#ablot

Gut reaction is to disagree and argue against those words. It could be considered self-deprecating, of course, but Ryder suspects that there is more to it. An unspoken weight to the words and the thought process behind them. Something to do with the Creature's past, wherever he had come from and lived through. It has been a couple of weeks since their initial meeting in the woods but Ryder still does not know much about other's history. He tries his best not to pry too much about it, curiosity be damned.

she reaches into her bag and removes his gift, placing it in his hands. it's a collection of whitman's poems, bound in blue-green cloth and embossed with gold and white in an art noveau design.

SCORPIO

His nostrils flared, casting a plume of misty exhale out into the frigid air. The lands of snow and ice were under his protection, a place where the people he most trusted would come to celebrate with him and ask his favor.

Those times had long since past. Humanity had betrayed them. Betrayed him.

But this one? This wanderer in the tundra? He is not of mankind. Perhaps he was once, but no longer. He is a different breed, and he must learn to accept that fact. To know his rage isn't tied to this being. "I am Scorpio. Lord of the dark arts. Of the ice. Of deception and cunning."

The words have him pausing in his steps as he takes a second to glance back at other. It seems silly, in this moment, for him to have assumed that the other had anything of the like. A way of quick transportation. One look at the other and you can assume that is not the case. But he had not been truly thinking about that. Too used to his own normal and the way he is used to things working. He should have known better when interacting with the creature than to assume such things.

"I can drive you." Offer comes quickly, simple. As if the idea is a given and would have been if not for Ryder's previous assumption.

He jingles his keys as he produces them from the pocket of his jacket. Already swinging them lightly around his fingers as he turns in the direction of his vehicle. Like he needs something to do with his hands to keep himself distracted from the strangeness of the situation he finds himself in. He does keep himself slightly angled back, able to keep an eye on the creature to make sure he follows along.

"i'm almost always afraid," she says softly, her smile wry and self-deprecating. "but not of you, if that's what you're asking." if she were anyone else—anyone sane, sneers janice's voice in her mind—she would be frightened of him. he dwarfs her, looms, and she has no idea what he's capable of. but percy's only ever been hurt by the ordinary and conventional; the odd and morbid have been her solace. and she does, she thinks, have a sense for these things, an insight to intentions. it's easier with spirits, who are after all beings of energy, but a corporeal form can only obscure a person's heart to a point. and he? he's... intimidating, perhaps. but frightening? no. "my childhood was, um, complicated... it left a mark, i guess."

there is a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. the creature has nothing against young people, he simply does not know his place among them. age is a... tricky thing for him, considering not only his ageless state, but the varying ages of the pieces that make him a person. and while the boy standing in front of him now is no baby, he cannot help thinking about the times that they have cried upon seeing him.

"i... am alright." the creature is okay to stand, despite some of the blood that is dripping from his leg. the wound is already healing, the pain already beginning to disappear. but he does not move. "there is no need to worry over me. i am sturdy."

Instinctively, Finney holds his arms out. He knows logically that the guy in front of him would only topple him over should he lose balance, but he still wants to help. His eyes linger on the blood, not the scarred and dead-looking face or the towering height or ratty clothes. He's seen enough blood in recent memory that it pulls his attention more than anything else.

She thinks he is not human. She thinks he must not be human and thus, he is like her. Different. And it enamors her so deeply that she follows, pail hooked on one arm, towards the water. It is where she was heading anyway, and thus Blossom thinks this must be what humans think of as fate.

He stops. Stands fully. Blossom stops too, her eyes-- too big for her face-- scan, looking around for the threat he's attempting to ward off. Never once does it cross her mind he thinks of her as the threat.

"what's wrong?" She asks, edging her way out from behind a tree. "is someone following us?"

Percy eyes the creature behind his smudged glasses. What is he to say? One who disguises himself often sees the disguise in others? Percy is not so forthcoming.