A slow pace he sets, a leisurely stroll, one of which he is fond of. Weir does not like to hurry through life, not unless hurry is truly needed. He found most of the time it was not, that others rushed about unnecessarily.
He nods, sending russet colored hair flying about his face and neck. "I'm afraid that's not the case." He begins, though he knows little of the Gates ordeal, just enough to know it was a foul thing indeed. In regards to the magical entities that the fae had bestowed on them, he was still learning. "The gifts are all still very young my good man, vulnerable in their infancy. I speculate this is how the tree was damaged in such an extensive way." His amber eyes are thoughtful, yet calculating, it was apparent that he did not approve of the manner in which some Kingdoms conducted themselves. "Good apples, bad apples, there's all kinds that make the world go around. I like to think myself a good apple." He solidified the reflection with a nod, as if that would make it concrete.
He knew he couldn't be a bad one, why, the pool of souls had set him at ease. "Have you traveled far Phaedrus? We can stop a bit ahead at the river for a drink." He turns his amber eyes to the black in question. It wouldn't do to go around dying of thirst, he would be an awful host if he allowed it. Finally he asks the question at the tip of his tongue, "Why, do you mind? The blue, did you come about it at birth or a happy accident?" He thought it a magnificent quality, blue hair, however had it occurred?
WEIR
If you hurt me, that's okay baby, only words bleed
