PAP!...

"Papillon? Seigneur, Papillon! Fancy meeting you here!"

Taking roll call

"Do?" Cosme repeats, perhaps a little unsure himself. He uncaps the water bottle and flips the piece of plastic over his fingers.Every man had an obligation to know his domicile, from every nook and cranny that gathers dust to every heartbeat whether it be the littlest rodent or the largest beast. There were still tunnels left unexplored, stemming from halls lined with smiling skulls that seemed to promise treasure and splendor. Then there were the ones with grimacing walls, fleshless faces eternally set in frowns, as if to say you should be afraid, for I am too, and what scares a dead man? That the shiver down his spine should be heeded, that every hair standing on end in response to some unseen force should be acknowledged. It had become more of a passion than a pastime, and it when the wave of passion hit it was hard to keep your feet from moving of their own accord, to not think that maps were simply for people who had a destination. Curiosity had always wormed around in his chest, burrowing to his brain having gorged on adrenaline and burst into imaginary images of grandeur and perceived dangers. He didn’t much expect Papillon to understand - he was little more than some homeless burnt out scholar, and who would take him seriously? He adopts a firm expression as he figures out how to word it best,

Tempted to swing his bag at him for abject stupidity, Papillon refrained, shoulder digging into the walls of the Catacombs. Thoroughly vexed, worry overwhelmed, plaguing and contorting his features upon the silence that followed, encouraging a hand to lift. His fingers caked in dirt, paint, discolored and calloused and it reached closer, nearing his arm to gently rest- pausing mid way, hesitant. A blink at the sudden response and he nodded gently. All the more inclined to trust him upon reaching an exit, instinctively, Papillon nodded. The misplaced optimism was endearing, but he'd not tarnish it any further. At last, he nodded once more, faith in his navigation restoring as he met his gaze. "I trust you.."

The room was relatively empty, her light not shining on anything too interesting as she looked around. When Papillon starts talking with an American accent Kinsley can’t help her smile, her ears tuning into what he’s saying— not that she hasn’t been listening any other time. It’s just the change in voice that catches her attention even more. Something that shouldn’t even be possible. Not only is it rather good, his words are funny and pull a laugh from the girl. “I’m sure that’s exactly how it went down.” 

    Papillon was inclined to rush ahead to explore all the more, halting himself promptly to await Kinsley's choice response. Squinting through rays of light, his lips rippled to a light smile as she laughed to his elegant accent. He'd fool an American soon enough with his derision, striding about with a tone of his own, posture slumped and expression vacant as they so appeared within Le Showcase. Not all were irritating to speak with, this, was proven with Kinsley. Gradually, the disinterest in Americans depleted, and considerably so.

Important Note:

“Quoi? Non content de me voir?” La Taupe can’t help but ask, shrugging off the fact that his joke didn’t go over well.

notyourtourguide

"Quels fait sens" Papillon isn't amused.