;;This is what I brought you (Deon)

[Brandon Doyle]

Usually Doyle didn't wander into the mall on a Saturday, seeing as that was by far probably the most risky of moves for somebody who wanted nothing to do with anybody. He was a teenager and he looked it, and wandering around the mall alone made it way too obvious for his comfort. His hands were digging in to the pockets of his hoodie as he passed people, his brown eyes hidden behind his sunglasses watching everybody closely and moving appropriately if they wandered too close. Avoiding all forms of brief contact like he was surrounded by a town of people with contagious diseases and his immune system wasn't quite top. Which wasn't true in the slightest.

He finally found the store he had been searching for, assuming that it had to be there considering how others in this town seemed to dress. The Hot Topic stood nearby but he ignored it with ease, in favor of the Spencer's. He hadn't been to one for some time and he knew they had a collection of superhero memorabilia. He was hoping that would appeal to his inner Spider-man fanboy. Coming in, taking off his sunglasses and putting them where his hoodie zipper sat near his collar bones.

He had been right and there was a lot of exactly what he was looking for. There He briefly looked at the hats, though he knew he wasn't interested. There were plenty that would fit his interest, don't get him wrong, but he wasn't a hat kind of guy. He had no real style but hats were not really part of it. He dressed for function and hats never really fit any function. He didn't go outside or anything and when he did he had sunglasses. Next were the wallets. He had an old torn up Hulk wallet that he had been planning on replacing. He was going to replace it with another Hulk wallet because not only was the Hulk a baller he was also green which was one of his favorite colors. But all of these plans dissolved as soon as he saw a Spider-man wallet with a protruding web design and his head and a chain. He instantly snatched that up without another thought.

He wandered deeper in, seeing t-shirts that didn't fit his interest and far too many poop jokes to be legal. He finally wandered into the back where there was a small collection of assorted themed boxers. He wasn't much the type for underwear shopping at the mall but when he caught site of the red spiderwebbed boxers he found himself snatching them before he could argue his decision. He wandered to the counter, setting them down without regarding the person behind the counter. Not bothering with a hello or whatever. Common curtasy seemed to die in this youngin.

He, however, regarded the things around the counter with even more vague interest than he had been capable of expressing toward anybody thus far. He didn't want any of it, especially because the money on his card was limited to his last three pay checks he had saved before they had moved. His parents were always willing to give him money for whatever he needed but he hated using their money for things like this. Not that he felt bad about it, per se. They just had a habit to shovel goods and money at him as if it would make up for everything. Which it didn't. So his first goal had been to get a new job in the area but so far he hadn't even put in a single application. He was admittedly spending most of his time at home on the computer drawing. Maybe he should open up commissions. That would be a good temporary solution, he figured.

[Deon De Soto]

Having been seated on a stool somewhere behind the counter, all six feet of handsome young store clerk took a moment to unfold himself from his perch before crossing the short distance to the store counter. He had to feel for it, reach out to it, but having worked at this particular Spencer's for months, he was pretty familiar with its location and managed to brush it with the back of his hand without jamming a finger. To anyone else, this might have been impressive- many onlookers held with them a sense of pity and awe that the long time blind man couldn't fathom. He'd been blinded as a child, at only seven years old, he grew into a world of darkness the way a normal human being grew into big feet and big hands. It was all so second nature to him that he didn't find it worthy of pity or awe, neither impressive nor remarkable. Blindly feeling for the counter was just part of his job.

"Hey there, find everything okay?" He quipped pleasantly from behind his darkened shades, which he did not take off, even in the dim lighting of the store. It would've been unnecessary and they saved observers from being haunted by his essentially pupilless empty gaze. They seemed to appreciate that more than the oddness of a man wearing sunglasses inside a dark building.

With a deft hand and a sort of unworldly knowledge, the clerk paused, rolling up the long sleeves on his green work shirt until they were folded neatly above his elbows before getting to work scanning the items that had clanked loudly against the counter and allowed him to even know that a customer had walked up. Only a momentary blunder of fingers was necessary to find them, and once found, they were across the scanner and into a bag with only a moment's hesitation and it wasn't in locating the items on the counter. No, the dark haired clerk paused, running one of his curious hands over the face of the wallet, exploring the contours of the design like a musician with an instrument. His jaw went slack and he forgot to feign eye contact for a moment as he got lost in the curves and corners, the reliefs and the ridges, the peeks and the valleys. It was a complex web of information, and though he didn't spend long reading it, he did take a moment and laughed lightly as it was finally deposited into it bag.

