He was meek enough that getting pushed around and having his food stolen doesn't stir even a finger twitch most days. Whenever they are let out for exercise, he takes to a corner, head tilted down and his hands running lightly over the dirt, sometimes picking up a stone to turn it over between the extremely long fingers of his right hand, or looking up at the sky squinting at the light. The Hanged Man was stitched into the rough material of his tunic, and someone had once tried to scare him with tales about it, but all he did was stare blankly until he was left alone.

At Jean's friendly approach, he looked up, eyes focusing for a moment before he sighs softly.