...but I'll get that bastard some day!
His hesitation seemed to dissipate the more that the stranger spoke-- how interesting, Possum thought, to know that these monsters he'd heard of could be spoken to so reasonably. With his pastel eyes glittering he finally peeled himself away from the wall and stood to face the older male, his head resting at a tilt that was more curious than fearful. The stranger's words about his former pack caused his lip to peel upwards, revealing several snaggled teeth, ugly but menacing, the glint in his eyes almost malign. The boy snorted at the word 'pity,' remembering the looks that had been cast upon him. Pascal was sweet, she was pretty, she attracted less resentment, or so it seemed. As an ugly little spitfire, he had been wanted even less so. "Pity." He spat, as if turning his back on the emotion.
Possum stared up at the stranger as he continued, the wildness in his eyes dancing like fire. It was contagious, and soon the boy found himself grinning, too, not quite as handsomely with his teeth sticking out oddly but wild all the same. "I am th'ick of being looked at like I'm nothing. I am strong." I should be feared. It was the next logical train of the thought, but the fact that it had crossed his mind at all confounded him. He had never been a goody-two-shoes rule-follower like Pascal, but he had never felt any sort of wicked delight creep into his mind, either. Perhaps it was fate, then, that this stranger should find him. If they only saw his mother when they looked at him then why shouldn't he strive to be more like her? She'd escaped, was out there somewhere, and eventually she would hear his name in infamy.
He relished in the idea, that not only would his former family regret letting him fall to the wayside, but his mother would regret setting his life into motion. They all deserved to know his pain. "I wa'th'n't expecting it to be ea'th'y." Possum shrugged. His earlier daydreams had made it so the idea of submitting himself to this stranger came to seem a more positive one than negative. "Tell me, th'tranger, what do I got to do?" There was a rebellious, almost anarchistic fire starting in his belly. Should someone find it, perhaps they could put it out before the stranger fed it further. But nobody was looking.