Vaughn was quiet for what felt like ages, listening to her chat. In another mood, on another day when his head wasn't so filled with air and the world didn't seem so off color, it might have annoyed him. For now however, it was restful. He was tired of answering questions about himself, of defending his damned right to think this place was nuts, and most of the people in it, too. There was something about her animated banter that felt so normal, like a passerby could have missed the subject matter and thought their conversation the most unextraordinary thing in the world, that he was surprised by the relief it brought. That she seemed to think her non-human side (whatever that may have been) wasn't exactly pleasant either was welcome news, if only for a flicker of solidarity amongst circus freaks.
"It does. Make sense," he clarified, remembering the look of horror on the face of one of the cirque's many redheads when he'd turned to hunt her several nights before. He hadn't known what she was. She may have been some horrific, scary thing to the rest of the world, but in that moment all he's seen and smelled on her was fear of him.
"The midway gunmen are scary enough to merit a specific mention?" He smirked, releasing the suspended rope to turn his singular attention on her. "Not a gun fan?" The thin slant of his smile relaxed. "Some of them still freak out when they see you out of your people suit," he said, adding a lighthearted, "or you're just much prettier than me," with a tip of his head to concede the point.