It is her hands upon his own, those long fingers moving and rolling across his palms in that same and ever-repeating rhythm that so seems to soothe him, to distract those fragments of his mind from the violence that threatens to ensnare what moments of calm he has managed to proffer. He is lost, confused, frustrated, his limited understanding of emotions resulting in little more than a continued rage that simmers beneath the surface. He has spent so long away from society, so much of his chance at life robbed from him with the death of his childhood parental figures, pack and subsequent kidnapping of his single and only friend â€" leaving the boy with nothing and no one save for the fractured pieces of his own understanding, those twisted and broken fragments stuck and glued together by a child in some desperate attempt to perceive the world around him, resulting only in a loose, mashed and barely fitted jigsaw of understanding. He has never been taught to control his emotions, to understand them, to release them in any healthy manner- his single and only lesson in this regard having come at Tetradore's paws, the Alpha male having returned him entirely to his place for daring to raise a claw against him and yet this has achieved only an understanding that aggression towards his brother is unacceptable- such a lesson offering no understanding for where such frustration should be targeted- the result being a violent opposition towards every other being within his existence. It is merely unfortunate perhaps, that Birdie is the latest of his victims, the boy very near having exhausted himself through the leeching of her power, the tumultuous hurricane a physical manifestation of his own torment until the point he has merely collapsed upon the floor, mind drawn and focused upon something so simple as the patterns she traces upon his hand, mind readily absorbed by it, adoring those lines and repetition, distracting him- mercifully from the full extent of her words.

He is tired of being told he is wrong, that he is bad, that he is at fault- though it would seem no one can tell him why a word that holds little meaning for the boy as it is and yet the delicacy of the situation assures his mind cannot understand those tiny fragments and delicate details of hurt on some many levels. No one yet has given him a reason, an explanation, an understanding of Tetradores rage or any way in which to further avoid it, his repeat of these words little more than a mindless recording of such conversations held helplessly towards the woman in some desperate attempt for her to understand, to tell him where he has been wrong, to be told why his brother will no longer even look at him. He cannot tolerate this rejection, his life dictated by this single, crucial, relationship alone and with no knowledge of how to repair it the boy is left helpless, flailing upon the shores of an abandonment he cannot perceive. The womans words at last see those dark eyes lift, the slow syllables holding his attention- exhausted mind desperately reaching for them now, wrapping around each word and phrase with care, lips parting several times before her words continue to halt him, offering new information with each word that sees his mind recoil upon itself once more in a desperate attempt to understand all over again.

"I did...not know the....rules."

That this 'sex game' had come with rules, or more so, his understanding of 'rules' had clearly not occurred to him, Nadya never having mentioned such things, at least, not until she too had spoken of 'mates' and of such things being for mates alone after the game had already been played. His understanding of the world is childish perhaps, juvenile, simplistic and yet it is this utter simplicity that has so betrayed him now. He had done only what nature demand, what Nadya's powers had pushed him towards, shattering that final barrier that so saw him recoil from physical touch long enough to all both himself and the woman to do as they desired, this first push all it had truly taken to have him seek her over and over again for a physical satisfaction he had perhaps been...slower then any other young man to discover. That such a thing was not allowed, when instinct itself demands such a thing and Nadya is content to coax it from him is near impossible for the boy to fathom. He had done only what had been asked of him, content to be close to his sister in this fashion, there activities, to his mind, little more then something to be shared with a woman he had trusted so entirely to allow her so close, incapable of seeing the 'bad' so many others seemed to see, his own pitiful remnants of emotion conflicted between his desire to protect Nadya and to please Tetradore all at once, his ability to mimic those around him resulting in a large portion of Nadya's agitation and Tetradores irritation bleeding into him until his own feelings, or what exists of them, have become entirely entangled with the emotional baggage of every other party resulting in little more then a frustrated, confused and angry boy. He loves Nadya. He loves Tetradore- his understanding of such things little more then an innate and overpowering need to protect them both, a desire neither have rejected before and yet Tetradores determination to push him away over what he understands to be no more than a desire to......protect Nadya, to offer some physical display of affection and care for the woman that had brought her no harm is so entirely confusing to him that he is left little option other then to stare at the curly haired woman as she continues to explain.

