Jess returns his hands to his coat pockets. He thinks the other has a few inches of height on him, but it's difficult to tell exactly with Credence's stooped posture. He presents Jess with his shoulder like it's the one and only buffer standing between him and some imagined unpleasantness. A punch, or a kick, or a whip.

God only knows what a person has to have done to them to make this kind of apprehensiveness a learned habit. How high up his arms do those marks go? If Credence took his shirt off, what kind of history would he find mapped out on his skin?

Jess isn't sure he wants to know.

In that second of shy eye contact, Jess makes the decision to say more. With anyone else, he might have left it at that, but the more time around Credence, the more it's apparent Credence isn't quite like everyone else. And that's not just in reference to his unflattering hairstyle.

"We'll probably see each other around the inn more often than not if you're sticking around. If you'd feel more comfortable learning some knife handling firsthand, I can show you a few things," he offers. Maybe that'd help get him more relaxed with the idea of carrying a weapon. "And yeah, of the unofficial variety, but I do it on my own time. What about you? What brought you out tonight?"