That sudden coldness against his neck sees a hiss of sorts forced from his lips, fingernails shifted suddenly into claws that slide free of their sheaths to bury sharply into the countertop of the bench, the woman seemingly content to ignore his protesting words. It is...unusual perhaps, for her to do so, her answer to him equally as non-fuss and as such the boy manages a snort of sorts, reconciled to his defeat in this moment, the woman clearly refusing to be engaged within an argument, whatever fathom of respect he holds for her assuring he remains still all the same despite his agitation in that coldness against his sore flesh. Her fingers looped suddenly through his belt loop however, sees a look of surprise register upon his features before he is very near hauled back towards her, the woman evidently having seen fit to administer some form of restraint in this as he eyes her darkly, muttering to himself as she hums and yet....offers little resistance all the same, turning his head away from her once more, fiddling now with the first aid kit, long fingers plucking and teasing at this and that, her fingers continuing to stoke at the skin of his neck, the sensation of this along seem to see him...ease, if only slightly, a sigh of sorts released in some echo of contentment as he seems to suddenly sink, lower and lower still, very near resting his chest atop the bench as a rumble of satisfaction at this...petting seems to ensue, muscles relaxing beneath this combination of numbness and massage, that raw skin seeming to appreciate such a thing though indeed the boy remains oblivious to his own reactions to this, continuing to play with the pair of scissors he has found, unaware he is very near lying down, very near forced to his knees beneath her luxuriant touch. Her words are answered with little more then a grunt as she moves away, dark eyes rapidly blinking as he frowns ever so slightly, his own mind seemingly returned to himself with her lack of touch, confusion touching his form a moment before his attention deviates again, leaving her to fiddle with her cloth and clean her hands, unwilling to admit, unaware perhaps, that he had enjoyed her stroking.

Her hand suddenly held towards him sees his grip upon his new found toy only tighten, unwilling entirely to allow her to have his scissors, after all, if she wants them this surely only means they are an item to be valued- his mentality childish perhaps and yet one that is instinctive all the same, eyes narrowed warily at her promise to return them. His desire, perhaps, to see them used finally seeming to override his want to keep them, eyes watching the gesture she makes upon her chest before they weaponry is reluctantly offered to her in return. He continues to watch her now, head tilting off to the side as she begins to slice a paper towel, the material parting with each movement of her hand, eyes widening in evident awe at this as he eagerly reaches for them. He moves to mimic Birdie in this, the paper held in his right hand, the scissors in his left, the ambidextrous boy equally good (or bad) with either hand, moving too slowly cut a single corner from the paper, watching it flutter to the ground at his bare feet.

"Oooh."

Such a victory sees a sudden onslaught of cutting delight, a jagged, ripped circle of sorts hurriedly sliced out from the paper towel, scissors clicking away excitedly as he steps away from the kitchen, searching now for further cut-able items, taking excitedly to the nearest cardboard box until a large enough hole has been cut to let the bullet casings run out and onto the floor. This, he thinks, is a wonderful weapon, delight seeming to fill him once more before the scissors are tucked neatly into his pocket for safe keeping and further cutting needs. He will hide them from Risqué- as he hides so many other things, assured Tetradore will find scissors equally as thrilling. His attention return's to Birdie once more now, head tilting slightly to one side before he moves to point suddenly to the small table and chairs beside the kitchen, the place they have eaten at so many nights before.

"Sit there."

This is seemingly a demand, one eye lifting slightly, as if daring her to oppose him, waiting for the woman, no matter how reluctantly, to take a seat within one of the chairs beside the kitchen before he speaks once more, words never before having been uttered from his lips, no doubt utterly surprising if not perhaps equally as worrying.

"I am going to....make you...something....and you will...like it."

Clearly she has no choice. She has been told. She will like it. That he clearly intends to use the kitchen is perhaps by far the most alarming part of such a declaration, his tall frame hiding so much of what he does as he pulls his scissors from his pocket, evidently determined to utilise his new cutters in this moment- something pulled from the fridge before being unmercifully cut, dark eyes swinging suddenly back towards her.

"Birdie! No....looking. It is a...surprising."

He means surprise and yet evidently correct pronunciation has escaped him in these moments, frowning in concentration once more, reaching for what is a rather large knife and a coffee mug all at once, the unfortunate Birdie now doubt decidedly tense as he proceeds to initiate near every appliance within the kitchen, the microwave turned on for no apparent reason, along with the toaster, the boy merely delighting in it's ability to suddenly produce toast, oblivious to his need to load it with bread, a series of bangs to be heard for several moments before he suddenly pivots in place- evidently pleased with his first ever attempt at cooking, proudly placing both plate and mug before the no doubt surprised woman.

"Tea."

He simply points to the mug, empty save for a teabag, evidently oblivious to the fact that water is required to see the tea bag become actually tea, moving now to point at the plate he has put in front of her. It contains what is very evidently an entire onion, sliced (in all manner of weird shapes that have clearly been cut with scissors), each massacred onion piece having been diligently smeared with butter. After all, Nadya had taught him butter was only to be eaten when put on other foods, the boy entirely pleased at how well he has learned this lesson, grinning now toward the unfortunate woman.

"You have to...eat it now."

Yes Birdie. Eat it.

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