"A fan of Spiderman I see." Shit. "Well not see but... deduced? Figured? You're a fan, is what I'm saying. Nevermind."

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle raised an eyebrow at the comments made by the other looking at him finally and a little caught off guard. He didn't know this man even a little bit but he was pretty.. big. He was a large human being. He wasn't. He wasn't much shorter but he was certainly more on the scrawny side. He was kindof skinny and defenseless and this guy? Not so much. He wasn't intimidated or anything but kept in mind not to really insult him in case he was super sensitive about things like that. 

"Yeah" he stated rather simply when he asked if he had found everything alright, his tone sounded inconvenienced like him saying that was the thing that just ruined his day. He knew if was something they put in his script but he always thought it was a stupid question. He once worked a store in a mall back in another city but when it came to saying that he took the more silent cashier approach. Nobody at that job seemed to like him. Go figure. He had been very clean, at least. Just wasn't so social. He was more of a quiet maintenance rather than a front line cashier type. He really needed to apply somewhere. He'll have to remember that next time.

He watched him get all feely on things from a moment before it finally clicked and his brain started to move forward. And when he said the thing about seeing that he liked Spider-man he actually laughed. It was very quiet and set with a tone that still somehow sounded malicious rather than joyful. That was funny. "You're blind. I get it" he said, sounded the tiniest bit amused. He pulled out his Hulk wallet to grab his card. "Highlight of MY day" unfortunately Doyle was willing to make Deon the butt of the joke as well.  

[Deon De Soto]

Taking the card in his outstretched hand, Deon ran his free hand through his short black hair sheepishly, moving his fingers first one way and then the other. The movement slicked his locks back at first, but once he released, they shot forward again and sprang back into place like nothing had happened. Still, he patted himself a few more times to make sure he hadn't messed anything up, his fingers were his only method of telling such things.

"It's not usually something to draw so much attention." Deon laughed lightly as well. He swiped the card through the reader on the side of the cash register, waiting for the auditory 'ding' of confirmation before handing the piece of plastic back again. He made a point to look down in the cash register's general direction while he moved. He'd found over the years that people seemed to relate to him better if he at least acted like a normal human being with all of his senses. Plus, it gave him something distracting to do. "Which is still a really ironic way to put it. God, I'm dumb. If you could just hit the green button on the pad in front of you to confirm that the amount is correct."

Deon waved a hand vaguely toward the counter with a soft little chuckling laugh and a crooked, still slightly sheepish grin.

"It's out there somewhere. You'll find it sooner than I will."

[Brandon Doyle]

"Yeah I will." Doyle snorted inconsiderately as he pressed the button that he found pretty quickly. He was significantly less concerned about offending the other as he had been just a moment ago. He stuffed his card back into his wallet neatly, shoving it back into the pocket of his plain jeans. He was a muted kind of excited to get home and switch out his wallets. He probably wouldn't throw out his old one, though. Despite being a little scratched up and chewed on by his dogs it still served its function well and he never knew when he might need it. 

This one kindof talked a lot but for some reason it was a special brand of friendliness that was terribly off putting. He still wanted nothing to do with him, don't get him wrong, but he didn't mind responding to him at least. Even if it was to be a bit of a jerk. "So was it some kind of bull Daredevil like accident or were you just born to forever trip over furniture? Did your parents ever just move the couch two inches to the left?"

[Deon De Soto]

"No," Deon started without even a moment's hesitation. There was no shock, no sudden intake of breath that indicated offense. He instead remained pleasant and unbothered, tapping a few more entries into the cash register when its robotic faintly female voice asked him for things. How he was finding the keys on the touch screen would have to be his little secret. "But my brothers did. One time they stuffed a hollowed out stuffed animal full of pork chops they'd put in the microwave and left it in the hallway for me to fall over, then claimed I'd crushed the cat."

He didn't laugh but the lopsided grin he wore suggested that he was going to. Honestly, feeling like he had crushed the cat was painful, he'd cried about it for hours and even after the prank had been revealed, he continued to have nightmares. But the creative side of his brain could appreciate the craftsmanship of it all- he wouldn't have thought to put the pork in the microwave first, so it wouldn't have been warm and squishy like it was, and a little bit wet. It was very convincing. The receipt printed as Deon finished his story, and he swiped it up expertly and dropped it carefully into the bag that he was in the process of gathering up. As he handed it across the counter, a door opened up in the wall behind him and another insanely tall scruffy young man appeared behind the counter. He hefted a small box in his hands, which clearly weighed more than one would expect by the hefty sound it made when deposited onto the floor somewhere out of sight. Deon let his useless gaze wander in that direction blindly, clearly reacting to the sound alone.

