“Well, if pink did have a smell, it would be pleasant, and it would remind me of you, I reckon.” She seemed like pink, and yellow, and well… rainbows, if he was being completely honest.
His hand, if he had a free one, would have gone to his hair, when it was mentioned. Instead he did his best to look in the direction of said locks, catching sight, only barely of whatever hair was nearest his eyes. “I s’pect it helps me ta blend end. Shadow creature,” he went on to explain. “I mean, imps, we lurk in dark places usually, ya know?” Thankfully she hadn’t mentioned hair styling products. Though it wouldn’t be unheard of for Knock to be metro for the right person.
Speaking of good saves. And yes, Knock would have walked right by, even though of course he was keenly aware of where they were. “Oh. Sorry.” As though it was his fault. Call it that British self-degradation, a form over politeness that seemed ingrained in even the lowest class. Of course, it wasn’t Britain that made Knock such a self-mortifier. Not that he was really sorry for anything in this instance, simply habit, and again, that over polite sensibility.
“Right then. Do you share a room with anyone?” Just making conversation. “I hope I’m not being too forward in asking?” Some people were really put off by those kinds of questions, they found them intrusive. Of course, Knock was far more intrusive than any question asking. What people really wanted to know they found out through other means besides asking.