Botanist Lvl. 1

While he may appear a pretty princess--and perhaps, holds many of the same accents (do not dare place a pea beneath his bed or his inability to sleep would be the least of ones problems), he certainly does not have the same concept of...manners. He is not so unobservant--in fact, quite the opposite, and the over-sized squirrel seems to catch his attention before the presence of the wolf that follows it, a scowl creasing across his face as one lip ever so slightly lifts in a measure of disgust. He seems to be waiting for her to properly introduce herself, and when such an introduction does not come, he meanders on over towards her on surprisingly dainty feet with a just-as-delicate trot to his person, and brings himself uncomfortably close. He seems careless of her size in comparison to his own--not a tremor, not a hint of fear behind those pallid eyes. Only annoyance. He assumes she's not hunting him-- if she were, she would have been making far more an effort to conceal herself-- and instead, he speaks in the same tone of voice he'd used with the squirrel. That is; a compete lack of fucks have been given.

"Can I fucking help you, or you got a staring problem?" Though his accent is decidedly and very light French, and could have even been sweet were he a softer person, instead it comes off as just barely not a mobster, staring down a subject prepped for interrogation.  His eyes quickly flash over her, and it could be mistaken for classic 'elevator eyes', had he not stopped to examine her limb for a moment too long, perhaps.  Tender, is it? Her weight isn't resting on it properly. "Unless you're here to start some sort of shit, make yourself useful and start plucking the petals off of those flower heads." he states, gesturing a wee paw in the direction of the floral pile. Well? "Get to it."