"Psssst!" The source of the not-too-subtle hiss climbs his way up the wall and through the window.
Cawti glares out at him. She might be friends - or something, but anyway, they're eleven and don't need to figure out anything else yet - with a scraggly fellow Easterner, but that doesn't mean that openly associating will be good for his father's business, or for her folks.
"Go away, idiot! I mean it, Vlad, scram!" He doesn't.