Finch half-smiles at 'horse,' and keeps his hand buried in Bear's thick fur, rubbing little circles on the back of the dog's skull. Bear settles down a little, but keeps a watchful eye on Spike.

He purses his lips, glancing towards the hallway in question, then back down at the more comforting sight of his so-called service doggie. Bear loves having his ears rubbed, so he switches to that for a little bit.

"I have no idea," he says, and more or less means it. "I'm, I'm very uncertain at the moment as to a great many things." A little helpless gesture around, at this deeply unusual place and all its horrors. Finch has calmed down a bit from the surreal quasi-panic that had gripped him his first few hours here, but the memory of it isn't hard to evoke, to let seep into his tone so that he is more effectively a rather frightened, middle-aged man with a service dog who is quite out of his depth.