He continues to hold the bag of dates towards her, rain falling against his skin, running in dribbles over his forearm and staining his skin with cold wetness as he briefly moves to eye the weather with disdain, shifting slightly back within the door frame to further protect himself while the unfortunate woman is left to stand within the downpour- staring blankly towards the bag of dates he extends towards her. It is perhaps a confusion gesture for the woman, his mind given to process thoughts in a different manner entirely, those fractured tendrils of thought seeming to have made this connection between relationships and fruit as he presents the woman with his effort of understanding. Dark eyes rest firmly upon her own, assessing each reaction upon her feminine façade, searching for some hint of positivity, that he has acted correctly, seeking some form of praise like a small child holding forth a carefully detailed drawing to a parent. He understand, perhaps, that he is unlike any others, that he is....different somehow and yet the injures of his mind assure that he cannot understand, cannot truly fathom his own limitations, experiences only frustration in the wake of inability and as such his nature has grown only more and more volatile- angry at the world around him for his own inability to fit within it. He does not understand the delicate interplay of emotion in this regard, his own feelings upon the matter seemingly non-existent, emotion so rarely given to exist for the creature and yet perhaps some part of himself desires such a thing, has, in some way, understood the need to express his desire and as such he has chosen to do so...with fruit, his garbled explanation a final attempt to make the woman understand. He cannot perceive his own feelings, cannot fathom his own emotions beyond the most basic and as such is content to offer her little more then a blank stare as he waits, unable to understand anything he may be given to feel as he continues to hold her gaze.

Perhaps....he will never love her, yet some part of him desires to possesses her on a level those around him will acknowledge, something more than his teeth in her neck will display, mind making a near desperate effort to yield to her desires....to...please her in some fashion as a slow nod finally seems to tease a smile from his lips- a gesture he has come to understand often represents some form of pleasure, a learned reaction that fades just as quickly as it had arrived- the boy failing to understand any need to allow the gesture to remain as the woman's hand moves to stroke the wound upon her neck in reflection, dark chocolate eyes trailing the movement of her fingers before she managed to speak, her words slow, soothing to his mind as his head moves to tilt slightly in a look of ready curiosity as she speaks, head nodding slightly.

"Yes, Birdie belongs to...Tobi."

It would seem that it is this part along he has gleamed from her speech, his ability to understand possession a clearly powerful trait and yet perhaps such a thing is not so surprising, so much of his young life spent having the things he treasures most taken away from him in and again. Within the wake of Tetra and Naddy's disappearance and the deaths of his adoptive family the child had been left so entirely alone- at barely six years of age. He had wandered for some days, stumbling bare foot down the side of the street, following the trail of his beloved companion, driven by his own instincts in such moments, clinging to those few childish possessions he had maintained until an eventual need for food had finally brought him to the nearest garbage bin several days later. It had been a wondrous find, a half-eaten cupcake within the papers and boxes tossed aside and yet it had perhaps been one of the first lessons of life he truly remembered. Everything is fleeting, for the first time he had been without a pack, without the support of others, so many of his single battles fought against children his own age or well-meaning adults- not loner Were's ten years older and with powers that had exceeded his own. The older boy had perhaps been just as desperate, a cupcake a prize worth fighting for, a six year old a pathetically easy target despite the bite and scratch marks he had left upon the other boys arms in his desperation to keep the food he had fairly found. Aside from his accident, from the attack that had left his mind so very broken this had perhaps been his earliest memory, of picking himself up from the dirt, wiping blood from his nose and rubbing at his broken body, beaten up for a scrap of food in a fight he never hoped to win with barely the crumbs left on his fingers to lick. They would always take from him, every single thing...unless he made it entirely his own, such an even perhaps, the beginnings of his obsession with territory and possession.

Her attempts to explain the true manner of dating see his head tilt once more, eyes narrowing slightly as she explains that he truly does not need the fruits he has found, that it is merely a...test of sorts, a temporary ownership until he decides whether or not he desires to keep her, to make her...girlfriend and mate after that, his mind struggling to place each piece he is offered, those fractured tendrils slowly starting to piece together as the rain soaked women shivers once more- finding his own words now.

"We....do the....dating...now to see if I...want to keep you...yes?"

It is somewhat of a...fractured understanding and yet perhaps a simplistic version of the words she has offered, the boy seeking some form of assurance that he is correct in his thoughts before the curly-haired woman moves at last to take the dates from his and with a gentle smile, one mimicked readily by the boy now as she moves to accept 'all his dates', this connection enough for now, it would seem, the woman content to acknowledge there new 'dating' status. Her request to come out of the rain however sees him nod once more, moving to step back and away from the door- allowing the woman to come forward- before suddenly moving to block her path once more, long, lithe frame moving to lea in the doorway and block it entirely, shaggy hair tumbling back across his gaze.

"I changed...my mind. Birdie...cannot come in."

His head simply shakes before those fathomless dark pools dip once more to her own, a cunning gleam clear within them now as his arms move to fold across his chest, one long leg folding behind the other in the perfect mimic of egotism.

"You have....to pay if...you want to come in. I need....probably.....fifty kisses. Otherwise Birdie must...stay in rain."

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