"John, John Tudor," John replied with an equally warm smile. It was strange, this girl put off such a gentle, innocent feeling. It was similar to how people had felt when he was a Pastor at church, though he seemed to feel it a great deal more. Perhaps because of his hieghtened senses, or perhaps because it had been so long since he'd seen a human who wasn't terrified, hungry, or stressed.
He looked back to the window, his hands going to his pockets as he considered the many artifacts. Then he glanced up, and smiled, pointing to an old instrument. It wasn't a guitar, he had no idea what it was, but it was similar.
"I have a weakness for string instruments," he said, his southern drawl pulling out the last of the words into an almost entranced whisper. Then he paused, feeling a tug as he wondered if his guitar had been brought here too, or if it was still by the bed in Pam's chamber. He sighed, then chuckled. "I never thought I'd see another aside from my beat-up old guitar Lily-Anne. It's a strange comfort, even not knowing what that thing is."