Sam effortlessly disengaged from another conversation, circulated around the crowds in the grand lounge, and found himself standing in front of the couch. Best get this out of the way early, he thought to himself, grinning his friendliest grin.
"Oh, hullo!" Weasel was saying, relaxing into the upholstery next to a character who appeared equally out of place in this high-class establishment. "We was just talking about you, Egr-"
"Sam! Yes, it's Sam, hello Weasel," Sam interrupted. "I'm Sam and this is my friend Mel, I want to say Mel?" he added, gesturing to the lady next to him and pausing for her confirmation.
"Um, yes, Melinda," confirmed Melinda. "Hello, nice to meet you?"
"Hello and yes this is Weasel," Sam introduced in turn.
"Yeah me and Dagger here, this is Dagger," continued Weasel, gesturing to his own companion, "We was just talkin about how a gentleman such of your talents might be of use around here..."
"Oh?" Sam prompted, suddenly focused. His brow furrowed with concern, though the smile slipped only slightly. "Is there, um. Is somebody in trouble?"
(In fact at that very moment, three floors down and in an entirely different wing of the Palace, someone very dear to Sam was indeed in trouble. Sam did not learn this until later, by which point it was too late.)
"Oh no no," Weasel flashed an easy grin of his own. "Not yet anyway. But we was just thinking, nice place like this, so many shiny trinkets and silverwares - a body could find themselves in all sorts of trouble."
Sam blinked a couple of times, the amiable smile still plastered across his face. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should really feel so responsible for the things people did after he helped them out. They were free to do as they would, of course, and he would hesitate to tell them otherwise. But he was equally free to advise, to suggest, to let them know how bad he'd feel to see them locked up or otherwise inconvenienced, especially when it could be easily avoided.
"Please don't," was his simple, cheerful suggestion.