First order of business? A knife. To that effect, he's hit the dining hall; a cup of tea, a bowl of cereal, and he's currently set up at a table, methodically working his way through both and by and large seeming to ignore everyone else around him while actually keeping a close eye on them.

The compulsion not to poke around into the inner workings of the Barge is too much to resist. So he'll just be trying doors, peeking into the ones that open and noting the ones that won't for later.

Maybe there's something he can use anyway. Paperclips, thumbtacks, rubber bands, sheets, gloves, duct tape...most of the things they contain he can use in some way or another, so he'll just be stocking up on what he can in the least suspicious way possible, neatening and rearranging as he goes to make it seem like he's supposed to be in there, that he's being Helpful instead of trying to rebuild his tackle box.

Move along, folks, nothing to see here.

Even quiet has its particular set of sounds. A feeling of watchfulness, of being observed like a rat in a cage, and as deep into the exploration as he is, Guerrero hasn't lasted this long by being unaware of his surroundings. He gives the guy a few minutes, mostly to to see if he'll stick around, then puts down the box of office supplies, palming a paper clip and a pair of tacks before turning around to face him, sliding the box back among the rest without looking and regarding him with calm curiosity.

"Need something?"