“Actually, I love hedgehogs and turnips,” Red giggled.
He appreciated the honesty - not everyone in town told others the way things were and brutal honesty (while it often made you weep inside tragically) was a trait he could respect. “Good to know the signs caught my good side. I mean, I guess I could’ve looked like a porcupine and a radish.” There were worse things to be called.
A hand lifted. He brushed his fingers absently across the flat, knitted expanse of the beanie that covered his hair. Maybe the crimson color was a bit outlandish, childish, but he didn’t care. Rebellion was key to progression. He had no outward regrets.
The air was full of coconut but something else beneath - banana peppers, age, time, Earth. Did those things amount to more than just blunt honesty? Who said age denoted wisdom?
Red grinned like a fool at the dark clothed man. The hand at his hat dropped, fingers bending save for the pointer flat against his palm and he made a circle in the air from where he stood, outlining the basket with the candles Rasmus was holding, “You hosting a sacrifice there? You sure you’re brave enough, champ? Being cursed is a hell of a thing. Bargain candles seem kind of shitty. I mean, if it was me,” Red breathed, hand pressing flat against his own chest, “I’d be pissed at you for calling me using crap, but then again what do I know about that shit?”