Webber gives her a concerned look as she stumbles, extending his headlegs and reaching out a hand, but she catches herself without help.

"Okay, Ms. Goldenglow!" Webber looks around for chairs, couches, or approximately knee-height trim molding; they don't have to look far, since the lounge is within sight of the guest services desk and it's full of cushy armchairs.

"Let's go over there. It looks comfy." He points with one hand and slips the other exceedingly hairy little hand into hers. Carefully, so he doesn't poke her with his claws.