Her lowered head and folded ears saw the golden hued cat turn to face her once more, dark golden eyes held against the grey of her own as her words were offered in a gentle murmur against his own mind, the 'sound' of her unique, new, still rough against the borders of his conscious as she mutters an apology of sorts, her words a struggle for him to perceive, the girl seeking some sort of empathy perhaps though indeed she has appealed to the wrong feline if it is such a thing she seeks, his utter lack of emotion in all things assuring his ability to recognise such things within others is shockingly limited. Her attempt at an apology however, does not go entirely unnoticed, the wolf answered with nothing less than a yawn of contempt â€" determined to ignore her still, displeased entirely with her earlier actions and thusly seeking to punish her with his silence. Her words however, seem to provoke a response still, claws slicing at the earth as he turns upon her in a spitting hiss once more, having misunderstood her words, it would seem.




You are not...listening. Not...attacking. Stupid girl!




He has no patience for what he believes to be an ignorant female dog, unaware it is his own limitations that are in question within these moments as he shoves her roughly aside It is truly rare indeed for the disagreeable cat to offer anything akin to kindness, his actions simply....reaction, a learned response, a natural and instinctive response to wounds and yet he remains oblivious as to when and for whom such gestures are appropriate, failing to understand such intimacy is acceptable only between pack, mate or close friend. He is simply doing as nature insists he must, making some attempt to show the wolf how to treat her injuries- only to have her turn upon him, such things conflicting painfully within his mind and resulting in this evident bad attitude. The words that follow his rapidly marching frame displaying his discontent entirely, the male oblivious, to some extent, just how deeply his words cut against the female. He simply pulls at those threads of weakness he detects within her, poking and prodding at those parts of herself he is aware or more sensitive, seeking to hurt her- if not blackmail her emotionally. It is a perk perhaps, of his own lack of empathy and emotion, seeking to so shamefully exploit that of others, desiring to force the girl to keep his company by reminding her indeed, that without him- she has few others.




Black rimmed ears folded back at her sudden steps, the barest hint of a smirk tracing his lips at her panicked, fearful voice, pleased with how well his game is working, seeking to have her follow him, to be desperate to have his company. It is dark indeed, manipulative and entirely cruel and yet to some extent it is the only manner by which he understands any sort of friend may be earned, seeking to force her to rely on him, to fear he may abandon her. He desires her company on some level, wants her close- at least for now and yet simply asking as such does not exist within his mind, content to enforce her company by manipulating her emotion as such, the whine upon her lips earning little more than the flick of his tail as if he brushes her words aside- aware she follows all the same, just as he desires. She moves to stand beside him mere moments later, her pleas met with a dark purr of sorts as she presses momentarily against him, muzzle touching between his shoulders in a manner he clearly finds acceptable as his head rolls back in satisfaction at having his back massaged in such a manner, jaws parting to swipe his tongue the length of her face in some momentary gesture of camaraderie. He likes being in charge, he likes being.....praised and worshipped, as any cat does, enjoying this momentary fawning as she asks for his friendship again, his own deep, baritone voice finding the touches of her mind.




If you are good....then I will be your friend, yes.




His head nods in some form of assurance before he seeks to take this game another step further, large, heavy form suddenly collapsing into a heap atop the ground in a faked roll of pain, complaining rather loudly of his slightly bruised face, assured such efforts may earn him a free meal, her words ignored as her tail flicks against him, forcing a snort of sorts from his lips as he splays his limbs once more, rolling again atop his spine in some effort to appear in some way invalid. Her light teasing sees his head lift slightly once more, actions decidedly lazy as his eyes narrow slightly at her playful threat, though he offers no answer, clearly holding little fear she will tell Tet of Naddy of the incident. She moved to leap towards him, one paw batting at her in an effort to wave her away.




Cannot play....not until dinner. Birdie must....get dinner.




Evidently he is not about to ease up upon his demands, determined to have the wolf bring him something, rather than waste his own energy on such tasks, lean, skinny form unwilling to be forced to engage beyond what is necessary this night, continuing to lie sprawled within the dirt, well aware that such behaviour would be entirely un-tolerated by his pack mates and yet without there presence here this evening he is content to play up his own non-existent injures. Testing indeed, to see just how far Birdie may be pushed.




I might....die without dinner...Birdie should hurry.




It is the final attempt to provoke a response from her before he seems to reluctantly drag himself back to his feet once more, sitting back upon his hunches now, head tilting slightly as the creature regards her again. One paw extends before him, sharpened claws sliding free as he begins to trace a lazy pattern in the earth, claws sketching lines into the dirt, the animal seemingly entirely entranced by this for some moments before his head lifts again.




We will....play game. If I win...Birdie gets dinner, if I do not....I get dinner. Yes?




He does so love to make deals.

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