New faces are a painfully common occurrence around the inn; some weeks it feels as though one can't throw a rock without hitting a newcomer. When a man he doesn't recognize descends the stairs, Jess glances up from where he sits alone at a table with a half-eaten plate of fried eggs and mushrooms, seemingly unsurprised to see Bruce there.

"Hey," he offers, a casual greeting. Angled slightly in his chair, he has one arm resting on the chair back, a leg stretched out on the seat across from him. Projecting normalcy is a conscious effort in this place. Some days his acting is better than others.

"First night?"

He'd heard a rumor the fountain had spit someone else out yesterday--looks like it'd been true. Too bad for this guy.