Bobby's nose wrinkled and he winked, his lips twisted to the side while he considered this like it was the first time anyone had ever said it to him. In truth, it seemed to be the city's mantra. The concentration broke with another easy smile and a shrug, Bobby's arms stretched up and folded behind his head. "I don't know, the locals seem nice," he protested. "Regular Robin Hoods, I would say."
If that was what this lucky stranger was-- so many warnings he'd heard, Bobby was sure the odds of a friendly chat like this against a proper beating were monumental. Lucky Stranger could have been out of a storybook, anyway, even if it wasn't Robin Hood; Bobby couldn't even place the accent, never mind the nimble fingers, singular circumstances, and warm response to such. And who actually could hide their eyes like that, like they were in some classic noir? Mysteries probably less exciting solved than unsolved, but Bobby did like a mystery.
He rocked forward on his toes, hands clasped behind his back then, looking so much like he was about to bow. He wasn't really all too concerned with what he might look like while trying to catch the Lucky Stranger in a better light.