The uniformity of human movement is a fine thing. It sets a pattern, a kind of background noise. Against which atypical gaits or gestures serve as markers or signs, signals of some difference, the importance of which can then be determined.
A Hunter knows this. Or better know it. Knows that, even if you're not searching, you're always looking. For tracks, traces, signs. Because you don't hunt prey. Not until the end. You hunt tracks.
And so Kid picks up Hector right off the bat. Its in the way his fellow Cahalith uses his body, navigates the world. Everyone else out here is jogging, speed-walking. Moving at a steady, mindless pace. Not Hector. Hector seems impelled by a different force, a different beat. Hell, he's got his very own time signature.
Kid doesn't get up though, just watches (from the corner of his eye) the Iron Master make his sudden, jolting stop.
"Yeah, sure is," Kid replies. One hand is already freeing a tall boy from the plastic bag. "Time of day don't hurt either. Always love evening light on the water." Offering the beer subtly to his company. "Come on and sit down, enjoy it with me."
When Hector collapses beside him, Kid sets the proffered refreshment on the ground between them. It's there for his companion if he should want it.
"How's it going? With me?" He returns Hector's grin, though his smile is more warm than dreamy. Inviting, unguarded. His eyes likewise. "Good as always, friend." He plucks the rollie from between his lips and takes a gulp off his own beer. "Trying to learn what's what with this town. Get settled in, yeah?"
He offers the half-smoked cigarette to Hector, a token of camaraderie, "How about you? What's been up with ol' Hector?"