He still doesn't like the sound of sharks with legs, but if there's anything Robby can't deny, it's that something feels off about this place. Not safe, and not just because of his lack of resources and knowledge.

There might be a scoff in his throat from the absurdity, but that's where it stays, unvoiced. And not because - this time - he might have a chance to catch that extra finger of the man's, confirming that it wasn't just his imagination. It's seen with the wave of his hand, and then Robby's eyes are back on-- Stanford.

"Robby." He'll go along with introductions, only giving his name because it's giving him time to think. He's been trying to get his bearings, but it's been more difficult than he'd like to admit. Might be what happens, when you don't hang around on beaches or boardwalks or take heeds about bags. "This place like what you remember? When you woke up."

The added clarification is a bit awkward, in that way where he isn't sure how to speak. But that's what they call it, and that's what happened.