"Oh, I'm quite comfortable with the locals, at this point."

That's...a lie, but then again Peter does lie so much, doesn't he? Or at least he stretches the truth regularly. So thin, usually, that it's almost a lie anyway.

And of course, there's no further explanation on what that means exactly. A few days? A week? He'll let Juno do his own interpreting. He's the detective, after all.

Peter rests an elbow on the bar and leans into it, chin resting on the top of his hand as his gaze sweeps up and down Juno's form. In all truth, Morrigan Prince is...not a very different man from Rex Glass. Perhaps a little less effusive. Stuck somewhere between Glass and the man who truly is Peter Nureyev. (His personalities usually are facets of himself, honestly. Writ large or shrunk down, certain traits magnified to suit his needs. But Prince is an identity he's going to have to hold...indefinitely. It makes sense for him to be not quite so different.) But. There is a lazy detachedness to him, here.

"How long did it take you to find your way down here?"