Ambling back down the road, Ghede hadn't expected to see anyone, and definitely not this slip of a girl. But if his years at the Cirque had taught him anything, it was that things were seldom what they appeared to be.
"Indeed I am, cheri," he answered, grinding out his cigarette. Smoke still wreathed him, and he was never sure how much was the burning tobacco, and how much was just him. "Papa Ghede. Pleased to meet you. You're the face painter, right?"