[It's Alois' habit to lurk around the front gate and glare. He's good at talking, good at cons or being coy, but he has a personal stake in contracts and the like, so he doesn't enjoy seeing some ignorant fool get roped into this carnival without knowing what's really going on. Of course, he doesn't blab about any of this to patrons—his sense of self-preservation is greater than his compassion. ...In most cases, anyway...
Because when he sees this little girl, teary-eyed and totally unsuspecting, something in him twists like hot pliers.
He skirts his way round to where she stands, not minding the ticketmaster or anybody else in the way. And he stoops to Bonnie's level—he knows how to do it just the right way, so that it isn't condescending. His hands are braced on his bent knees, and he's wearing the gentlest smile he can muster—and for once it's genuine.]
There, there! No need for all that. A big girl like you needs a handkerchief and something fun to do, I think. How does that sound?
[He's a pretty boy, to be sure, but he looks stranger now because of the carnival: his ears have a distinct point to them, and there are peeks of what looks like amethyst and sapphire creeping out from underneath his sleeves. They decorate his delicate fingers, too. (He hates them so, so much, but he can't seem to scratch them off, and now only tries to when he's feeling particularly nasty.)
As if he's fulfilling a promise, he plucks a plain white handkerchief from his coat, and offers it to her.] Here you are, treasure. Now, what's the trouble, exactly?
fees
Because when he sees this little girl, teary-eyed and totally unsuspecting, something in him twists like hot pliers.
He skirts his way round to where she stands, not minding the ticketmaster or anybody else in the way. And he stoops to Bonnie's level—he knows how to do it just the right way, so that it isn't condescending. His hands are braced on his bent knees, and he's wearing the gentlest smile he can muster—and for once it's genuine.]
There, there! No need for all that. A big girl like you needs a handkerchief and something fun to do, I think. How does that sound?
[He's a pretty boy, to be sure, but he looks stranger now because of the carnival: his ears have a distinct point to them, and there are peeks of what looks like amethyst and sapphire creeping out from underneath his sleeves. They decorate his delicate fingers, too. (He hates them so, so much, but he can't seem to scratch them off, and now only tries to when he's feeling particularly nasty.)
As if he's fulfilling a promise, he plucks a plain white handkerchief from his coat, and offers it to her.] Here you are, treasure. Now, what's the trouble, exactly?