"Of course. Certainly. And perhaps if you described this...'Costa Rica', I'd be able to make sure that that's where it leads. You've been there before, yes?"

As he talks, Naugus kneels down and starts to scrape sigils and circles into the dirty floor, the tip of his claw drawing furrows into the solid surface as if it were sand. The sunglasses get, for now, placed on his own brow for safe-keeping while he needs both hand and claw to work. Propped up there just on top of that bizarre horn of his.