"What's that?" He asked seemingly no one, unsure of who to direct the question to, but the new gentleman sighed as he wiped his hands on the front of his collared green shirt.

"These are the broken inventory scanners. I need you to take them down to the radio shack."

"On the other side of the mall?" One of Deon's eyebrows quirked in a certain disbelief that seemed misplaced on his face, or perhaps faked. "It'll take me ages to get there by myself you know."

"Better get to it then. I'll cover the register."

"Can't Erica do it?"

"Erica's on break and Donny hasn't come in yet. It's either you or no one. You've got the dog, you'll be fine."

As if on cue, the wrinkled head of a massive cream colored mastiff poked out from behind the register as Deon moved to allow his coworker to take his spot. The dog followed him with its lazy eyes and drooping gaze, panting heavily, but didn't seem to be in a hurry to stand from where it was obviously laying down.

"Jimmy-6? People are terrified of him." Deon tried one last time, gesturing vaguely with his hands. He was really motioning slightly to the dog's right but it was close enough to get the point across. Still, even as he complained, he moved reluctantly toward the box. "This'd better be my last job before I clock or I'm asking for a raise."

"Keep up the complaining and you'll lose the job entirely. Now go."



(( These posts are terrible and I'm sorry. >< ))

[Brandon Doyle]

"That's a good one. I'll have to keep that in mind for next time I have a blind fellow around" Doyle said and then grabbed the bag from the bottom, avoiding all chances of physical contact. He listened to the conversation with little interest until he said Jimmy-6. His interest stabbing now. How does a person who is blind even enjoy comic books? Was there some tv show thing that had him in it that he missed because he didn't much like the cartoons? He was pretty sure he wasn't. Questions buzzed around his head as he looked at the dog who moved.

"I can take you" he heard himself say and it was weird because he didn't mean to say it even a little bit. But he did. It was like hearing somebody else speak in your voice. He felt very disconnected to himself at this moment. "I don't want to but I will" he explained. He had questions to ask, though. He didn't want to but he did. And it was really annoying to not know where his thoughts were sitting on this spectrum.

[Deon De Soto]

Though it was well established that Deon didn't benefit at all from the movement, when the young customer suddenly piped up at the end of the brief conversation between co-workers, Deon looked up from where he was worrying the box in his hands, finding a comfortable place under his arm to carry it. His eyebrows jumped to his hairline, which wrinkled his forehead slightly and revealed more of the milky white coloration of his blank and useless stare. He wasn't surprised because he knew Doyle personally and could be surprised by the generous gesture, it was a simply surprising gesture to come from one half of such a brief encounter. They barely knew each other. Part of Deon wondered if the young man felt obligated to help someone so broken and unfortunate, and for a moment, entertained that idea with a distracted look down toward where the box rested against his hip, his dark eyebrows falling again, furrowing, only to leap up again when he seemed to come to a conclusion within himself.

Some people pitied him, he'd heard them admit it, heard in their voice, the way that they spoke to the six foot tall gentleman like he was an infant, the way that they'd ask the dog to do things instead of him or the way that they'd broadcast their every action as though he needed to know when they were combing their hair or picking their nose. This one brief encounter with a seemingly reluctant customer had none of that. There were no unnecessary questions- only relevant ones, and they were not punctuated by useless apologies for the things that had happened to him, there was no talk of the 'terrible misfortune' of being blinded, no suggestion that a lack of eyes was somehow a lack of living. Just a conversation, the kind everyone has with everyone else, normal, pleasant, humorous, not pitiful at all.

"Sure. I appreciate it friend." Deon looked up with a smile. He was staring blankly to the left of Doyle but it served its purpose, he was pleasantly surprised and welcomed the company. Using a hand to find his co-worker and navigating around him without a stumble, Deon wandered his way out from behind the counter through a little side door which he paused to hold open. "I hope you don't mind dogs. This is Jimbo. Jimmy-6. Go say hello Jim."

