Dark eyes linger upon the woman's arms, watching as she moves to smear the cream up and down her limbs, seeking to hide the marks and lines that mar her skin as he simply continues to watch- unable to understand why she seeks to hide this part of herself. Scars are simply scars, the marks of battle fought and won, proof only to the deviant of the strength of the woman, after all, only the victorious live to earn scars and as such the male simply does not understand this behaviour any more then he understands her misguided beliefs of beauty. He simply does not see what others do, cannot be made to perceive any imperfection upon her, his fractured mind utterly unable to find attraction in appearance alone. He desires her company because she is female, because she is powerful, capable, driven by nature and instinct alone to seek the most suitable female partner- her appearance having truly little to do with his attraction towards. He does not perceive beauty in others- he never will, her make up a waste upon him entirely as he simply allows his head to tilt before his attention is rapidly captured by the lipstick, chewing rapidly now upon the creamy red stick despite the mess it seems to make of his face. The cloth the curly-haired woman moves to press towards him rapidly sees the boy pull away, dark eyes narrowed warily as he flinches away from her before her hands reach for his leopard ears, soothing the smooth fur as he seems to calm more readily, distracted now by her touch as a purr vibrates within his throat, the cloth wiping across his face before he seems to become entirely aware of it- pulled from the haze he seems to have settled into rapidly, beating the cloth away.

"Stop that. I...do not....like it."

His refusal to be clean is often a point of contention between himself and his pack mates, his disdain for water agitating Nadya to no end and yet her continued efforts to force him only result in the boys determination to refuse her, his desire to rebel against those who seek to command him bordering upon a need within the creature. He does not like commands, will not yield to those whom cannot force respect from him as Tetradore had done and as such he sees no need to obey that which is not more powerful than himself- Naddy simply being one of the many things he feels is beneath him. He moves to step away from Birdie now, half-wiped face hardly improving his appearance before the small patch of discoloured skin upon his neck seems to attract the woman's attention once more, features falling into a scowl yet again as he simply moves to look away, long fingers tangling with each other in a mimic of Birdies own gesture of insecurity, seemingly having inherited such a thing from the woman. The 'what' of what had happened to his neck is entirely clear to the boy and yet the 'why' remains something of a mystery, Tobi content in the knowledge alone that such a thing had been brought about by his challenge against Tetradores authority, his leaders agitation in regards to his sister something of a mystery still.

"I....was bad."

It is a shockingly simplistic sentence and yet this topic of conversation is clearly something the deviant is hardly willing to discuss, his fingers reaching instead for Birdie's forearm, beginning his destruction of her make up, so much of it ending up upon himself before he proceeds to drag her back out and into the night, ignoring the shock she clearly finds within her own reflection, pausing only long enough to scope up his ever trailing tail once more, protecting his favoured appendage from the dirt of the floor. The woman pressing closer into his side sees little more then a snort of sorts offered in response, permitting her touch and closeness all the same as the fisherman flees before them, dark eyes merely watching him go with emotionless ease before he seeks the meal he has been promised. He is perhaps aware of the approaching male presence even before Birdie's words are cut short. This is his territory, his space, the markers of such clear for any creature to see and as such his agitation readily mounts, ears and tail rapidly melting away to leave a very human appearance as those chocolate eyes peer into the darkness, focusing upon the rapidly approaching forms of others. He dislikes other men within his space, his dominant nature rebelling against their closeness, reaching to snatch at Birdie's arm, pulling her only closer against himself in a gesture any Were would surely understand. It is basal, animalistic, his ownership of her surely clear from the manner in which he guards her to the teeth marks within her neck. Aside from Tetradore, he is the dominant creature within these parts, a young male within the peak of his powers and he is hardly willing to tolerate intruders.

The warning growl within his throat is rapidly cut short by a hand suddenly slapping against his rear, eyes widening entirely in surprise as he near pivots in place to face his assailant, entirely un-used to this form of assault and as such for some moments he is merely content to stare. He has never before been slapped in such a way- by man or woman, head tilting slightly in curiosity as his mind rapidly attempts to perceive the situation, these men evidently having mistaken him for...a woman of some sort.

"I am...not a...girl!"

His voice, surely, speaks the truth in this regard, far to deep for any woman despite his rather colourful appearance and neon blue hair, the unspoken aggression that begins to seep into the air seeing the young man roll easily onto the balls of his feet. He has lived upon the streets far to long not to understand the manner of gangs, the knives drawn in clear threat seeming to initiate his own desire to protect both the territory he owns and his claimed female, one hand suddenly reaching out to slap the man whom had slapped him right back, the force behind Tobias' swing however, slapping the sailor entirely off his own feet with the force behind it, another growl spilling from his lips once more as he turns back towards the man closet to Birdie. He moves to pull the woman away and closer to him yet again, shifting his teeth alone to bare giant canines towards the man with the knife in this final warning to back away, claws sliding free from beneath his fingernails.

"Fuck off."

That he is hardly a girl is surely clear now, one man already down and struggling to stand, the boy entirely content to take out the rest if he must, merely seeking to warn him first, displaying his own evident strength now, seeking to warn the other man away before he obliterates them all, his patience hardly his virtue.

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