He tripped the hidden trigger on his bow that would retract its pieces, making it small enough to click into his quiver. By now, the junkies had adjusted, and he wouldn’t need the bow to make himself apparent to them. That was the bitch of being entirely… well, forgettable in appearance: when you wanted to make your mark, you had to work extra hard to do it.
He moved forward into the crowd a little, getting closer to the kid he could now identify thanks to movement and speech. When he was less than two feet away, he stopped. He stared the kid down for all of two seconds, and then he dropped, left leg sweeping out behind him and right knee bending deep, head ducking dramatically and arms sweeping out.
“How very fucking kind of you,” he spat, “to grace us with your presence. To deign to be among us.”
He rose to a straight position again, taking full advantage of the three inch difference in height to make himself bigger and assume all the space he could. “It’s what we’ve always dreamed of. A malnourished brat who thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”
Sparrow gave the kid a smirk. “I think I’ll pass. I’d hate to have to leave an extra corpse on that truck.”