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"Um..."

Oliver stares at a section of statues in the art hall. They show a young man in a white Victorian-era military uniform - gold buttons, two silver stripes on the lapel. White flame surrounds him; running from it are red-eyed rats the size of Dobermans.

The young man is blonde. Oliver is blonde. But the young man is far too all American action-hero-ish for Oliver to relate it to himself.

"If I ever looked like that, I'll eat my hat," Oliver mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

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Oliver grits his teeth and continues to stare. "We burned the last wolfskin in the country a hundred years ago! Your kind are dead! Extinct."

Which has nothing to do with what's going on now - but Oliver left rational thought behind a long time ago.

"We are Garou. We survive. Quiet your babbling, ape." With that, she swings her arm around, aiming to pick him up by the back of his plantsuit.

Oliver is at the peak of physical fitness, with years of combat experience. He's still a middle-aged human going up against a Garou in war-form.

Yeah, he gets nabbed.

Without much fuss, Leaf then turns him around and plunks him back down. Eye contact has been broken, and she won, in her mind. She's satisfied. "Now be quiet. You babble too much, about too many idiotic things."

Oliver spins around as soon as he's plunked down.

"Speech is better than-- than the snarls of a low beast!" he snaps, face turning rather pink.

The only response to that? The Talon lays her ears back and lets out a near-roar in Oliver's face-and even without spoken words, it gets across the point of 'QUIET!' well enough.

Oliver was expecting something of the sort this time. He doesn't pull back, though he winces at the volume of noise.

When the roar dies, it finds him quiet. Not because he was told to! Because...um...he doesn't have much to say to her anyway. That's it.

"Stay that way," she huffs at him, her ears pricking forward as she straightens again, then drops back down onto all fours. She shifts back into lupus, shaking herself out.

Oliver responds with an irritated sigh, and turns to leave the art room.

Behind him, the statues show our blonde-haired hero, wiping out an entire murder of crowskins with white fire that shoots from his blazing sword.

She eyes the statues for a moment, ears pinning back as she glances towards Oliver. "Wyrm-ridden?" she asks herself quietly, then snorts, licking at her muzzle.

She'll have to report this to the rest of the group.

Oliver manages to catch the words. He hesitates -she did just tell him to be quiet - but then she did ask a question.

He's still walking to the exit as he says, "Demons."

"I meant you," she snaps, hackling again. "Go."

He flashes her a offended glare - mistaking a Godsworn for a demon, only a beast would think that way - before he goes.

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