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The Jackal didn’t remember his original name, or if he even had a name before his parents had abandoned. Maybe they just called him kid. Or maybe they didn't call him anything at all.
The orphans he picked up didn't have names either, or at least not any name he could make sense out of, which was why he gave names to them, small and bony and dying of thirst. Like he had been. He didn’t give them stupid shitty names like the Jackal, though. But back in the old days they never bothered to call him anything else. Back in the old days, things sucked a whole lot more. Space in the old hideout was cramped to the point where even squeezing in a 11-year-old, who had nothing to his name and was desperate for a place to call home, was tough. Now, five years later, he had space for his band of several dozen and more, and private quarters for himself. The Jackal allowed very few into the latter - himself, and then the orphans, and now, this diva who had followed him across an ocean and who kept peering at the rough dirt walls as if they would eat her alive.
“What?” Jackal snarls, though he doesn’t mean to be this unfriendly, not after she was so nice and helped out with that battle. Even if her songs were a little weird. “There are plenty of more hospitable places around if you don't like it here. Especially if you fit in with normal society.” She looks at him for a split second but says nothing, instead peering at her surroundings with a critical gaze and daintily smoothing out her periwinkle overskirt as if some grimy aura in the air had collected there. He laughs, a low and growling sound. “So? Whaddaya think of my grand castle?” he asks, sarcastically.
“Only a smelly brute would stay in a place like this,” she declares immediately. “Are there even any baths around here?" He bristles at the thought of wasting water on something as leisurely as a bath, but she continues loudly. "Well, anyways! I guess I need somewhere to sleep for now, so I’m staying here!” He rolls his eyes, noticing the hordes of kids who had popped up, intrigued by the sudden conversation between their snarly leader and the mysterious peppy lady.
“Listen, if you’re going to stay here, I need you to help wrangle these kids,” he hisses, lowering his volume and gesturing at them. "It's late. It's bedtime or whatever. I dunno. They need to go sleep." Praline rolls her eyes this time. “I’m an idol, not a babysitter,” she complains, but she herds away the unruly kids and tucks them into their makeshift beds all the same. She even sings a soft lullaby, sweet and gentle enough to make even him start to doze off, until her slight giggle at the end of the song snaps him awake.
“What?” he snarls.
“You looked so cute and sweet, like a little baby,” she replies cheerfully. “Hasn’t anyone ever sung you lullabies before? Anyways, where should I sleep?” Jackal shrugs and waves a hand at a random place on the floor near the kids’ beds. She gasps, clearly affronted.
“What?” he snarls again. “I’m not giving you MY bed, if that’s what you wanted to know.” “How could you let a GIRL sleep on the floor, is what I want to know!” Praline exclaims. “Have you ever had a girlfriend? No? I didn’t think so! That is so rude to me!” She’s so loud some of the kids stir at her words, but rather than fighting her he decides to give up. It’s late, he’s thirsty, he has a headache, and he’s on edge from having a new presence in his personal areas.
Once she’s snoring, though, Jackal puts himself right to sleep on the edge of the bed. Since the stupid diva takes up most of the space.