For a split second Greg was silent, obviously aware of the person beside him but unsure how to react. He recognized this guy from school, but that wasn't to say the two were the best of friends. Doing his best to avoid any awkwardness, Greg slid his hand into Kanos and shook it limply, without sincerity. “Ah...yes, I think I know you,” he spoke carefully. What little Greg did know about Kano was limited to his some cursory knowledge and a lingering first impression: he was effeminate, joking, audacious, and had no small amount of disregard for personal space. He had also assumed he was gay, but naturally he had no proof. The reason they'd never spoken before was because Greg had avoided doing so. Despite his general hospitality and openness, in-your-face people with a flamboyant attitude rubbed him the wrong way--made him uncomfortable. Greg wasn't one to just give someone the cold shoulder, however. “Hate to disappoint but my hair's always been this blond.” He hoped that this Kano would take the subtle hint of dissociation. “Natural as the day is long.” Though his neutral tone masked it somewhat, Greg's Australian accent was pretty obvious in his speech.

-=-=-

Ironclad found his solemn trek suddenly interrupted by Scarlet Thorn. He knew this alter ego by reputation only, but that was more than enough for him. As he approached, the androgynous being's catlike, playful eyes and attempt at stealth were met with only an uncaring orange glare over his shoulder. Ironclad made no other acknowledgment of the other's presence than to follow it with his gaze. When Thorn spoke, Ironclad made no reply, though he stopped moving forward. It was the grabbing of his arm and the nauseating giggle that finally evoked a response. The blazing eyes narrowed, and for a second there was an almost inaudible grinding sound from within him.

A sharp, sudden scraping noise rang out into the trees as metal spikes and blades erupted from the grim alter ego's armor. At their touch, Scarlet Thorn was forced to recoil. Depending on how quickly Thorn moved out of Ironclad's cold embrace, he would suffer either minor piercings or full-on impalement. Immediately afterward, Ironclad took two steps back and planted his feet.

“I am, actually,” he intoned in a metallic drawl, warped by heavy accent, that resounded through the autumn woods. “A little freak that I can cut to little pieces.” The spikes all over his body slowly retracted back into their usual concealed positions, though the huge metal claws on his wrists swiveled forward into battle mode with a [i]chuk-chik[/i]. “You want a fun time?” His tail cracked like a whip, and the scytheblade slammed into a cobblestone with a reverberating [i]clang[/i] “Fine by me.” He crouched low to the ground, pantherlike, gathering himself, and leaped toward Scarlet Thorn with claws gleaming in the dappled sunlight. If Thorn didn't defend himself, Ironclad's strike could very well open him up from neck to navel.