- There are no heroes. -
Logically, he can see why Colt would be frightened, can understand why she seems to have mistaken him for a 'murderous sea panther' when it hasn't even been a year since Lena's death; but - contrary to what people might suspect - he isn't the one who killed her, and Grimm knows that whatever sea panther did wouldn't have run at the shrieking sound or bothered not to rip her head off the moment it was close enough.
As Colt stands, he gives her just enough space to do so, but he doesn't back down, the adrenaline still pumping through his own system, the sounds too loud, the frustrations clear in the tension rippling through him. "Sea Pantha's don' loike loud soun's. Any in thei' roight minds wouldn' run at ya!" He presses a hand to his forehead, grateful the banshee is far enough away for the ringing in his ears to fade, even if this infuriating woman continues to talk nonsense.
Grimm flicks his other hand, teeth bared at the thought of wearing a damned collar just because she can't recognize when she's being helped rather than harmed. "Sho'e, pu' a bell onnit while yo' at it!"
Another growl rumbles in his chest, too annoyed to care if she might have called a god to smite him. His skin is tight, resembling the rustled fur of his shifts with how his hair stands on end. His eyes are narrowed to darkened slits when he moves his hand aside to look down at her, battling the aching pressure in his ears. "Jus'... don' go 'round touchin' thin's," he groans, wanting to point out that she's already doing it again by leaning against the fence of an unknown enclosure. Lucky for her, it's just the ramphires, but it could have easily been something dangerous, and she's looking like an easy target - again.
As Colt stands, he gives her just enough space to do so, but he doesn't back down, the adrenaline still pumping through his own system, the sounds too loud, the frustrations clear in the tension rippling through him. "Sea Pantha's don' loike loud soun's. Any in thei' roight minds wouldn' run at ya!" He presses a hand to his forehead, grateful the banshee is far enough away for the ringing in his ears to fade, even if this infuriating woman continues to talk nonsense.
Grimm flicks his other hand, teeth bared at the thought of wearing a damned collar just because she can't recognize when she's being helped rather than harmed. "Sho'e, pu' a bell onnit while yo' at it!"
Another growl rumbles in his chest, too annoyed to care if she might have called a god to smite him. His skin is tight, resembling the rustled fur of his shifts with how his hair stands on end. His eyes are narrowed to darkened slits when he moves his hand aside to look down at her, battling the aching pressure in his ears. "Jus'... don' go 'round touchin' thin's," he groans, wanting to point out that she's already doing it again by leaning against the fence of an unknown enclosure. Lucky for her, it's just the ramphires, but it could have easily been something dangerous, and she's looking like an easy target - again.
- In life, the monsters win. -
Grimm
