[It's a small thing that she doesn't recoil in fear at his talons, but it doesn't feel small, even though logic dictates that if she was going to wig out about them she would have wigged out about his wings and bird feet first. It just catches him off-guard every time someone isn't actively threatened by him--with one notable exception who's waiting for him at home. At their home.
Hopefully, Toby won't comment on the redness spreading from his ears to his face.
He focuses on pulling her up, but then he actually looks at her hand, and he's abruptly hurled back to the last time he was in Greece. His own hands haven't healed like that in years; the evidence is in the tight, gnarled scar tissue across his knuckles.
But then he remembers how he got them. Sasuke had been so angry that his body had heated to burning, and Percy had punched him anyway, and kept punching until they'd exhausted their fury and helplessness the only way either of them seemed to know how.
But this isn't about Sasuke, so he shakes off the feeling as best he can and sits back on his haunches, smiling sheepishly. Mrs. O'Leary flops down next to him, panting as she gazes adoringly at Toby. He reaches over and scratches her ears, her tongue lolling in euphoria.]
My baby brother's about that tall, although seven feet is short for a cyclops. He's still a kid, though, so I'm assuming he'll grow some more.
[There's something in the way that Toby is looking at him, like she's trying to assess him. He's not sure why, but he has this prickling feeling that she knows more than she's letting on about things like this, deities and monsters and magical creatures, and he can understand a sense of wariness around it. He probably would have been too, had he not become sort of numb to it from his time on the Ryslig peninsula. It's hard not to telegraph an awareness of the mystical when you're half-regular-guy, half-osprey.]
Hey, Spike. Sorry about my dog; she thinks she's being friendly.
[Carefully, he extends his hand palm-up--can a plant even smell? He's not sure, but he kind of likes the little thing, and likes its name even more.]
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Hopefully, Toby won't comment on the redness spreading from his ears to his face.
He focuses on pulling her up, but then he actually looks at her hand, and he's abruptly hurled back to the last time he was in Greece. His own hands haven't healed like that in years; the evidence is in the tight, gnarled scar tissue across his knuckles.
But then he remembers how he got them. Sasuke had been so angry that his body had heated to burning, and Percy had punched him anyway, and kept punching until they'd exhausted their fury and helplessness the only way either of them seemed to know how.
But this isn't about Sasuke, so he shakes off the feeling as best he can and sits back on his haunches, smiling sheepishly. Mrs. O'Leary flops down next to him, panting as she gazes adoringly at Toby. He reaches over and scratches her ears, her tongue lolling in euphoria.]
My baby brother's about that tall, although seven feet is short for a cyclops. He's still a kid, though, so I'm assuming he'll grow some more.
[There's something in the way that Toby is looking at him, like she's trying to assess him. He's not sure why, but he has this prickling feeling that she knows more than she's letting on about things like this, deities and monsters and magical creatures, and he can understand a sense of wariness around it. He probably would have been too, had he not become sort of numb to it from his time on the Ryslig peninsula. It's hard not to telegraph an awareness of the mystical when you're half-regular-guy, half-osprey.]
Hey, Spike. Sorry about my dog; she thinks she's being friendly.
[Carefully, he extends his hand palm-up--can a plant even smell? He's not sure, but he kind of likes the little thing, and likes its name even more.]