“We shouldn’t talk about sex. It’s vulgar, isn’t it.”
Reaction to female power attack or refusal to be affected, seduced.
Ok to do sex, but not to discuss sex. Aware of the intricacies, and the meaning-scape of words, the realm he feels vulnerable to women in.

Minstrel boy all submission to the motherly embrace of a wise lover. All caustic and insulting when he discovers that her gifts to him are as open and trusting as he is, and contain no icy break at the end.
Fucks his perception of the world right up.

Tressuz had been anxious to get back to business after the rescue. Or, he’d exagerrated this to Amamia, he wasn’t certain why. It was true there was something off-putting about Boss Curiosity, and it wasn’t just the things he’d been told by him of late, the things that had whetted his appetite for opportunity. So, he figured, one way or another, if he did what Curiosity wanted (also perhaps what Tress thought he *might* want) good things would come out of it for himself.
He fingered the rope in his sack, wondering.
It seemed he would have time in his hands in the forest hamlets. The crater and its caves. THE BAKERY. The mad moon mother. The hermitage, even the old cursed wizard laboratory. His heart wanted to free itself from his lumbering skin.
Waterlogged serpents with slimy snakes in their mouths. Red serpent girls with lichen on their skin. Night women washing the blood from a dead man’s cloak, or hidden three of them under a lake, in red frothing. The spinning yarn at the side of a pool, yarn trailing deep into the water. Pepper, tadpoles, birds eggs in unreachable overgrown places.

Tesh has very light, brittle blond hair (and a crystal mind). He tries to grasp faeries on the wind when he’s not marching about some purpose. He discovers mushroom cellars under orchards.
Tesh tries to keep learning, evolving, changing, from different situations.[Vision jumps you to different perspectives – telescopes, mountain-abysses, gods the size of caterpillars, doors in shallow pools.]

Black clouds blasted fresh torrents of water into the muddy, churned fields. He made his way alone in the pitch black, feeling the ache of cold in all his bones. Pawing, clawing his way through the black walls of rain. Kicking, even slipping through the mud, all the while with eyes closed, grinning.

Drifter/busker lad, who is kind but relationship-wise, emotionally, he fires when the target is not there and does not fire when it is. He is overwhelmed by himself, and is somewhat aware of this, but finds it easier to elicit pity/comfort rather than anything really constructive.
Tris finds the police a level of reality that does not flow real to him. ‘men are beasts’

Tesh also loves to destroy beautiful things.

He’s a rabbi catcher, an adventurer, a bit eccentric in a practical way, he conjures things out of string and a broken piece of wood to sort things out or at least give it the semblance. yee-ha.