advantage of the opportunity.