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Folding his arms across the backs of the seats, Ink rests his chin on them and fakes a frown. "No?" he mewls annoyingly. His tone takes a darker twist, masked somewhat by a loud noise on screen. "You 'fraid of losin', pretty?"

"I'll take tha' as a no," Ink laughs dryly, finally thinking to glance up at the movie. Still boring, he deducts. Sliding back into his seat, he produces an oversized coin out from his sleeve, and begins to play with it between his fingers.

"Shut up, will you?" the young man sitting next to Ink hisses. Ink shoots him a venomous glare, his deeper green eyes adding to the poison. The man draws away in fright, and whispers to his girl, who moves over a few chairs, fleeing from Ink in disgust.

Ink shoots her a glance, and then slides into a smile, playing the twisted game a juvenile might play when trying to impress someone - that is, disgusting and hurting them as if that'd gain their affection.

Not easily discouraged, Ink considers his next course of action. He's tried all he can think of without risking getting himself kicked out of the theatre entirely. He kicks back, slyly keeping a watch of Kitsu out of the corner of his eye, while pretending to watch the movie.

He has absolutely no idea how the plot progressed to a dopey run-through-the-forest scene, though, and finds himself quickly descending into boredom once more.

A loud, exaggerated snore rumbles out of the back of Ink's throat. His distractions have gained increasing attention from fellow movie-goers, who look at him in disgust and mutter complaints.

"Aughhh," he growls, rising upright in his chair again, "This is ********' booooring! Boo! Where's th' real scares? Th' blood an' gore?"

He stands up in his place, his thick-soled boots sticking to the pop-drenched floor, and he raises his hands in protest, talking louder still. "This innt scary! Y' dun know scary iffin y' think this here's scary!"

Ink raises an eyebrow that, in the middle of his commotion, his intended audience bolted. With a shrug, he jumps up onto the folding chair, shouting out the ending of the story to spoil it for everyone, and bolts before an usher can grab hold of his jacket.

With surprising agility, he ducks and dodges his way out of the theatre, following the metaphorical trail of bread crumbs Kitsu intended him to follow.

Once outside the dark theatre, the devious Legend child spots the stairway door just closing. With the taste of pursuit making him thirsty for more, he bolts after her, his boots heavily resounding on the stairs.

With a manic laugh, Ink catches the parallel to the B-movie chase scene, and hollers up at her. "Oh, beastie," he crows, "You decidin' t' play af'er all, hmm?"

Driven by adrenaline, Ink stops clean of knocking right into the lazer tag teenager. He mutters something about lack of grip on his boots, but shuts up at the sight of the weaponry. Well, play-weaponry, but, being a boy, a child, like he most often forgets, he finds this all very, very exciting. The morbidity of the subject matter which excites him, however, never seems to cross his mind.

"She an' I are gonna play t'gether," he insists without question, swiping the nearest set of flashing equipment and hastily attempts to suit himself, without much of a clue of how things work.