[ nyx hears the soft sound of something clicking over the worn out rooftops and turns from his place perched up high on one of the somewhat sloping tiled eaves. the man that moves towards him looks well-used to the height, moving so precisely that there's no doubt in his mind the noise he creates is purposeful (there are people who want to be heard and people who don't care if they're heard).

he'd come up here because the cloying streets below had started to get to him. he doesn't mind cities, really, he lived in the slums of the crown city for long enough to know how to wind around others, but there's something in this place that makes him desperately home sick.

he hadn't needed a new home (but he had--he didn't belong to that one anymore now did he?)

he tips his head just a little bit, arms hanging down at his sides, his only knife sheathed at the small of his back, the other one very obviously empty and devoid of its partner. ]

Rooftops tend to be quiet places. It's why I like 'em so much.

[ he offers the other no smile, but no real frown either, eyes curious, examining as he takes a few paces to the side, but neither forwards nor backwards--exploratory. ]

Though I guess with so many people from all these different places, there's bound to be a little more foot traffic up here now.