Faolan glanced down at the Frenchman before him. The English has been right, he was scrawny and pale, and quite effeminate. If one looked at him from a certain angle, they may even think him a woman at first. Although, that wasn't exactly unusual for the French. There was something about him though...the longer he looked the more he felt it. Some light shimmered in the air around him, and his eyes were certainly an unusual color. Faolan took a breath and smelled cool, clean air around him; no salt, no wood, no decay, just fresh air.

Faolan's brow furrowed even more. He couldn't quite place it, but there was something special about this kid.

At the Frenchman's thanks, he simply grunted. [color=a36209][i]Deserved it.[/i][/color] He thought. He had wanted to stop the Englishman simply because they were foul and vulgar, and a pack of bullies. Faolan didn't like bullies, he didn't think he deserved much thanks, since the attack had given him a small amount of gratification, but he could see why the Frenchman was grateful.

He was about to turn away when he was offered the handkerchief. [color=a36209]"Hm?"[/color] He tilted his head, and touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. There was blood, alright, and a small cut that he hand't even notice, but it was healed by now. Cuts didn't last long on him. He hesitated before reaching for the handkerchief, it was nice material, white with not a drop of filth on it. He raised a hand and wiped the blood with the back of his already dirtied sleeve, leaving a smudge of black behind in the process. [color=a36209]"No, thanks, wouldn't want to stain your lace."[/color]

Normally, Faolan would have made himself scarce already. He wasn't looking for charity, and he hadn't really done anything for the sake of the Frenchman so much as to satisfy his itch and get rid of an annoyance. But, there was something strange about this boy, and Faolan could tell he was green. So, instead of leaving, he spoke again, [color=a36209]"Might want to avoid anyone bigger'n you on this trip. Lots of sailors don't take kindly to, well..."[/color] he looked him up and down, [color=a36209]"people like you...on their deck."[/color] Faolan had never considered himself a wordsmith, and that was clear, but he didn't want to outright offend anyone either. He had been raised with some manners, despite his appearance and the deep and gravelly sound of his voice. His accent alone would have been enough to tilt some ears in this part of town, but his size and tough demeanor kept people from causing trouble with him. Good for them, he was his usual thought. The smart ones left him well enough alone, it was the gobdaws like this pack that usually brought trouble their own way. He was always quick to end these scuffles, but he never wanted to draw much attention to himself. This conversation was out of the ordinary already for him, but something told him his advice would be harder to abide by this Frenchy than he might've thought.