When the hag speaks, he stops in his tracks, head cocked slightly to the side. His sharp gaze fixes on her, his beady red eyes narrowing just enough to take in the details of her face. He doesn’t speak at once. Instead, he lets the tension hang for a moment, his lips curling into an small grin, sharp teeth gleaming. He steps forward, his fingers twitching as though debating whether to reach for something in his pockets, but he catches himself. Patience is something he doesn’t often practice, but this—this feels important.
At her command, he drops into a crouch on the cushion, pulling his knees close to his chest and balancing awkwardly on the edge. His eyes never leave the old hag, studying her with the keen interest of one who’s seen too much and trusts almost no one.
“Expecting me, eh?” His voice is raspy, like gravel scraping on wood, but it holds an undeniable curiosity. "What makes ya think that, eh? I ain’t no one special." He snorts, a small puff of air escaping his nostrils as he settles into the cushion, trying (and failing) to get comfortable. His fingers twitch again, tapping against the side of his knee, as if weighing whether to speak or leave.
Eventually, his grin widens—mischievous and knowing. "Ain't no one’s story worth listenin' to, but if you insist..." He trails off, then pauses for a long moment, eyes glinting in the candlelight as he gathers his thoughts. After a few beats of silence, he leans forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I’m here cause I got things to find. Things, people... answers.” He shifts slightly, as if uncomfortable with the vulnerability in those words "I need to find a spot to hide that's why I'm here ok is that good enough hu oldy lady"
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