He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. Somehow he'd been forced into a position where he had to defend himself, when all he'd asked was for her to stop trying. How was it so bad, to let her know he wasn't interested? That he didn't like the kind of attention she was trying to give him? She'd blown up in his face for no real reason, and by some divine calculation he couldn't for the life of him comprehend, he'd blown up, too. Mauja normally had little to no temper to speak of, just his own brand of arrogance and deathly-cold hunger—but not anger. When was the last time he'd raised his voice? When was the last time he'd actually felt like grinding someone's face into the dirt? Somehow, she brought out the worst in him, and it confounded him completely. Still, he felt justified that he wasn't the only bad guy, here. She was glaring at him just as much as he glared at her. "Maybe it's really not hell. Just fucking maybe, your making it hell for yourself and horses around you." So you're saying you want me to make it hell for you, too? He couldn't keep up with the twists and turns of her logic, or lack thereof. One moment she was going on like it was such a big deal, then when he responded, she went on as if he was making it into a big deal. Baffled, and thoroughly annoyed, he just stared at he quietly. Yeah, so what if he was gay? It wasn't like he had been the one who brought it up in the first place! It wasn't like he had been the one showing interest!

So when he told her that, that he didn't care to be flirted with, regardless of whoever it was, he certainly hit a sore spot. She erupted again, and Mauja's eyes took on a rather bewildered and frustrated cast, along with the anger. What the hell was wrong with this girl? "Half-grown stranger? Is that all you see me as?" What the hell else was he supposed to see her as? A donkey? She wasn't yet a mare grown. Fact. He didn't know her. Fact. In his mind, that equated to "half-grown stranger", but she kept going at him, voice going from its previous heat to cold. He knew that well. It probably meant that she was really getting upset with him. Well, damn. It's mutual. He couldn't recall anyone he'd gotten along with this badly in a long, long time.

"I'm sorry your life is hell, Mauja..." "Excuse me?" he slurred out, startled; she didn't know the first thing about his life. His life wasn't hell. His life was a fucking mess but he was okay with that—it always was a fucking mess, and he wasn't crying about it. (Just sometimes.) And the pity-party she'd kept in from before came tumbling out now, as she paced by the pool, revealing a lot more than she should've; about her past, her father, the tattoo. Mauja just stared at her. Whatever can of worms had he opened just by walking to this damn pool? What unfortunate power drew him here and then just smacked him on the nose? "You are wrong," he retorted. "I called you a half-grown stranger, because damn it Aurelia, you are. You're not even half my age and I don't know the first thing about you, so what else am I supposed to call you?" His anger had begun to recede, having run its course, but he didn't trust it to be gone yet.

"When you prompted me, I asked about your group; but instead of answering, you just brushed it off. I told-" with his body, but wasn't that what bodies were for? "-you to stop eying me that way, and you acted like I was wronging you. I'm damn well within my rights to ask someone to stop flirting with me, especially if it makes me damn uncomfortable! I just don't want you in my face that way, and you act like I'm pissing on you! I don't get it!" Damn, he was almost yelling at her again, but he was more tired and exasperated than furious. It sounded in his voice, too. "I asked about you, and your secretive little group! I was being nice! What the hell do you expect of me? Miracles? I can't read your mind, Aurelia!"