Stretching his scar-etched limbs, he yawns and idly ponders how long it would take for the dust to settle before he challenged for a rank that more satisfied his desires. The concept of placing himself below those who were no better than him - even for a short while - was a notion that no Melonii would willingly accept. He knew the thought might appear horribly arrogant coming from someone who was only recently accepted, however, Vaati was not a particularly boastful individual. Neither was he a liar. Pretending to place a value on himself at a place lower than those who were likely, ultimately inferior in comparison was not something he was interested in. Much to his satisfaction, the dynamic of Caiaphas's pack allowed him to take what he wanted and when he wanted it. It fed into the primal natures of his species without having to apologize for doing so, asserting superiority where true prowess remained vacant. 

In the various instances he had acted on the basis of natural instinct, he had been expected to pay for it in blood. Granted, many of his actions had caused grievous bodily harm or death, it had been foolish to assume it would not catch up to him..... even his own enemies could not deny that the world they lived in was strictly: kill or be killed. He would no longer seek forgiveness for having the tact to survive where others could not, nor doing what needed to be done to remain at the top of the food chain so to speak. The strong outlived the weak and such was an eternal fact of life. Hence why he found it simply wrong to infer that based on a caste system of strongest to weakest he - despite all that he had survived - was justifiably among the bottom. Vaati would prove himself rightfully worthy, or he would simply take a place he deserved by force. Whichever came first. 

Hunkered down among scattered bones and preening the remains of recent prey from between his nails, he welcomes any intrigued company though he is not a sociable individual. Many seemed automatically disinterested in approaching him on account of his steely dexterity, and so he had settled comfortably into a lifestyle of minimal conversation. On the contrary, he had no interest in fostering inessential bad blood between himself and his new peers.. he wasn't that stupid. 

His ears flicker slightly at the indication of footsteps padding forth, but does not turn his attention to meet the cause of the sound. No later does he feel a set of eyes settle on him and a particularly interesting question breaks the cold silence. Vaati had never been asked it before by an unwavering voice, one that did not hold the slightest bit of a nervous quiver. It intrigued him. Perhaps it should have, but he did not find it to be a personal matter. The markings broke his skin from head to toe without apology, bearing each as a trophy rather than a sign of weakness. 

His response came in a deep baritone; guttural as if he had spent more time snarling than talking. “War, mostly.” It was the short answer, for much of his life had been spent in some sort of battle or another. “The consequence of making enemies.” Vaati turns to her then with a slight gleam in his eye, wondering what she might make of that. She is quite young, and so he makes the assumption that she has yet not been exposed to such bloodshed their species was prone to. Ithrik, Iliksis, Redhawk, Rannoch, the Cerberus, his own blood; he thinks of their names and the circumstances they had come into his life. They had all brought him harm but left him stronger in the aftermath, and for that, he felt gratitude. The anger still boiled beneath his skin without a doubt -- though it would fuel his next kill, and the one after that and so forth.

Her answer causes a twinge of an upturn in his lips, humoured by the youthful trait of curiosity which slightly reminded him of a younger self. “I suppose,” He shrugs. He has never kept count. At some point they had all converged into one singular being stored into his memory, a faceless victim that held no distinguishable quality of significance. “I’ve killed those who weren’t enemies.” He says in a thoughtful tone, recalling vividly the experiences of sinking his teeth into those who were relatively innocent, but had simply been there -- wrong place, wrong time. “And yourself? Have you killed?” Intensely cold optics seek to bore into her own, though he knew the answer was likely no. He shifts to stand, stretching his limbs once more to shake off what snow had befallen his pelt since laying down. In doing does the cold wind rush across the large, hairless spot across his neck and he shivers silently, a quiet reminder of his mortality.

Vaati notes her frown, “You seem disappointed.” He regards her with intrigue. “Is it because it was not you who did it or because it did not please you?” The inquiry is brought with a furrowed brow, curious at what this girl had to tell him. If she had not killed but wished to, he wonders what may be stopping her. Nothing had prohibited him from at least attempting it, but he had also grown in an environment that did not consider death at the hands of another taboo in any fashion. It was an unspoken yet essential part of their upbringing - causing some sort of calamity just to fit in with the rest of the insanity that had surrounded them. Perhaps Caiaphas fostered a different kind of upbringing for her children, one that did not leave them in mental ruin before their first birthday.