[He takes a seat on a nearby outcropping, sweeping his coat behind him as he does. Joyce shifts away, though his attention is still on the rock he found earlier.]

[Keats is a good listener. It's a part of his trade - it would hardly do for him to be distracted while someone is telling a story he needs to report. But even so, he finds it hard to remain impartial when she nears the end of her tale. Instantly, he sits up more straight, his brows furrowing together in an obviously displeased expression.]

Goodness. [He says, with a scoff, like he can't believe what he just heard.] To think there's scum like that out there...

[He folds his arms, his expression stern as ever.] What happened to him? Did he get arrested? Punished for the crime he was going to commit?