It was a few moments of suspense before the dog finally seemed to heft himself to his feet and meandered out through the small half-door. He was honestly taller than it, reaching easily up to his owner's waist despite Deon's impressive height. The dog pause to sneeze loudly and to shake himself briskly, waving all of his wrinkles and swinging his thick rudder-like tail before finally seeming to realize he was being introduced. He turned to Doyle somewhat slowly, gave a few slow wags of his tail and craned his neck for a sniff, closing the gap between them slowly but not completely, only really getting close enough for a distant sniff. But he seemed friendly enough, his posture not stiff but rather lackadaisical, relaxed, his pendant shaped ears drooping and his sagging expression parted into a lazy open mouthed pant.

[Brandon Doyle]

The massive dog didn't startle him but he actually looked almost excited, gently patting the side of his neck but not touching him much. "I actually like your dog more than I will probably ever like you; also a side note I'm not your friend" he said with a slightly softened tone, thoroughly believing this. He pulled his hand away and put it in the pocket of his hoodie. Nice looking guy and all, but he was still a person and was not in any way shape or form exempt. He was also friendly so if anything he was worse off. It wasn't that people being friendly in general bothered him, it was the fact that friendly people were more likely to attempt to befriend him which he didn't want as a general rule. Friends were never his thing and he could never see himself being the type to even have many. He didn't like people. It was even more rare for him to like more than one people.

"So, where are we going?" he asked, sounding bored again. But looking at the dog as a way of convincing himself this was a good idea. He could hang out with a big pile of squish named after Jimmy-6. Who could resist that? He felt a very uncomfortable urge to actively pet this dog and moosh his face but it wasn't his dog so he resisted. Not like the other would even notice, right? He was blind. He wouldn't notice anything at all. He could be dancing right now and he wouldn't notice. He wouldn't even notice. But affection was a sign of weakness and he didn't want that out into the open at all. Might attract more friendly people. He was better off just not paying any attention to this canine friend and just go home and moosh Scott's face. Wouldn't be the same but damn well close enough, right? Plus it was Scott who was his best little buddy. "Jimmy-6, right?" he asked, still looking at the dog. If anybody had been looking they would probably guess he was asking the dog rather than the other person. Then again, he probably was. Dogs were so much easier to talk to.

[Deon De Soto]

The mastiff leaned into the pats on the neck, carefully attempting to maneuver the affectionate touches to one of his sweet spots on the chin or on the cheek maybe, but the patting ended before he could even finish the thought. Perhaps the wrinkles gave him more expression, or the dark spots on his brow emphasized his emotions, but the dog watched the hand retreat with a distinct pair of sad brown puppy dog eyes. His ears lowered and he waved his tail slowly, pitifully and he took a step forward with the intent to nudge. But before he could get anywhere near the stranger, a familiar hand took hold of the handle strapped to the leather harness that barely encased the mastiff's substantial girth.

Suddenly, it was work time. Pats had no place in the work place, but the mastiff still gave the bulge in Doyle's pocket a few side glances as he was steered away. At the other end of the leather handle, Deon pulled awkwardly, trying to edge Jimmy-6 into a place by his side. His brow was furrowed in confusion- the dog was normally incredibly quick to obey requests and only takes one or two tugs on the leash to gain his attention. But this day, Jimmy was somewhat reluctant to move away, and it left Deon confused but wondering. It was enough distraction to almost have him miss Doyle's displeasure at the wording slip from before.

"A stranger is just a friend that you haven't met yet." Though Deon couldn't see his momentary companion, his keen ears allowed him to find and then casually wink in his direction, his face lit up by a lop-sided grin. Though his smile remained confident and a little coy, he ended up hesitating slightly to rub at the back of his neck in what seemed like a sheepish gesture. It matched his furrowed brow however and he did take a moment to readjust his hold on the box before looking up again. "Speaking of which, I never introduced myself. My name's Deon. We're just going down to the other end of this floor, to the Radio Shack. We've had a bunch of scanners that need some re-soldering and one of our former employees offered to do it."

He paused briefly to hear of the young less than friendly stranger had a name to offer, but it was in his nature to talk and share stories, so it was hard not to launch right into an explanation of the somewhat hefty box he had slung under one hand. As he talked, he gave Jimmy a pat with one hand and the mastiff lurched into motion like a car with a bad transmission. Deon took hold of the handle with his free hand, carrying the box with the other, which spared Doyle the handshake that would normally follow an introduction. Part of Deon seemed to notice and wanted to take a moment to do the formal hand-to-hand contact of normal social interaction, but his far louder observant side decided that someone as seemingly uninterested in the world as this young man was, skipping the handshake was probably for the better. It was too much a formality anyway. People shake hands during political debates and after sports games when the coach says so, it was not nearly as necessary when out and about. Maybe Doyle would be able to relax more without the handshake, maybe he'd think Deon was more relaxed, wouldn't feel so obligated- Deon really didn't want him or anyone else to ever feel obligated to help him. But what if it comes off as unfriendly? Or rude? What if Doyle had put his hand up expecting a handshake and Deon had just walked away? That would be embarrassing.

