The strange, young man stops ten feet away from Wes, curiously examining him. "You're a jester, aren't you?" He mutters, his accent almost French, but not quite. This man before him was strange, he was armed with crude weapons, unarmored as well. The clothes he had on were odd, but not silly like jesters he was used to seeing, where was he from? "What are you doing out here? Don't the demons pose a threat to you?" He put his knives away. "Cole," he muttered. (the-forgottenboy)
Folding his arms over his chest, Wes watches the other, eyes narrowing uneasily. The man is standing now, and the mime supposes he isn’t going to be stabbed -- although he still isn’t sure what the dagger is for, he’s not being rushed, or anything. Regardless, he’s just a touch wary of the stranger, and he still hasn’t any idea of what he ought to make of him. People don’t usually just... well, do whatever this one is doing. They come closer, for one. Introduce themselves.
Or maybe that’s just him.
Wes tilts his head when the boy finally speaks, a vague hint of a smile forming on his lips. A jester? Sort of, he supposed -- but it felt a little dated. He worked for a circus, not a medieval court. He shook his head, then held up his hand, holding his index finger and thumb an inch or so apart to indicate the other had gotten close.Â
And what was he doing here? Wes felt he could ask the same of him, and they’d end up with fairly similar answers. A look of bewildered confusion crosses his features the minute he says “demons,” though, and he cocks his head to the other side, indicating he didn’t understand. He wasn’t aware of any demons -- unless he was talking about the shadows.Ah, well.Nice to meet you, Cole. Wes smiled.
