Re: Edge of the woods
He barked a sharp laugh at that and followed her into the forest, both hands still visible but one straying closer to the inside edge of his jacket with every step. Whatever was lurking in there - provided there actually was something - wasn't going to get teeth or claws or whatever in him without taking a little damage in return. It never occurred to him that it might be something he couldn't shoot - something closer to the vivid resurrections his own fucked-up brain provided on an unscheduled basis. He let the sound of footsteps breaking through the top layer of snow follow her unexpectedly silent ones, but he stopped when she gave her name.
"Cerise?" Cross echoed, and then it clicked - now he remembered her, looking out through someone else's eyes, seeing as she rammed the heels of her hands into Kellan's cracked ribs, feeling the resounding white-hot pain in his chest that followed him when he went through the door. She'd been all blitzed rage and grief, and it was the sobriety - he knew what withdrawal looked like, had seen himself in enough mirrors over the years to recognize it when it wasn't covered by the remains of a fight - that threw him off.
But despite how pissed off he'd been when she'd done that, now that the familiarity had fallen into place, Cross burst out laughing, stepping back a little to keep himself from having to grab a tree to keep still. Or maybe to keep her from trying to break his face with her elbow again.
"Holy shit, I knew you were familiar!" How did he go about this ... introducing himself as the other guy in her least-favorite arsonist's head? Seemed straightforward enough, provided she believed him. "You've got balls, trashing a guy who did you a favor, but with how bad he fucked it up I don't blame you. My name's Cross. I'm your shithead arsonist's judgmental headcase." It was hard not to smirk. Coincidence wasn't something he believed in much, but what the hell else could it be?