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The winter chill had finally settled in. As much as the child Legend doesn't want to admit it, his attire isn't exactly adjusted to the season, especially not for the long nights on the street.

Shivering visibly, Ink rubs his arms vigorously, letting his feet lead him wherever they choose to, so long as it's far away from that alley dumpster. He scowls miserably at his feet, paying no mind and offering no apology as he bumps other pedestrians on the ******** hate winter," he complains under his breath. He tugs his coat tighter around his body, though it's already buttoned up and really can't wrap around his frame a second time, no matter how little he has become accustomed to eating.

His ears, though bright red and numb as they are, alert him to a commotion up ahead. He squints his currently azure eyes, trying to fixate them on the action and noise as a twinge of hope within himself is eager to witness another hobo fight. However, this is not the case, for just ahead of him is a sign that tells all: "Annual Ice Carving Competition".

If even possible, his scowl darkens. Pansies. There are better uses for sharp objects.. He stands there, quickly losing body heat, and surveys the scene. Maybe someone'll miss the ice and stab themselves instead.. or a fight'll break out..

Chainsaws.

Ink has never seen anything quite like these, but all together they are thrilling. They sound to him to be a song of delicious destruction, one he'd gladly pay to hear over and over.

Tossing white-blonde hair from his eyes, Ink pivots, changing his course to aim deeper into the crowds as opposed to his original plan of getting far, far away from them. Many people in a small space make the Legend uncomfortable; anyone could attack from any angle and he would not be prepared to counter it.

"Outta my way," he growls, shoving between the curvacious waists of two fifty-something women.

Ink sidesteps Kitsu, but, due to his inability to notice details when his mind has hit one track, he bumps straight into her equine half.

"Ow! The ********..?"

He backs off, looking the other Legend over without any effort to cover up that he's doing so. Oh God. A purple unicorn.. THING. And he touched it!

Ink rubs his hands on his pants rabidly. "Diseased!" he cries out, giving a visible shudder. "Now I'll haveta get m' rabies shot or something! Bleugh!"

He looks her over again, having no sense of propriety, though rather looking her over as one inspecting an animal would. He folds his arms against his chest and huffs a sigh. "What's yer story, beastie? Drank some o' yer mum's special medicine an' yer body went all screwy?"

Ink barks a laugh. "Watch yer pretty li'le head, beastie, or there'll be nothin' left offit to speak of!"

He grins wildly, forgetting completely about the cold, even though it's what flushes out his cheeks and stings his ears and fingertips. No, there's fun to be had here..

"Can y' speak, beastie? Or did they haveta cut outcher tongue 'causea your diseeeease?" Ink closes in on Kitsumai, looking positively devillish as he looks down at her with now-violet eyes.

She's giving chase! Oh, what fun!

Ink bolts in front of Kitsu, but just barely manages to make it. He'd underestimated her ability to run, mainly because he didn't take into account the speed her equine half could provide. Only slightly winded, he holds out his hands in front of Kitsu and bends his knees, readying himself for either impact or the spook factor.

Either one would do! He blinks furiously as he is now facing the direction of the wind and it stings at his eyes; their colour melds from violet to a deep red.

His breath coming out in visible puffs, Ink pauses only briefly to rest. He grins wildly, his hair skewing but not hiding his eyes, and he looks like an absolute monster of a child.

His mind works quickly; he spots an unused tool set and eyes the security guards that chat idly fifty feet away. With a sly, calculating look at Kistumai, he slips his freezing hands underneath her scarf to induce the shock factor.

"Look, beastie, we're gonna play a little game.." he explains in a low, dark tone, bringing his lips to her left ear. "It's called Cops and Robbers."

That was exactly the reaction he'd been banking on, and Ink capitalizes on it. He quickly swipes the toolbox and hides it cooly behind his back. Next, grabbing her by the arm, he gives her an unkind tug and points in the direction of the security guards.

"Those are th' cops," he explains with malice just dripping off of his voice. He forces the tool set onto her, with the chainsaw very prominently on top, and with unbelievably calculating hands, swipes the purses of two nearby women.

He unceremoniously drops the long handles of the purses over Kitsumai's head, hardly making it past her horn before one of the women cries out about her purse being missing.

"And you're th' robber."