The hesitation within the woman seems to very near bleed into the air around her, the delicate senses of the cat readily reacting to such things as those dark eyes narrow slightly, carefully studying the language of her form in this moment, her hesitancy and insecurity perhaps, easily read by the animalistic creature that clings to his tree in some attempt at defiance of an order he is sure is to come. Yet she does not move nor act like Risque's companions, the girl seeming decidedly less domineering of the feline creature, her movements less assured, less fierce and filled with the agitation that so seems to rile the miscreant creature in turn. Indeed, were the woman not a vampire his own predatory instincts may well have taken delicate in the weakness he presumes exists within her and her indecision. He has however, been subjected to far to many of Risque's commands, having learned readily that the vampire woman did not even need to touch him to force something upon him and as such he remains wary of the flame-haired woman, despite the lack of threat both her tone and body seem to indicate. Risqué lies with her words and her form and as such the feral young man has become only more wary of those around him.

Those wide dark eyes continue to watch the woman as she seems to linger between a desire to approach and to remain where she is, his interest in the insects he had previously sought to capture rapidly forgotten as he focuses upon this new being of interest, her words seeing his head tilt slightly to the side at some effort of contemplation, struggling to perceive her meaning in these moments as she attempts to assure him she has no desire to make him go anywhere. For a moment the boy remains near entirely still, glaring beneath those lashings of hair until any further lack of movement, or insincerity in her voice sees the lithe, tall young man shift slightly away from his own cover, fingers knotting almost nervously over one another in this moment as he moves to shift forward ever so slightly himself. He is perhaps....curious of her now, after all, he had forever been a curious creature, this natural desire to explore surely the lingering drive beyond his equally as abundant playfulness- when he should choose to utilise it. Some months with Risqué however, behind the closed doors at Syn were slowly beginning to take their toll upon the man, more and more of his darker nature steadily coaxed out. It is Tetradore's presence perhaps, his Leaders stable and reliable presence that has stopped the boy from becoming entirely beyond help. He still has pack and as such, continues to cling to it.

Her question in regards to Syn itself sees the boy halt once more, readily perceiving her own tension though why she is suddenly fearful he cannot understand. He has made no move to attack her and as such cannot perceive the wealth of emotions that linger now within her mind as he scowls slightly.

"I live at....Syn."

He simply moves to confirm her words, in a way, nodding slightly as he does, having believed that this is clearly what she is asking of him as he continues to frown at her following words, arms folding across his chest in some semblance of irritation now, her words seeming only to remind him perhaps of his own predicament, one foot scuffing at the earth like a petulant child before those dark eyes lift once more to the blue of her own.

"Bad already....happened."

He gestures only briefly to the leather around his neck, the collar resting snuggly against his tanned skin before he becomes entirely content to mutter at himself, words seeming to hold no true meaning as he does, this agitated whispering continuing for some moments, indicating perhaps that he may not be entirely sane before his attention returns to the girl once more.

"I have to....go back. Otherwise she will....come to make me and I...cannot leave....Tetra."

He simply shakes his head upon his last words, seemingly entirely assured of this promise, despite the girls sure look of confusion as to much of his words. She always finds him, every time, is content to send her employees to drag him back over and over and over. Long fingers move suddenly to reach inside the pocket of his jeans, seeming to fumble for some moments before producing a terribly worn and bent piece of paper. The paper is held carefully within his hands, the boy proceeding to unfold it with far more care then he does so many other things, seeking to work the creases and lines from it before suddenly moving to close the distance between the woman and himself, evidently no longer holding any belief she is a threat as the crumpled paper is thrust demandingly towards her, closer inspection sure to reveal that this is, in fact, a photograph. It is near fifteen years old, creased and worn and battered from existing within his pocket for so many years and yet he seems to cherish it still, allowing the woman to look upon the photograph of the two boys pictured within. Perhaps she will recognise his own, younger form, hair still entirely as shaggy and dark, his, grin, when seen, still just as lopsided though he is so much smaller, so much younger. This younger Tobias is pictured beside another, an older boy, though he could hardly be more than ten within the photograph, eyes as entirely as green as they remain today though whether she recognises Tetradore from a childhood photo cannot be said. Tobias has held it all these years, used it so many times within his search for his companion, unable to understand perhaps- that he is no longer the boy in the picture and the companion he had lost. Within his mind, so very little has changed

"Tetra."

He points now to the older boy, attempting to have the woman understand, though for what purpose cannot be said. Tobias so unaware of Tetradore's role in the unfortunate woman's creation, his knowledge of vampires limited as it is.

"My brother....my pack. Have to....go back. Does...Risky have your....pack too?"

After all, if she has one pack, why not another? That vampires do not even form packs clearly has not occurred to the child-like creature as he removes the photo from the woman, tucking it back into his pocket where it belongs

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