At first, Mantis didn't react, skinny body still heaving as he breathed, as if he'd run a marathon. At last, however, he smeared the blood and dust off his hand onto the brick wall and turned to stare at the girl standing in the entrance of the alleyway. After a moment of stillness, he touched down again, feet quiet against the gritty concrete, head tilted slightly, gas-mask a blank, eerie wall separating his expression from the rest of the world.
And then he was reading her, gleaning what surface information he could, mental 'touch' surprisingly gentle for all his violence of moments before. --Jaina Solo. The girl from the forums. The one with the tiny uncle, the boy-child with nightmares.
"Jaina Solo," he rasped, and sketched a courtly bow. --In bloodstained leather, movements jerky and sharp, he was a strange, morbid figure. "We have met. Psycho Mantis."
He knew he was probably a terrifying sight---he trusted, at least, that given the fact that the girl was some kind of soldier, she was used to blood. At least, he doubted that she'd run screaming from him. Not that he'd care, really; he was used to that kind of reaction.