Young Hal Jordan (aged 10)

Upon recovery from his fall to the sidewalk, Oliver noted the kid was scrappy looking, he had messy dark hair with a ginger tint to it, and wore the baggiest clothes Oliver had ever seen including a massively oversized brown fighter pilot’s jacket and a pair of high top black converse shoes. “Ow! Hey! Watch where you’re…? Oh… say, what’s wrong with you?” The boy asked, realizing Oliver had scraped up his knee as he was wearing a rather fancy looking English style grey tweed playsuit and shorts. “I’m sorry…” Oliver whispered. “You’re ok. Here, I got a bandaid in my pocket and a clean wipe. I’ll fix you right up! …Say, I’m Hal… by the way, who are you? …Nevermind you’ll tell me on the way! Come on, kid, let’s get out of the street before we’re hit or something.” Hal spewed out, he was a bit of a fast talker for a boy no older than ten years of age. Oliver blinked as Hal took his hand and lifted him up, “um…I’m… I’m Oliver.” “Ah! Well, If you don’t mind me sayin’ You look kinda funny, Oliver. What's with the monkey suit you’re wearing?” “That’s mean… my daddy… daddy is a very important man! And… and I’m su’ppose to look sm… sm… smart.” Oliver stuttered. “Say, You… you talk funny! And dress funny too. Ah! S…see… s’ not nice!” Hal laughed as he took Oliver to a less crowded location and hopped up on a concrete ledge to walk it around and around with ease, “Su’ppose I do! And no, I’m not “nice”! What’s with the stupid accent you got? Are you… English or something? Nice isn’t a good thing here!” “Huh? I don’t understand.” Oliver stuttered. “And another Little tip, Oliver Twist; Don’t insult people’s clothes! Actually…this thing I got, the jacket was my dad’s… he’s a fighter pilot. …or well… he was.” Hal rambled.