Why was he worrying about this so much?

[Brandon Doyle]

"Doyle. And trust me, I'm not a friend waiting to happen. I already don't like you" He stated simply, following him. Part of him really wanted to just walk away; that was the part of him who knew himself well enough. The other part was still curious. He still wanted to ask questions. He didn't feel bad for him, mind you. He figured that was his business and he looked well figured out. But he had never met somebody who was blind who seemed to care about Spider-man. Or anybody who was blind at all, to be fair. He met a deaf kid once in the fourth grade and he remembered that he got in trouble because he would just sit behind him and talk crap about him to him and the kid never knew. He never got why he got in trouble since it did no harm, right? The kid didn't hear it. Like if he flipped off Deon who would care? Certainly not him. Though he felt like given his tones and the fact this man still expressed any interest in conversation, he could probably know and still be fine about it. And something about that was almost adorable. But that was another conversation for him to have with himself later.

"So you named your dog after a character that I believe exclusively appeared in comic books. Would it be terribly invasive of me to ask how you even read comic books?" He asked curiously, not knowing that there was a whole tactile thing going on with comics. He just assumed they made the text brail or whatever and you don't really get much out of just the text, right? His curiousity was far too powerful right now. Though he also wanted to ask questions on how he has pretty nice hair without seeing it or ask how many times he was hit with balls in gym... but that thought became a dirty joke in his head pretty quickly and he snorted quietly to himself, amused by his own thoughts. As they walked he heard a rather annoying humming of some girl passing them and looked at her as she looked at him with a smile on her face that was far too cheerful for his comfort. She went into the Spencer's so he knew not to go back with him. Then again he had never really considered going that far. He had a question and he was going to get an answer then he was going to leave. That would be it. If he DID it would be for the dog entirely. Maybe he could sneak some pets in. Speaking of things he realized he had not been wearing his sun glasses which wouldn't be an issue if he didn't look like crap. But he did. He put them back on slowly, pretending like he wasn't rushing to do it.

[Deon De Soto]

"Not terribly invasive, no." Deon said casually, pausing momentarily to adjust his grip on the box again.

He let go of the handle on his dog's harness to use both hands to wedge the package into his far armpit, where one hand could keep it from being dislodged by gravity. For his credit, Jimmy-6 remained in place obediently, panting somewhat lazily without extending his tongue and waiting until a familiar jerk rocked his harness, at which point he resumed forward motion. He weaved casually around a girl coming the other way, somewhat unnecessarily as she was at a reasonable distance but the dog was trained to do what he was trained to do. He moved back to Doyle's side again when a standing sign in front of a hair salon blocked the path again. Deon followed his companion's lead without question, at a faster pace than usual- the dog was trained to keep pace with company when with other people, so Deon assumed that was what was going on and it honestly comforted rather than alarmed him. Doyle wasn't taking his time, wasn't lollygagging, waiting for the poor blind sap to catch up. He just walked and Deon just walked with him, a human being rather than a blind person. So the questions didn't bother him at all. Curiosity was healthy and it was a quest for knowledge that he could understand. He took it as a compliment actually.

"My brothers and I would read them together. I'm from South Africa you see, where the rich are poor and the poor are poorer, and we were not rich. Comic books were the only thing that we could afford to do on a saturday afternoon." Hearing himself fall a bit, he paused, made a bit of a face and started again, a little more upbeat this time, which for normal people probably sounded unnecessarily so. He was pretty upbeat as a general rule. "I read most of the various Spiderman series before I went blind. I liked his villains a lot. Not that Jimmy-6 was a villain for very long but he was introduced as one, so I liked him first and even after he joined up with Peter Parker, it was hard to hate him."

"This guy is no mob boss, but he's a big boofa, I thought it fit." He paused to give the dog a fond few pats on the rear end, to which Jimmy responded with a fond wag of his tail and a nosing of Deon's hand, which came up to give him a relaxed rub on the head. Then Deon patted his leg and called the dog forward- he hadn't stopped walking but the mastiff had, leaning into his head rubs and pets like he was a car that used them for fuel, so Jimmy had to trot a little to catch back up so Deon could grab his handle again. "Plus it's a better name than Green Goblin or Lizard or any of the obvious ones. And his dad was Kingpin so I couldn't do that."

