"Nah," Shawn said, stepping inside the cramped office. "I'm Warrick Paulsblarg. I'm looking for a chili dog festival."
As Shawn spoke, he catalogued the room. One way in and out, which was closing behind him, and possibly a back door behind the gypsy looking beads. Opportunity for a Get Smart reference but Shawn opted not to take it. Shawn hadn't seen the sharp young man before, and he briefly wondered how many people worked for Torchwood.
"So, can you help me, good sir?" Shawn took a couple more steps forward to the counter and distorted his voice in a crappy scottish accent. He was determined to be calm, cool, and collected today and to handle this obviously delicate situation with the appropriate care, for once.