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"Kickin's underrated," West muttered.  "Runnin'nway too I guess sometimes, though I wouldn't do it."  He briefly considered agreeing to Calder's request before thinking back to his training session with Tsetsiliya.  The boil was already shaking his head faintly before he could verbally reply.  "I'm not so good at... I dun think y'really want me trainin' ya.  Y'd'jus' end up with a lotta empty flailin'."  In the past it might have been difficult for West to admit he wasn't the best at All Things Combat, but no one could say he hadn't been made painfully aware of his own deficiencies over time.  "I do think y'should work on kickin' though.  Iffai had hooves I would."  If West had hooves, no one's shins would be safe.

"We should fight... spar... whatever... sometime," he suggested instead.  "An', uh, thanks?"  What did one say to being told they had nice hair?  "I dun hate havin' it brushed, I guess?"  After a handful of seconds West's hands froze. Wait..."But yer not gonna do it.  This's a one-sided deal."

West was quiet—very quiet—and he didn't move, as if remaining still and silent would fool the kelpie into thinking he was no longer present.  But those eyes.  They were like a kid's when he wanted candy or a ghoulfriend's when she was in the middle of asking if she looked fat in her dress.  They were like that only about a billion times worse.  West knew that if he just said yes, if he simply worked past his reluctance, this could all be over that much sooner.

"Dammit," West murmured under his breath, the remainder of his words coming out in an exasperated litany. "Whassit gonna get ya, huh?  Brushin' mah hair?  Hair's hair.  It dun need any kind of special...  Fine.  Fine, let's do it."

"Hmmph," West replied.  He probably cared less about his eyes, nose, or lips than his hair, to be honest.  But his clothes...  While a large part of the reason he wore fancy things was because he thought they felt nice, he wouldn't deny that he liked the way they looked as well.  There had been a time he had tended to his hair more fervently too, but those days were over.  Generic shampoo and a comb.  That was all the attention he cared to spend.

West shifted in his seat, allowing Calder easier access to the back of his head. "Do yer worst." He didn't tell the kelpie to hurry up, but the way he clenched his fists at his sides seemed to imply that was what he would prefer.

The demon was far from feeling completely relaxed, but he tried to push his emotions in that direction anyway.  If he stormed off now, there was a slim chance he would leave a chunk of his hair behind, which would be... kind of funny, actually.  His fists loosened and he sat up a bit straighter as he imagined a bloody hunk of his scalp falling into the kelpie's lap.  Heh.  Hehe.

"My mom used ta," he replied.  "Long time ago.  An' I dun like people touchin' me in general.  Not jus' mah hair.  Glad yer havin' fun back there though."  He sighed, rolling his eyes.  When was this going to be over?  "If y'like th' color so much, why dun ya dye your—"

Wait.  West turned far enough around to look back over his shoulder at Calder.  "'S'the mark gone yet?" he asked, trying to keep a sudden swell of excitement from his voice.  He'd brushed the kid's hair, hadn't he?