Marga had always wondered what it would be like to stroll through Grand Central Terminal. She had no eye for architecture, but even she could see why the place had the word Grand in its title. The place was massive, seemingly more large than Carnegie Hall, areas that were once prosperous shops now serving as makeshift sleeping and storage areas.
A hand on her shoulder caused Marga to whirl around, the fear that had encompassed her for the past few hours rising up again. Upon seeing the kindly smile, the woman visibly relaxed, offering a wary smile to the stranger. Lost was a good adjective to describe her right about now. Ignoring the people shouldering their way past her, Marga listened with rapt attention as the young man boasted of his knowledge of the inner workings of this safehouse. His words held a hint of an accent, French maybe.
He laughed a nervous laugh, which, oddly enough, served to ease her nerves a bit. Too many people were upset and crying over the ordeal they had been through. Marga didn't blame them, she was barely holding on herself, but it was comforting hearing a noise that wasn't a sob or a wail... or the sound of someone dying.
Marga's smile warmed when the younger man began to question whether his offer of assistance was welcome. "Of course. I'd really appreciate the help, thank you." Blinking, she listened patiently as he introduced himself... and then began to babble about the variations of how his name was spelled and pronounced. It sounded like such a Marga thing to do that the woman couldn't help but laugh a little. She instantly tried to stifle the sound, not wanting Daniel to think she was laughing at him. "It's silly to make fun of someone's name, let alone a person you don't even know." She smiled. "Ignoring the circumstances, it's nice to meet you, Daniel, and like I said, I could use a guide. My name's Marga, by the way. Marga Hendry. A boring Scottish name, but it's mine."