There's a boy crouched up in the tree several branches above Daine, looking like a small and strangely rock'n'roll monkey-- and indeed, he's nearly as ease in the tree as a monkey might be, bare toes curling to cling to the bark. He's heard her talking to the squirrels, and is frozen listening to her progress, caught between delight and curiosity and apprehension. He's never met a kid before, not a human kid, and he doesn't know what this one's doing here, but he knows he wants to meet it. Or her. Or him. Or whatever. He's not actually entirely sure how you tell with human people; an upbringing whose only human contact has been with glam rockers hasn't given him a very clear idea in that regard.

A leap and a scurry, and a few moments later, a head swings down through the foliage to peer at Daine, wild sandy mullet and eyes that seem to take up a good half his face, and a twitching smile at the corner of his mouth, attached to the body of a six year old Vince Noir, hanging from his knees from a branch. He looks nearly painfully skinny, and his t-shirt has his own name in glittering pink rhinestones across his chest.

'Alright?' he offers hopefully. 'Who're you?'

Despite the improbability of it, his accent is still thoroughly Cockney urchin.

The squirrels in the branches chitter their laughter, wanting to know why she's got all that stuff around her legs, she can't hardly climb in it! and Vince waves a hand at the nearest of them. 'It's clothes, people wear them, you know that.'