Wishing for probably the millionth time that he had some kind of night vision powers, Foggy frowns into the darkness at the youthful-sounding voice across the hall. He doesn't have the senses of anyone better than regular, but at least he can judge the height difference from experience, and assume he's probably right in guessing this is a young woman who isn't looking for trouble from him.
"I'm not sure anything's normal in this place," Foggy tells her, cautiously. Still clinging to his bat, he slowly relaxes until it's just resting against his shoulder. He's stiff and anxious, but not unwilling to help, even feeling that edge of panic and concern lingering on his periphery.
He pauses briefly when a door down the way opens, but the sense of relief when it closes again doesn't fully return him to start. Instead, the tension is only increasing and Foggy frowns, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "I've heard it happens a lot, but this is my first time."
Leaning back against his door, the bat slips down to rest against the floor, now a makeshift walking stick. "Don't open your fridge if you've got perishables," he notes morosely, thinking back to that one time way back in the day when doing just that had left a long-lasting impression. Luckily, he's got about the least sensitive stomach of anyone he knows, so it's only left an impression, not a total aversion. "Oh, and I've got some canned stuff. I could grab you one or two just in case?" Presented as a question just in case she's adverse to charity or taking cans from strangers – the last thing Foggy wants is to make a nice neighbor feel unsafe around him.
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"I'm not sure anything's normal in this place," Foggy tells her, cautiously. Still clinging to his bat, he slowly relaxes until it's just resting against his shoulder. He's stiff and anxious, but not unwilling to help, even feeling that edge of panic and concern lingering on his periphery.
He pauses briefly when a door down the way opens, but the sense of relief when it closes again doesn't fully return him to start. Instead, the tension is only increasing and Foggy frowns, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "I've heard it happens a lot, but this is my first time."
Leaning back against his door, the bat slips down to rest against the floor, now a makeshift walking stick. "Don't open your fridge if you've got perishables," he notes morosely, thinking back to that one time way back in the day when doing just that had left a long-lasting impression. Luckily, he's got about the least sensitive stomach of anyone he knows, so it's only left an impression, not a total aversion. "Oh, and I've got some canned stuff. I could grab you one or two just in case?" Presented as a question just in case she's adverse to charity or taking cans from strangers – the last thing Foggy wants is to make a nice neighbor feel unsafe around him.