She supposed it made sense that a guy whose family owned slaves probably didn't know much about working. Admittedly, Sam herself had been a spoiled rich kid for a while there. Not slave-level, or anything. But at least she hadn't had to worry about paying for college.

So, no judgment. This time, anyway.

"Work in progress," she admitted. "I'm visiting the hospital in a few days to see if they could use a lab assistant." She didn't need much money. Rent seemed to be covered, and it wasn't like she was a fashion plate. Mostly, she just needed to hold body and soul together. Which meant art supplies and figuring out a way to pay for blood.

The latter was...tricky. She was thinking...butcher shop? Maybe? Felt kind of nasty, but it was nastier to just chew on random locals who could have who-knew-what in their systems.