[Brandon Doyle]

"I can see it" Doyle offered him as if it mattered, looking away from them "My mom wouldn't let me name my dogs after anything Spider-man related. Which is a shame. She caught on to me pretty quickly when I tried to name them Norman, Harry, and Peter." he said "I shouldn't have taken her to the movies" he thought out loud. He was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

The longer this interaction stretched out the more he wanted to leave. He could see their destination and the moment they got there he was going to make a very swift exit. He didn't even bother to come up with an excuse, actually. He didn't need to. He already told the man he didn't like him, right? Would he honestly be more offended? He probably wanted this to end as much as Doyle did.

[Deon De Soto]

Jimmy-6 led his owner around a small group of people as their chat continued. The onlookers were off to the side, far from being dramatically in the way and the move to avoid them was more a formality than it was a necessity but Deon followed his companion obediently. He was just that kind of a person, to trust and follow and live and let live. He had no trouble trusting his four-legged friend to lead him away from danger, it wasn't weird to him, and he took to his first dog Joker like most children take to video games- it was perfect for him. He got to trust and bond with another living thing as part of his daily life and no one found it weird or annoying that he expressed a desire to take his dog everywhere. He never once questioned them, never once wondered if the dog maybe had smelled a treat or a toy and was leading him astray. It was a comfort, secure feeling to be attached to a dog. So Deon didn't once deviate from their conversation. He noticed the slight wobble to their path and recognized it as an obstacle, which he waited until they were clear of, in case it was between himself and Doyle, whom despite their earlier conversation Deon was already labeling a friend- just in his head this time rather than out loud-but once they were on the straight and narrow again, Deon responded hastily and with a bit of almost childish earnest.

"Oh that's clever." He started with a soft bit of laughter. "I'm surprised that she figured it out at all. I mean, not that your mom's not intelligent, that's not what I'm saying but I wouldn't have figured it out I bet, if it were me and I was sapped of my comic book knowledge. I would've thought it a Harry Potter reference. Do you read the Potter series? Or a better question, does your mom?"

He tried to hide the hopeful tone in his voice. Doyle hasn't been in his company for long but his guarded nature was shining through like a metaphorical diamond. Even the blind man could see that the younger man didn't talk much, maybe not in general but probably about himself- guarded reserved people are usually mostly guarded and reserved about themselves- but it's fair that Deon was assuming. His attempts to push total strangers away from him with exaggerated insults and a lack of general concern for others, which Deon noticed but just never bothers to say anything about, was not a problem for the laid-back singer but did suggest something about the high schooler. What it suggested, or what he was trying to hide, Deon was keen to find out, it sparked a curiosity in him that was burning, so he ventured a go at a question of his own. But part of him expected Doyle to recoil like a cornered serpent, perhaps spit some more poison at him to get him to quit poking him. But Deon was a determined lot. He grew up in a world of black mambas and man-eaters, he wasn't scared of a little venom.

[Brandon Doyle]

"She doesn't have time for reading" Doyle stated simply. She probably did but she worked a lot and when she was home she was usually so exhausted that instead of opting for reading or going out she usually opted to lay around and watch tv and try to drag Doyle into the room to talk about his day. Which he never really wanted to do. What was there to say? He did the same things every day and none of them were either important nor something he wanted to talk to his mom about. Didn't ever stop her from asking, though. But between all of that he was pretty sure she didn't read. He never tried to make assumptions about the woman seeing as he didn't know her all that much to be completely honest with himself.

"Maybe she has seen the movies, though. You two are like the same age, yeah?" he raised an eyebrow, arms finding their way into a crossed position "maybe you two could be friends. Can talk eachother to death." he added, frowning. He honestly had no concept of the age of this man other than probably older than him. Simply because he looked older than a teenager. He could be anywhere from 19 to 40 for all he knew. Though if he was actually the age of his mom, he had to admit he aged well. That is one physically fit middle aged man. Then again, if he were closer to his age he STILL aged very nicely. He was just nice looking, okay? Nice. Doyle let out a frustrated grumble "I don't read much anymore" he said honestly "I used to" he sighed. He literally only stopped reading because his sleeping problems had become worse and the worse it got the harder it was to concentrate on words across a page. Even drawing had become harder and he found himself putting less detail in his work then he used to. Though his style has still improved, he just didn't have the energy for the finer points anymore.