Nestor does not respond all at once; rather, he seems to allow himself a few moments to take in the unfolding scene – the dog, and the cautious limping of each step as it hobbles over the cobbles toward Charles, the same bright blue light in its eyes; the wisps of moonlight playing over the oddly displaced silks and lace of Jerusha's attire – then he stirs, extends one hand (clean hands – never dirty the hands, that was the task of the blade – or so I had always told myself) to hover just beneath the proffered glove, lips barely brushing the air above the extended fingers before he straightens again. 

“Time will tell whether it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance... but I am honoured all the same, Madam Wilde” Here he pauses, lips opening as though he were on the verge of speaking, but his eyes trace toward the stray dog instead – the creature has by now come within a few scant paces of Charles, and after giving the air around the man a sort of exploratory sniff, it summons up the courage to move a bit closer. To extend a raw and bleeding nose in the direction of the man's finery, perhaps getting rather too close for comfort in an attempt to get a bit of the man's scent. A decrepit, all but furless tail swings slowly to and fro, mangy brow scrunched into a picture of intense concentration as it snuffles.

I purse my lips, caught a while before the urgency of the present draws me back and – clearing my throat marginally, attempting to gloss over the uncertainty of my silence – I finally give her my name:

“I am known to a few as Nestor... Nestor Grimsley; as for the things that I seek?” Here I pause, make a conscious effort not to lick my lips – succeed, but fail to prevent my left hand from reaching toward the little pouch at my breast; I stop the motion halfway, make a show at rubbing at my chin whilst casting another glance in the direction of the rat before going on:

“I always find what I seek; that is never the difficulty – the trouble, rather, rests in avoiding the things I did not know I searched for, but am destined to discover all the same.” I find myself grown quiet again, pondering my own words – one of those moments where I am possessed of an uncertainty as to whether what I've said has any true meaning... and then the soft brush of the nighttime breeze – soft and yet full of the sour odour of the streets, the stale rottenness of so much life crammed into one tiny pinprick on the map... – seems to draw the thought from my mind.

“But I would be a fool to refuse your offer... though I would wonder,” here he pauses, gives a brief nod in the direction of the encroaching stray: “Will your companion, perhaps, be bringing his new friend along as well?” The soft play of something like a smile quirks at the corner's of Nestor's lips; rather like the man who – having all the details of a jest beforehand – still finds some amusement in watching the scene play out with someone less informed.