Harper
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
"At least you're honest!" Harper laughs softly, popping another piece of bread in his mouth. "It used to practically be my job, training people to fight at pretty intense levels. If you ever want to train with me, just let me know okay?" The sincerity of his gaze seems to promise that Oliver would be more than safe in Harper's capable hands if he so chose to pursue lessons with the former assassin. As he finishes his bread - finally quieting the grumbles of his stomach from hours left unsatiated - he friend, flicking crumbs off his pants to keep himself busy. "That's what I don't get. We don't get a choice when we come here, and where I'm from - though I've never met a god there, only metahumans and demigods - the idea is that they're supernaturally kind and free of human flaws like us." Lifting his gaze to Oliver's he gives an apologetic look. Understanding how it feels to be shunned for something you can control. How people had looked at the blood on his hands, acquired before he even hit his teens, and didn't care to try to understand how it had happened. Different, but relatable enough. "It's certainly not a priority for me, but thank you for offering." It's probably safer for Oliver that way anyway. He's likely to get himself cursed with his big mouth and strong opinions.
The change in topic he is happy to allow, and brightens at the idea of putting on shows again. Something he'd never allowed himself to even consider with a city to protect. The lack of responsibility here is throwing him off kilter, but perhaps it's more freeing than he first expected. "I'll have to hunt him down! And someone to build me some equipment!" Couldn't put on a show without a trapeze, or a tightrope, or any other manner of items to assist in death defying acts.
