"Oh hey! You're that weird guy from the ball!" Is it just the beach, or does this guy never wear a proper shirt? Tormod's not one to talk right now, but he's a sight to behold. The chains seem like they'd hurt in the sun, but this dude's such a freak he probably likes that. "Looks like we're gonna have to work together this time. Funny how things work out!"
Tormod hasn't forgotten the whole 'unhinged threat display' thing from earlier, no. But at this point, he's accepted the fact that The House of Mouse is filled with guys like this, for whatever reason. Briefly, he wonders who'd make it out alive if you locked Valter and Griss in a room.
Whaaaatever. He grins, tugging at his bandana. He's heard some choice things already about Griss's entrance, and boy-oh-boy.
"Seems you're popular around here."
By now, Griss has wandered away from the cluster of old cabins set up to house them all for the rest of the month and set his sights on more interesting ventures: like the tide pools and their fascinating ecosystem of prickly, slimy, and bizarre little critters. Tormod finds him with his arm plunged elbow-deep into one.
“Huh?” With an arc of water, Griss reels back and up onto his feet again, far more agile than he seems. “Oh.” Expression shifts into some semblance of recognition mixed with hints of surprise and, ultimately, disappointment (for what reason, he doesn’t even fully know).
“What’s up, short stuff?”
He’s popular? What a weird word, he thinks. Popular has never exactly been something he’s strived for. The opposite, in fact, if all the spikes and dangerous looks are anything to go by. So he snorts.
“Jealous? ‘Cause I got just the trick.”
He grabs Tormod by the wrist—
shlap.
And now he’s got a big, wet sea cucumber in his hand. No further explanation.
“There ya go.”
Griss flashes a grin, gives a wave (although it could very easily be that he’s slinging cucumber slime and water off of his hand), and turns on his heel to venture inland again, bored once more.
“See ya.”
