The ice-cream, he thinks, is not a very easy food to eat, the cold and sugary sweetness is appealing and yet the manner in which it runs into...liquid is not, surprise lingering upon his features as the edges readily begin to melt, his tub of sugary dessert rapidly beginning to disintegrate beneath his hands from the sun above and the natural heat of his body, just as Pretty's own portion has begun to drip away. For a moment the man remains entirely fixated on this, dark eyes drawn wide as it begins to drip away, the cream rapidly losing its firmer substances as he moves to meet Pretty's own helpless stare, neither of them evidently holding any knowledge as to how to stop it and yet Tobias is hardly wiling to lose any of it- attempting to scrap at the sides and deposit and drips right back and into the tub as his fingers quickly grow sticky.

"It is....running away!"

Yet how the ice cream has managed such a thing remains to be seen, that clever and cunning mind turning rapidly over as dark eyes flicker from Pretty's scope to his bucket and back again, as if attempting to link the causative effect and yet failing entirely to understand this higher form of thinking, oblivious to the effects of heat and his own lack of ability to refrigerate. It is fortunate perhaps, that his thoughts are distracted from his rapidly 'escaping' dessert and focused instead upon this talk of Birdie, her scent upon Pretty readily seeing the boy bristle as the fox instinctively moves to cower slight away from him, her ready submission seeing his own demeanour sooth slightly, aggression easing as his form relaxes though his dark eyes remain upon her entirely. He does not understand 'room-mate', such a word seeing little more than a tilt of his head in response, features creased into a scowl all the same as she continues to speak though whether he understands entirely the implication of her words is unknown, fingers tracing the rim of his ice-cream bucket in some evident attempt to mimic someone in thought before he seems content to answer her, shoulders rolling in a shrug of sorts.

"Birdie is.....just for me.....but Pretty can play...with her....if you want to. I say so. Because I...do not....hate you."

He nods once more, evidently content to allow Pretty to continue her friendship if only because he has now approved it, a grin of sorts lacing his features in response to the pout the vixen seems content to wear. Birdie is his thing, he is sure, his property and a property he is unwilling to share at the best of times- his like of Pretty however has seen him willing enough to allow Pretty to play with his favoured toy. Her mention of pack however seems to capture his attention once more as he regards her once more.

"Does...Pretty want pack?"

He waits only long enough for the woman to answer before another drop of ice-cream falls upon his jeans, one hand lifting to slap it, yelling in surprise as he manages to do little more than slap his own leg, a growl rising within his throat now as he pushes the ice-cream tub away from him, giving it a firm kick for good measure and it daring to have defied him.

"It is...escaping....to much. I want to play....a different game. Does Pretty fight good?"

It is an unusual question to be sure and yet his inability to understand humour in almost any form assures it is hardly a joke, studying the girl once more.

"Does Pretty....want to have....a surprise?"

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