[ He’s rubbing his gloved hands together in an attempt to seek warmth, freckled cheeks flushed pink as the winter breeze brushes against them. He can see his breath dancing in the air: puffy and slightly translucent like a cloud against the dull shades of sky. It’s cold, enough where catching a cold was almost guaranteed.
One of the many downsides of sleeping outdoors, he supposes.
And yet there’s someone here wearing something that can’t help but catch his eyes: a witch’s hat; what’s the purpose in that? Was she on her way to a costume party or something? His lips purse as his teeth slightly bite his lower lip, curiosity dragging him closer, closer, closer until he’s standing in front of her. ]
What’s the deal with your hat? [ And now that he actually looks at her, he realizes that her ears are pointed. What the hell? ]