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[Now that they're safely away from the main crowd and regulated to an area that has little traffic, the tension in Scott greatly lessens. Probably helps that there aren't any games being played around here, as the place to earn chips remains a good distance away from them-- well it's mostly dealers raking in money from the guests. House always wins, or whatever. But as Cable leans against a wall, Scott hefts himself on a nearby counter, somehow managing not to crack it as he settles in his makeshift seat and looks at his new 'companion.

He's definitely a gruff looking dude. A lot older than him. The metal arm is pretty insane too. But...]

Thanks for helping me. [He says, the gratitude almost sounding awkward, but he genuinely seems to mean it. Maybe it is okay to ask for help sometimes around here??] And I'm Scott. Scott Summers. What's your name?