"Tetra is....mad....because.....I did.....sex with....Naddy...yes?"

Those dark chocolate eyes linger upon the woman once more, this single sentence the closet he has come so far to understanding this delicate situation, seeking some manner of assurance from the woman as she suggests a need for space, that Tetradore was somehow hurt. It is this single word that sees those dark eyes widen once more, head shaking suddenly.

"Tetra is....not hurt....cannot smell....his blood."

That the boy has confused physical hurt with emotional hurt is entirely clear, evidently of the opinion the woman has accused him of physically harming his leader in some regard, eyes narrowed darkly upon her now before his head simply shakes again as she mentions that which he feels- that which his chosen leader surely feels in turn.

"I...do not....feel....anything."

This is perhaps a....bizarre thing to say, eyes peering through that every wild hair to meet her own gaze once more, the boy evidently of the understanding he does not....feel, though how or what such a sentence truly means remains to be seen, his understanding of emotion, of feeling, of anything beyond 'hungry' or 'tired'- feelings connected to physical states of being is near non-existent, so much of his temperament, his demeanour.....shameless mimics of those around him, the emotions of others merely projected through him, the boy content to express whatever those around him are given to feel and as such perhaps he is correct- he does not feel, or more so, he cannot identify what is his own emotion and what belongs to others, this a high order of thinking he has long since given up attempting to puzzle out, unable to understand 'feeling' beyond that which is physical, truly believing he does not possess such a thing, shoulders rolling slightly in some imitation of a shrug.

"Had sex with...Naddy...because....I like it....because I......can."

It is- simple, honest and nothing else, he cannot explain instinct, cannot find the words to tell her such a thing was not so much decision as it was.....nature, the boy far more animal then man in some many ways, eyes resting upon her still in some effort to make her understand before her mention of a hammock seems to distract him entirely, eyes alight with a sudden and childish delight, a mood change so sudden it is surely entirely surprising- head nodding suddenly.

"Yes. There."

One hand simply lifts to point towards the far corner of his utterly destroyed bedroom, indicating exactly where it is he seems to desire his hammock be placed, abruptly moving to lift himself from the floor and away from the woman leaning against him once more, moving to wander towards the far corner of the room, fingers tracing the fractured wood and splintered walls he had broken and damaged in his anger, speaking suddenly once more, back towards her- this voice.....deeper then normally, a smooth and liquid baritone so rarely heard, a voice that utters free of this throat only in the rarest of moments in which the wires of his mind truly manage to connect, in which that true version of himself, the man he should and would have been manages to find a breath of air beneath the ocean of injury that has so plagued his existence thus far- offering the barest and rarest of glimpses of the true Tobias- one free of confusion and stutter- though he remains turned from her still, fingers turning over a splinter of wood in contemplation.

"Raven?"

That deep, baritone voice pauses, head turned slightly, those bright mahogany eyes lacking any darkness in the barest glimpse of them she is offered in that fleeting snapshot of time.

"You are wrong. I am to blame. I was supposed to protect him that night- but I wasn't there. It is all my fault, his life is my fault and I will spend a lifetime trying to fix it. I promised them."

It is a fumbling gesture, one hand lifting to brush briefly at his bare chest in a cross of sorts, a soft, crooked grin tugging at his lips somewhere in the darkness before the deviant seems to abruptly pivot in place, dark eyes resting on Birdie once more, the boy seeming almost confused for a moment, seemingly entirely oblivious to the fact he had spoken mere moments ago, pointing towards the corner once more.

"Birdie...here!"

That she has clearly not been fast enough to begin work on his hammock bed is evidently clear, the young man oblivious entirely to those few moments in which some other part of himself had existed, a part of himself that had perhaps revelled entirely the reasons behind his seeming obsession with his companion, some part of himself blaming himself entirely for Risqué, for having failed, so many years ago, to keep his companion safe- and a lifetime dedicated to attempting to repair Tetradore's own. A selfless act....for a creature so many believe entirely selfish.

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