Though he doesn't encounter a vast variety of languages these days and his work's focus is in other directions, Joshua retains much of his linguistic knowledge, his training and work as a translator. "Douxange." The boy's surname - from the French, he thinks, or some variant - is unusual, but the wastes are full of those. Names people have made for themselves or names that have been jumbled over generations. He half-wonders what the case is with this boy, but it isn't a question to ask now.

Joshua gives the room a quick but thorough survey, seeking the Courier, seeking signs of threat; he finds neither. Well. For the time being, it can't hurt to continue speaking with this boy. Something about him - the instinct to apologize, a sort of raptness, the set of his shoulders (the boy looks frail, but coiled, capable) - makes conversation not entirely unpleasant. And Joshua does try to speak with those who wish to talk, who have something to give voice to. This boy hasn't yet run; perhaps there is something he wishes to say.

"Are you from around here?" Of course not, but at times it does no good to speak assumptions.