He's pretty sure he came out of said weird triangle in the sky. John doesn't know yet if he's going to be stuck here indefinitely or if he'll get to go back. A part of him selfishly wants to stay. The idea of some big company putting him up somewhere isn't so different from state housing, and nobody's asked him to pay for anything so far.

But he's got to get back to his sister. He can't leave her there. And his band. He's got people to save. Money to make. Problems to fix. It's just one of him against the world but he thinks he can get it together, make it all work and help everybody out.

John quirks an eyebrow at the very obvious display of clumsiness, but he doesn't say anything. This guy's gonna feed him after all. Not his problem that Scott's been blessed with clumsiness and stupidity.

"Coke," he says quietly, knowing he's imposing but really if he's going to be given a handout he might as well make the most of it. Dropping his bag onto the corner of the couch, he goes to the fridge to help himself just to that can before slinking back to the couch. It's a nice place. Nicer than any place he's ever been to. He can tell someone else has made a home on this couch before, but he doesn't care, stretching out with a tired sigh after taking a sip from his can.

"How the other half lives, huh?" Huge fuckoff TV. House on a beach laid out like a showroom. Must be nice.