This man wasn't English, or from a land where English was the native tongue to be exact. Amaury looked at him with bright blue eyes, letting them sail over the older male. His attire at least wasn't native to this land, nor was the man's appearance. But Amaury wasn't judging him, he was merely interested in this other foreigner. The accent sounded Arabic, something he'd heard a lot when he journeyed up to Algeria and the surrounding areas. 'Ya can bring doz in here, f' ya wan'. Ya not gonna steek me wiff it, ja?' he said, gesturing to the spear in case Machi couldn't understand his thick South African slang riddled speech. 'Ya got a name, china?' Amaury asked, extending a pair of fingers with a large joint between them.
They got onto the subject of where each other were and Amaury didn't hesitate to make conversation. 'Al... Oh, Alexandria?' he asked, remembering then English for it. Because as stupid as he seemed, brains were something that Amaury had in bounds. 'Me, ma pozzie is Mzansi. Souff Afrika, ja?' Amaury said, taking a drag of his joint, 'Down souff form you'. The pied African , leant back against the wall his sleeping bag lay next to. 'Ya can jus' shove ya self anywhere, not like ya gonna make any more mess, ja?' he chuckled.
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