A soccer ball rolls over and stops, bumping lightly against the couch said man is sitting at. Running over, a small six year old boy grabs for the ball and picks it up, and glances to the strange young man sitting there. He blinks. That was an extremely unhealthy skin color.
He takes a step back cautiously, gripping the soccer ball with both hands tightly. "U-uh...Hi..." he says hesitantly. 'I don't get it...he's not dead, he's speaking! But why is his skin so pale?! It's not like anything I've seen before!' he thinks.
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He'd never admit to being afraid of going home, but all the same he's there-sitting in a nearby chair.
"Aren't you afraid of breaking that?"
He points to the crystal ball.
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He grins over at him, catching it and sliding it back into his pocket.
"A christmas present by one who knows I am not always terribly graceful. Hello!"
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"Hello. How are you?"
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Bruised, here and there, but well.
"Yourself?"
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Jack's pale, though he doesn't think of himself as such. Not really. He just sort of is.
But the boy's ball looks interesting enough.
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His tone is curt. Not unkind, but curt.
"I am not truly that terrifying."
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'Evening Jack.'
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Jack beams at him.
"It is a wonderful day."
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He sits easily, and with an air of mild curiousity.
'Why?'
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He's not quite bouncing.
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