It was beginning to look like drunkenness was the least of their concerns. Whether she had taken some substance she had not needed or neglected to take one she did, Samuel could not say; either seemed a viable option. He cast a glance over his shoulder, the empty lobby staring blankly back at him. If he felt a fleeting sense of discomfort, of unease, of being watched and thoroughly assessed, he gave no outward sign. When he looked back to her his every thought was written in his eyes, even less guarded than they had been before. She saw him for what he was, mundane or otherwise. There was no use in hiding.
"All I see is you avoiding the question," he snapped. "There's no-one in the lobby. The only people awake right now are you, me, and any neighbors we have who might still be up fucking." He shook his head. "I seriously got the shit end of this stick."
Buried among all his apparent bad luck, however, was the somewhat useful tidbit that she lived on the first floor. There was no telling what part of the first floor, yet, but Samuel felt a marked sense of relief, now knowing for certain he could leave her here if need be. Even intoxicated as she was - by whatever manner, he thought, realizing he no longer truly cared - she could at least manage to stumble to her own door, given enough time and the desire to do so. He set aside the stir of irrational, baseless sensation her words continued to call up, and focused instead on his seemingly boundless frustration.
"First floor, huh?" he said, his eyes narrowing. "You're not the neighbor who made my fellow officers come out here, are you? They said it was a weird call, and you seem to fit the bill."