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If West had ever needed confirmation that marking just wasn't his forte, this little extended fiasco with Calder was all the proof he needed. When he got the kelpie's call about finally dissolving their contract, and in such a short amount of time too, he literally jumped at the chance to do so, leaving his room without the thousands of layers of clothing that he usually wore.

When he rounded the corner and stepped into the common room, the demon's eyes went first to the case and then to the boil who had presumably brought it. "What's in there?" he asked. West was prepared to do just about anything - after all, he had already worn lipstick this semester in the name of something far less important than removing a mark - but that didn't mean he wasn't still curious. "And what y'want me t'do with it?"

Oh...kay. Now West's eyes were back on the box and its contents, his brows furrowed and lips squished together in a bloodless line. It had come to this, had it? Protection he could do. He had failed at it several times, but that was mostly because, again, he sucked at marking. If he had been reminded with some sort of itching sensation, he would have followed through much more readily. Acting he couldn't do at all, but he had been willing to try within the confines of the classroom. He had actually experienced some minor pain from his inability to hold up his end of that replacement deal, but pain had never been that much of an incentive for the boil.

This was going to be Jackin' ridiculous, but it had to be done. West sighed.

"Can't, uh, can't y'do that yerself?" he muttered, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Please just do it yourself.

Stitches. Another opportunity to protect the boil missed, it seemed. It was kind of too late for that anyway. What happened when you went back to a former deal after making a new one? West sighed briefly. It wasn't worth thinking about.

Fine. Fine fine fine. Hair brushing. In kind-of public. He could do this.

Calder's smile was met with a frown, a big old sloppy sulky frown. West reached out and snatched the brush from the other boil's hand, turning it over and looking at the bristles himself. At least he had the decency to be gentle with it after that initial moment of force.

"No. I don't." He sighed again, this one longer and slightly more dramatic. "I'll do it. Where do I sit?"

He hesitated, squeezing the brush he held so hard that its carvings left little temporary ridges on his palm and fingers. West passed the brush over to his left hand, then grabbed Calder's and shook once. He reluctantly shuffled closer, finally flopping to a seat on the indicated cushion. Even if he was grateful to be fulfilling this contract, that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Yeah. Agreed." He poked at Calder's hair, lifting a small hunk of it between his thumb and first finger before letting it drop back to join the rest. West didn't know much about the etiquette of marking, but he was sure he didn't want to have to tell the boil about the marks in his own past, so he refrained from commenting on the length of their contract. Instead he said, "This should make yer boilfriend happy either way," and if his tone was slightly condescending, well, he couldn't help himself. Dating. Peh.

Oh.

Jack.

Why.

He really hadn't needed to hear that.

West had suspected that Barth was the kelpie's boilfriend after the surprise Christmas snuggling he had witnessed, but hearing it straight from the horse's mouth, as it was, served to spark a big ol' pile of questions in the demon's mind, not all of them curious.

How? When? What about Lilith? Why had it been necessary for him to hear the words "Barth" and "primal" in the same conversation?

"I... see," he replied, thankful that mentions of the other demon were brief. When the topic turned ever so slightly toward marking in general, West's embarrassment lessened further. He still despised marks. On anyone. Friend, foe... maybe even human, although he would never admit that. It was something he was working on.

He didn't move away when Calder scooted close. Instead, West took out his disgust in the face of friendly touching on the brush, squeezing the handle to within and inch of its bristly life once again. His hand jerked forward, and he slowly ran the brush from the center of the length of the boil's hair to its pale tips. The second try was more successful, extending from the nape of Calder's neck this time. "Not dirty," he muttered after a few more awkwardly timid strokes. "Least not t'me. It's just... a leash. Means a parta ya belongs t'someone else the whole time that brand's on yer skin." He paused, rolling his eyes slightly as he voluntarily brought the sloth demon back into the conversation. "I could see why Barth'd want it off. Though it's me that's owed you fer like 'ever now."

West remembered how relieved he had felt after ridding himself of Yaya's mark, like a weight had been lifted off of not only his shoulders, but his entire body. If that feeling had been any indication, then today was going to be awesome, in spite of what he found himself doing now.

"Mmhm," West replied, hefting some of the kelpie's hair with less hesitation than he had displayed a few minutes ago. He ran the brush through the strands and once again watched them fall back to join the others. Maybe this wasn't so bad. He wasn't going to run to Hellma and demand the faculty sponsor a Hair Brushing Appreciation Society or anything, but he could actually think of far worse things he could be doing to fulfill a contract. At least three sprang to mind immediately.

The mention of an anklet flew completely over West's head, but Calder's compliment hung in the air even after the boil went on about something else. At least his babbling kept West from having to reply, or at least that was his excuse for not doing so.

He was definitely paying attention to the conversation again by the time Calder asked more about marks. "No," he replied firmly. "I didn't wanna mark ya 'cause, well, I don't want anyone t'do it t'me. Karma. Or somethin'." There. No mention of his personal experience being on the receiving end of a mark, but still the truth. It wasn't as if Barth didn't already know about his hesitations. The fact that he had given the other demon a different reason for it didn't bother West much. He doubted it would even come up. At least he certainly hoped he was not a regular topic of conversation between the two.

"I'm... glad you've had all happiness n' smiles with yer marks, but mine'r never smooth. I end up... brushin' hair. Sorry." He hesitated, running the brush through Calder's hair again. "It'sa fine payment, jus' not somethin' I woulda agreed to originally if things'd gone like they shoulda."

Welcome to the HBAS. We have t-shirts.

"I didn'get raised that way, no," West muttered. He had been peripherally aware as a kid that his parents marked others all the time, but they'd never truly explained what that all entailed or how one accomplished such a feat, and he'd never been curious enough to ask or take time to figure things out on his own. By the time he had been let out into the world to attend school, he was already used to life without marking and at that point was secretly kind of scared to try. He had learned in his time away from home that there were many things his parents had kept from him. He suspected they enjoyed seeing him flounder through life making mistakes they might have saved him from. "I prefer other ways'a... talkin' an' gettin' people t'do what I want. An' no. I dun'think there're consequences? I'm... fine?"

At his last demon-only school, West had quickly proven that his threats were far from idle without even trying. It was surprising the number of things the promise of a beating could get most demons to do, especially the ones who cared about their faces. It was only after he got to Amityville that he became curious enough to try marking at all. Barth had been his first, and now Calder his second. It was sort of funny. West smirked, his mood brightening enough to answer the kelpie's final question without much hesitation or excessive frowning.

"Nah, no one brushes my 'air 'cept me," he said as he ran the brush through the other boil's again. "I, um..." What did he like to do? West knew what he used to do for fun—movies, maul, hanging out with his ghoulfriend—and although he still liked to shop, he hadn't seen a movie in the theater in ages, and the only ghoul he hung out with besides his scareon was Levi, and that was strictly business. Training. "I train. An' go t' the maul sometimes." Man, that sounded sad.