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Thom was terribly bored. And, with the knowledge that he had a game shortly--providing he got off the island as planned--he had begun practicing earlier in the day and kept at it for much of the afternoon, using whatever landmarks were available to accomplish various drills. Eventually his sporting had led him away from the village and, after hovering near the edge of the jungle for ten minutes or so, he had abandoned all inhibitions and taken his game to the loam.

The trees were players of the rival team. Avoid them all, make it to the goal...wherever happened to be. With the ease of long practice, he manuvered the ball around and through the closely spaced trees, weaving here, looping there, generally finding every way he could to add to the challenge. The unfamiliar and unlevel jungle floor did add to the difficulty, but that only made the drill all the more enjoyable. Kicking a ball across flat, open ground was terribly dull when you were alone. Jungles were much more interesting.

Spin, dodge, duck under a tree branch--and then a shout, and Thom lost focus, scowling as the ball spun away and bumped a nearby tree. In retaliation, he quickly 'stole' it back, darting around the offending tree and punting the soccer ball off between two others--a goal. Satisfied, he slowed to a walk and, breathing heavily after the drill, scanned the area for the source of the voice.

From his position he couldn't see anyone, and he briefly debated simply retrieving his ball and escaping back to the safety of the village. However, he quickly reconsidered. The voice hadn't sounded like a bloody thirsty tiger man and, after his run...he wasn't exactly sure where the village was. Oh well.

"Thom," he shouted in response, not that it would prove very helpful. He hadn't recognized the voice, so he obviously hadn't met whoever was speaking. "Arrived a few days back. 'Oo's there?"

Chuckling dryly, he doubled back to gather his soccer ball, then started after the voice once more. "Trust me, Cassidy, I doubt anythin' could--" He abruptly fell silent as he caught sight of the woman, lip curling in a mix of absolute disbelief and astonishment. This...this thing was once a girl? A human? Like him!? ...Well, now he understood the 'don't freak' request.

He cleared his throat, pulling his gaze away until he regained his composure. At some point following the shock, his grip on the soccer ball had tightened, and now he relaxed it, passing the ball nervously from hand to hand. When he again looked up, his smile was apologetic..and perhaps a tad fearful. "Well... You were right, then. Ah, sorry."

"No, no, I apologize," he insisted, shaking his head, though his hands abruptly fell still as she approached, the ball held tightly between them. "I 'ave met a few...ah, islanders, an', to be frank, snakes never crossed m' mind. Ambrose was the farthest change yet." And while Ambrose was furry and had the face of a wolf, he was a mammal, had legs, and looked more like some high school mascot than anything. Cass....didn't.

"Yes, I know," Thom replied with a faint grimace. "I didn't b'lieve at first, I'll admit, but after a few...things, y' can't really deny it any longer." He shrugged. "I doubt I'll be 'ere long enough t' change, 'owever."

He grimaced despite himself as her tongue darted out, finding the trait far too animalistic for his tastes. He had never been much of a reptile fan, and seeing someone nearly transformed into one was more than a tad unnerving. He wasn't scared of the scaley things, persay, but he preferred not to come in contact with them. "That's understandable. Losin' y' legs..."

He gave a sad shake of his head, for the first time noticing the stumps that remained of Cassidy's legs. Eck, he couldn't begin to imagine how horrible that must be. Mind, she seemed to get around alright, from what he could tell, but all the same... It couldn't be comfortable.

"Oh--I 'ave a game on Friday," he replied with a shrug, as if there were nothing more obvious in the world. "And th' team knows I'm 'ere. Now that I'm past th' concussion, they'll be callin' for me t' play."

"I'll take your word for it," he drawled, giving her a once over...purely to see how it could be any worse, of course. But there were possibilities, now that he thought about it. She wasn't oozing slime, and she still had arms, even if they were covered in feathers. ...Imagine being turned into a worm. Poor worm-person.

"Ah, yes... 'soccer'." He rolled his eyes at the word. Those were Americans for you. Rather than accept the name the rest of the world had granted the game, the superiority complex demanded that they grant it a title of their own and replace 'football' with a less interesting version of rugby. "...No, I 'aven't spoken with them," he grudgingly admitted, then laughed. "But, what, y' think they kidnapped me? Would be extremely difficult, I assure you."

She did have a point, and he said so, waving away her words. "Yes, yes, not your fault. Personal bias, I'm afraid. My apologies."

"I'm a recognized figure across Europe," he countered dryly, raising a brow. "Th' teams knows I was sent to a hospital... They won't accept that I up an' diappeared from it." Though, once again, she did have a point. Frowning, he settled for a shrug in reply. The thought hadn't occurred to him previous, and he wasn't sure of an excuse around it just yet. Perhaps later.