He can feel her fear, can feel her anxiety bleeding into him and so readily engaging that predatory side of himself as he seeks to pin her beneath him, jaws hooking over the rim of her jeans, forcefully dragging the woman back and across the ground, each muscle within his powerful form rolling and coiling as he does, hardly caring to be gentle in his actions before her fist collides solidly with the side of his face. The sudden impact sees the woman dumped unceremoniously as his paws as he pulls abruptly away, snarl spat free of his jaws as he simply slams her back into the ground once more, ignoring her shouts and demand as he proceeds to offer his own version of first aid, though why he offers such a thing cannot be said. He wipes clean that blood and dirt, exposing the depth of her wound to his attentions before abruptly pulling away, releasing her in that moment before wandering off, as if nothing has occurred before, lean form stretching and arching as his head shakes in some effort to return feeling to his face, leaving the submissive female to pick herself up as she performs her own shift- and he continues to remain oblivious to her.




He moves to sit in that moment, licking now at his own paw before proceeding to rub it behind one ear, evidently content to perform his nightly grooming ritual here and now, though given his dishevelled state is clear indeed that such a ritual may be short lived, her words receive little more than a look, dark golden eyes resting against her own before his ears fold forward and he continues to offer little more than his back, evidently of the opinion she is not deserving of his attention in this moment. She is his subordinate and if he chooses to ignore her, then ignored she will be. Cats always have been....judgemental creatures, her strike against him perhaps, resulting in this clearly irate mood as he proceeds to run that rough tongue over his own chest, shifting until his back is turned towards her, evidently content to.....sulk. He is used to being struck, hit or otherwise have things thrown at him as he pillages trash cans or chicken coops in search of a meal and as such her strike causes him little disdain, more so, he is simply content to become moody about it. He so rarely attempts to offer any form of assistance to any one, his disdain for touch in his human form and desperate search of his pack in his Leopard skin assuring stays away from others, keeping to himself and yet, tonight, he had sought to offer her....something- only to have his efforts at first aid result in his face being punched. This, he thinks, is the last time he will attempt to help another. He is not....entirely adverse to her company on some nights and as such had sought to display some indication of that towards the often lonely wolf- only to be struck and as such his volatile mood as shifted terribly into a rather agitated, moping feline as he continues to blatantly ignore her, one paw rubbing at his muzzle in some effort to alleviate the stinging sensation.




He can feel her wounds, instinct alerting him to her paw, pointing out each flaw and weakness within her to his predatory mind as she offers something akin to an apology, eyes turning back towards her, offering little more than a scowl as she seeks to explain. He is not pack or mate or friend and indeed to some extent his mind understands these words, perceiving each and yet still he seems agitated.




I am not talking....to you. Only....tried to help.




The words are snapped towards her mind, tail lashing like a spotted whip against his sides, her attempts at thanks met with a snort as he lifts himself to his paws once more, deliberately bashing past her, shoulder thrown into her chest as he moves to knock aside the smaller Were, heading back into the confines of the forest at a deliberately slow walk, the young man holding every belief she will follow, allowing her to do so though he seeks not to make it so very obvious, attempting to meander in some fashion before further deep words brush against her mind.




Birdie.....should be...nicer. Maybe Tobi....would have been Birdie's friend....but no....Birdie hit me, guess Birdie does not....want friends. Birdie will....die alone.




He knows his words will hurt. He is blackmailing her and shamelessly so, evidently attempting to make the creature feel more guilty then she already does, seeking to further bind her to himself in this fashion. That she is already within his debt a pleasing thing and yet the manipulative cat seeks more tonight.




Maybe....you broke...my face.




His face is not even remotely broken, her punch not nearly hard enough to do anything more then offer a bruise at best and yet still he teases at her, knowing well that females are....weaker, more emotional and as such he seeks to take advantage of such things, gait becoming unsteady before he abruptly and suddenly crashes to the ground in a spotted and gold heap, groaning loudly as he rolls onto his side, remaining eerily silent for some moments before finally finding the words.




Birdie will....have to get....my dinner. I am....much to hurt.




He is also much too good at faking such things. The cat, after all, is an infinitely lazy species.

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push