general-of-dogs is in your general vicinity.
The blonde wandered down one of the streets in New York, still horridly lost despite it being her home--two hundred years in the future, of course. She should have expected this, however. There was no way she'd be able to know the city like the back of her hand. It was like a brand new place.
Fortunately for her, she managed to snag some clothes (some soldier's clothes, no less) and money, enough to help her blend in. Now, if anyone saw her synthetic hand, she'd have a lot of explaining to do. Gloves always worked wonders in that respect.
In need of some directions, Erin sought out the first person to help her: an older man, fancy moustache, probably not the most approachable man on the street. That never stopped her before.
"'Scuse me, sir. Can ya' tell me where the nearest, uh... goods store is?"