@dollcarer
It would be indecent to meet her gaze again. It’s anxiety accenting her twisted face that attracts the eyes. It’s a look that he has watched through his own reflection, and it incites his pity above anything else. He tempts his stare along with hers when she looks over the shoulder and with silken fluidity, the cataphile edges from his seat. He crosses the expanse of the small tourist trap of a café.
With a courteous bow of the head, his brows raise to exhibit a generous offer. “I don’t mean to scare. Your face.” Broken english morphs a heavy accent, but he gives it a try. Casual gesticulation shows with a brief wave across his own lighthearted expression. “You’re already scared.”
It’s irritating enough for a stranger to intrude, but at this point, she may need it. He volunteers to be that shoulder, as the stranger that helps ....
“My name is Papillon, and I will not ask questions. Okay?” The cataphile finishes it with a question, brilliant. “If you’re looking for a place to hide, to avoid something--” he’s quick to translate “something bad, I can offer several options. You can hide there...”
