If a cereal box decoder ring existed that translated the quackery of this place for the rest of the employees, he was annoyingly out of the loop. Who was nuts, who was a beehive, who wanted to wear whom as a skin suit, who was likely to try to eat one of your limbs mid-conversation, who was and wasn't about to take a deadly spill from a terminal height. Every day was still a crash course for him. By the time the performer had caught up, Vaughn had chosen to be annoyed about that rather than how heights still shook him, or the fact that he'd just attempted to save a competent professional from her own art form.
"No, I could have distracted you, sor-" Her reaction stopped him. Brows drawn together, he cracked a shallow smile when the source of her surprise registered. It was hard to know what was stranger, that he was freakishly tall at intervals, or that he’d normalized it. "Are you the Cirque welcome committee? You should be." Wide eyed compliments in first meetings were welcome ice breakers.
“Only for the next two days or so. I’m normally ... yeigh high.” He held a hand at the appropriate height, palm down. “That can’t be too weird here.” The hand dropped, he extended it with a programmed courtesy that didn’t reach quite reach his expression. “A pleasure, Kennedy. I’m Vaughn.” Before introductions with Nora, he’d asked her if she was poisonous. He realized too late that he’d forgotten this time. The offered greeting was a little stiff as a result. “Are you an-“ he gestured to get aerial apparatus. “Some sort of air thing? You look more comfortable up there than most people do walking around.”