"Trying to scare involves a lot less talking." The Rawhead's chuckle was gravelly from years of smoking, a rough breathless sound. "Don't you worry. This man likes a good boogey every now and then, but I save my dancin' for folks who need to be reminded how to two-step." Tom perked up at his own shaky extended metaphor and smirked in Izabela's direction, smiling (for once) without showing teeth.
"Or for those who just want to dance. People ask you to show them what you've got, you can't very well tell them 'no.'" There might have been a playful wink for emphasis. "Always was a showoff. I'm lucky my head's still attached to my shoulders."
But Tom wasn't big on self-reflection -- at least, not about discussing his insights into his own shortcomings. He left the commentary there and turned his train of thought back around to Izabela and their shared dislike of hiding. "Nosy question. You're welcome to shoot one back my way in return. You have to hide much, growing up? We did, if only because we kept moving. Never gave anyone a chance to get too good of a look."