He was a font alright; wingdings. He watched the other man make a wish and then felt the whoosh of ectoplasmic breath across his face. Aw, aw.
Kind and gracious, check. Red-eyed man steals, check. Goat pen, chec- "What the fuck?"
He'd been paying various suspects back in practical jokes and trolling for years. His shoulders fell, temporarily defeated. However, he soon re-puffed his chest and looked Nate right back in his weird face. "Remy. He's got black and red eyes, and people call him 'diable rouge', but he's less of a demon than Illyana." Or Nate's kid. "I knew he been stealin' my weed. Lucky-ass Cajun bitch." The professional thief had avoided the cameras, and Troy should not have been as surprised as he felt. His smokin' buddy had him feeling a bit betrayed though.
Back to earth, Troy. "Leave my goats alone!" he called into the ether with mild annoyance, followed by a low growl to punctuate.
He refocused his gaze on the Bookmen, finally, and his eyebrows rose with expectancy. "So I'm kind. They forgot to mention smart and important. Did that answer any questions for you, or should I talk about the Columbus Day campout?"