"Long time, devil boy..." The doctor muttered, a frown spreading across his face.
Scarecrow, not Jonathan, but Scarecrow had just been mucking about in backwater Louisiana that day. The clouds were gray, there was the smell of something dead in the air and he had just done something wonderfully heinous only minutes ago. Of course, evidence of said heinous crime and its victim were now somewhere in the swamps out of pure laziness. All in all, it was a wonderful day, and Scarecrow was feeling giddy. He felt like something good was going to happen today. And then he spotted a familiar face.
“Holy shit, it’s meh magic man!” seeing Facilier across the road, which he was quick to cross without looking both ways. The corner of his eyes were crinkled in amusement, those yellow orbs fixed on the bokor. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it magicky man Facilly? How’ve ya’ been? How’s da’ hand?” he grinned.