They haven't had very many onlookers to watch their shows - their acrobatic freaks and whips and magic tricks. Despite this, they very much had a living, breathing audience of their own. They were their own audience, watching and always anticipating something interesting to come out and play. Tequila, of course, found tortures to be an exquisite pastime himself. He's heard all kinds of amusing stories, the faces the captives would make when being pulled against their will and reshaped into a monstrosity, reflecting the twisted hearts of The Berserkers. It was when Tequila recognised a new scent crossing their hypothetical border that the boy knew exactly what had happened. A new clown to entertain him with their rain of cries and shrills. He wonders if they could sing him a song instead, perhaps even play an instrument like violin or piano... well, provided the clown didn't lose any fingers.

Tequila approaches calmly with no more but his pointed nose and placid smile appearing upon his fringe-covered face, his bell earrings swinging gently from the motion of his strides. He stops beside the Egyptian woman, hearing her snide about the clown's appearance. His face lights up (though it's difficult to tell considering most expressions are seen through his lips). A cat boy? Like a hybrid then, another monstrosity born from the ashes of mankind. He feels oddly excited, so excited in fact that he lowers himself to unbuckle his boots, pulling them off his feet and letting his toes rest on the cold earth so he can feel the tremors of movement beneath him. As he has said before, Tequila has sensitive feet, so sensitive that he uses his boots to muffle most of what he was capable of feeling. This, however, was a special case. He has something to zoom his attention on, more than ready to feel the agonised squirms of the clown. As long as Maverick kept the show going with his talking, echo-locating the male's movements should be a cinch.

"Handsome catch," the seventeen-year-old says, almost purring his amusement. He presses his hands against his cheeks in a playful manner, a childish aura radiating from his overwhelming interest in the clown. "Oh he has a tail!" He has noticed the way an extra appendage seemed to fidget in nervousness, like as if the confident and 'fearless' words the male had been spewing was all an attempt to appear calm. Tequila points to where he believes the direction of the tail to be, bells chiming along with him. "That's a tail right? Is it fluffy?" He sure hopes it is. He's never met a mutated person before...or at least he's never met a person with a tail. "Does he have ears too? Can I pet them?" When it came to situations such as this, Tequila was bound to act younger than he actually was. He simply couldn't help himself.