The dog was an instant hit: Nadia might have been trepidatious about the man himself, but Lucy's menagerie was one of her favourite things about the library, and another living animal cropping up in the bar made her instantly brighten. She rose to her feet and, after meeting Erik's eye with a smile, immediately turned her attention downwards to lavish the dog with head-scratches and petting.
"Oh, he -- she? -- is lovely. What's their name?" The dog seemed completely at home in this bar, confident in its environment in a way that she almost envied—but which also settled her a little about the Chestnut Tree. "Not long, no, though I think the bartender is irritated at me for not ordering yet."
Canine greetings complete, she finally turned her attention back up to assess the owner. He was very tall—almost a full foot above her, so she had to crane her head back. He looked young. He was white. Most serial killers were white males, were they not? ... But so was Nate, and that had gone well, so it seemed worth it to go out on this limb and attempt some trust. (With all appropriate precautions in place.) So the young man evidently passed muster for now, and she reached out and shook his hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Minion. It was Erik, yes?"