Davante's mention of 'delicacy' sees those chocolate eyes lift once more from his treasured prize as he moves to lick hungrily at the remaining remnants of the make-up item, eyes narrowing in clear disapproval of this sentence, head shaking softly to either side as a tangle of dirty blackened locks fall into his eyes, his refusal to wash his hair surely the reason behind the constant tangle of those otherwise luscious black strands.

"Not...delicacy. Lipstick."

That Davante clearly believes Lipstick is called Delicacy sees the Were readily move to correct the warlock, head nodding in evident assurance of such a thing as he moves to toss the now empty stick aside, allowing it to clatter and roll away into the expanse of the shop before the mention of meat seems to readily delight the every hungry young man. He is lithe in build, so many years spent underweight perhaps responsible for his entirely light frame, his constant hunger never truly seeming satisfied and yet his inability to gain much weight perhaps indicating at some other underlying problem from so very long spent within the cold embrace of the city streets. Even so, this mention of meat seems to seize the leopard's attention rapidly, the promise of a meal perhaps deeming the other man worthy of the introduction that follows, Davante's hand shaken about in the same manner in which a dog shakes a chew toy, evidently assured that shaking hands requires little more then rapidly assaulting the unfortunate limb in every direction as he offers a grin of sorts, clearly pleased with his perceived success in having understood this social gesture. The name that is offered in return however rapidly sees the younger man scowl beneath lashings of dark hair once more.

"Dav...Davant....Davan...Tee."

Despite his ability to mimic the words of others it would seem this name is...difficult, his mind seeming entirely unable to process this combination of words as they tangle upon his tongue, the lips of a leopard clearly un-designed to formulate such a phrase as frustration seems to readily seize his features at his own inability, arms folding across his chest with a sudden huff of derision.

"Is...stupid name."

That his own inability is not to blame, more so, that Davante has a 'stupid name' is clearly the problem, dark eyes roving towards the man once more, as if very near daring the warlock to argue with such a suggestion before that every curious head remains content to tilt to one side in a manner so entirely childlike that the young man is given to appear far younger than his twenty or so years.

"Dav. Dav. Dav."

The grin that alights his youthful features is surely indicator enough that he has selected his own name, in a way, for his new found companion, one eye seeming to lift slightly as if to test the acceptability of such a thing before he moves readily towards the door, stepping back and onto the docks and harbour, dark eyes readily searching for the promised meat, following the pointed finger he is offered as Davante speaks once more, so much of the man said entirely lost upon the deviant. That the meat can be re-killed however, a seemingly intriguing prospect, eyes narrowed slightly in a manner clearly wary all the same as his mind attempts to perceive this understanding. Dav, he thinks, is perhaps similar to Tetradore, a being capable of performing exceptional tasks, the type to which Tobias is often eluded such as the ability to open a can, to wear socks and place meals within boxes that return them heated. He is oblivious to things so mundane, kept so long from the human world, having not set foot within a home, store or market place in near fifteen years and as such even things so seemingly simple within the minds of others are given to prove a source of fascination to the creature in much the same way in which Davante seems content to promise a creature can be re-killed, such a game enticing to the predatory sight of himself that thrives so darkly upon the death of others, that so relishes in the ready destruction of a life. He is a childish creature perhaps, limited in certain thoughts, incapable os so much in regards to social norms and yet to believe he is unintelligent is a foolish mistake so many are content to make- the boy decidedly cunning, so very much more powerful then any other Were within the city and entirely capable of....a cruelty that so betrays his often innocent exterior, some part of the animalistic young man delighting in watching other suffer. It is perhaps this same part that is dominant, that refuses control and yet that forms obsessions of others, the dark claws of which have already begun to coil about this- Dav. The man is...valuable, a creature Tobias desires to keep for himself, one worthy of protecting, he is sure, his ability to provide meat only further enforcing such a decision within the boys mind as he moves readily towards the farmers markets.

The scent of meat sees those deep chocolate eyes readily fixate upon the far end of the market, the growing crowd however sees the younger man hesitate, if only slightly. He dislikes large groups, dislikes being touched, moving to shift closer to Davante's side in some effort to use the other man as a shield of sorts to deflect the moving crowd, so many people upon his own territory is...displeasing, the boy sure to inform Tetradore of such a breach of boundaries, unable to understand that others do not observe the Were territory lines in the same manner. Dark eyes flick widely once more, the continual motion of humans and colour and scents readily seeming to assault his senses before they reach the stall at the end, the rather large display of butchers cuts seeing the creature step immediately around the stall itself, promptly reaching up to rip free a rather sizeable lamb shank, bringing it readily to his lips before proceeding to 'have at it' just as Dav had instructed and much to the horror of several watching patrons, the owner included. Are you going to pay for that?! He continues to feast upon his stolen prize, as if the man has not stolen at all, the sharp tone to his words however, readily sees agitation spark within the volatile cat, one hand lifting slightly to weave his own brand of magic into the mind of the irate butcher, feeding his own madness and chaos into that previously sane mind. The change within the butcher is almost instantaneous, the man suddenly diving for the floor, hands over his head before proceeding to scramble beneath his own table. Their coming you fools! Hide, hurry, take cover! Several people have already proceeded to move hurriedly away from the clearly unstable man whom seems to be rapidly attempting to create bomb shelter with legs of lamb, Tobias powers intense even within this simple, small amount, the cat snickering slightly before proceeding to reach for a large ham bone- his evident pick from this stall, clutching it almost lovingly within his hands before proceeding to wander away from the crowd that has gathered about the butcher and towards the quieter, shaded end of the street once more.

"Dav has....good games. Where is...Dav's house? I want to....see it."

That he can find it regardless hardly bares mentioning, the creature content to ask all the same as those seemingly innocent dark eyes drift towards his companion once more, briefly holding the ridiculously large bone towards him, as if seemingly offering the man a bite of his newest prize, Tetra, after all, always wants a bite. It is however, within this moment that Tobias own arm momentarily brushes against his own face, the boy proceeding to jerk almost violently a moment before his fingers reach for his cheek once more, scraping over the thin, light and yet prickly hairs that have appeared in a smattering across his face. Stubble, evidently- is entirely new to the creature.

"My fur is...stuck on my face."

He has never had father, his brother, Tetradore, taken from him far before such things had ever occurred, his current falling out with his leader assuring that he can hardly ask such a thing and yet his inability to understand such a thing is surely clear if not perhaps....a little....sad, fingers clawing at his own face momentarily, evidently of the opinion he has failed to shift entirely into his human form, that such a thing is entirely normal clearly not within his mind to understand. He has, after all, be alone for a very, very long time.

"My face is...broken."

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