Auryn sits down, upright on the edge of the chair, one knee bouncing in restless energy, and looks around a little. It's not unlike other police departments he's been in, busy and officey, but it's a little nicer. The obligatory small palm in the corner is better looking; the desks are more attractive.

He can smell the coffee as Detective Astor comes over, and he nods a "thank you," as he's handed the cup, taking a long sip. He's not the most tired, or the most cold and damp, or sore, that he's ever been. He's hitchhiked through places like South Dakota and Colorado on his routes cross country. But it doesn't mean a little bit of ease to it isn't welcome.

Auryn glances up in surprise at the detective's question. Every other of the several times he's been arrested or detained, he's been questioned as harshly and thoroughly as possible until he decided to clam up. Having it assumed that he'd want a lawyer on hand is a courtesy he doesn't expect. (It's also, maybe, a mark of a town where half the families have attorneys on retainer for when their respective scions get a little too rowdy.)

"I'd appreciate that."