Very carefully.

[ A burst of short, barking laughter at his own ~joke~. He's nursing a headache. A fully bodyache, really. Everything about this is disorienting. It's one thing when you're taking over short term, but this... this'll take a readjustment period.

He's more focused on himself than Angel, body language a perfect representation of a man who is humoring his tantrum-prone daughter. ]

I get that things are a little eeeeugh right now, hon, but you'll get used to this. Promise.

[ He's waving his hands dismissively, making the noises to match, drowning her out like she doesn't get a voice in this.

And. She doesn't. This is his body now. ]

Stop! I'm gonna stop you right there. I did not kill him. Right, buddy?

[ He smiles, looking sidelong for a half-second, as if he expects some kind of answer. ]

Soooo... he might be a little quiet, and passive, and twenty times droolier if he had control of his mouth, but he's around.

[ He quirks one of Rhys' caterpillar eyebrows, shifting his weight to his other foot. Damn, the kid's arm gets heavy after awhile. ]

Was that meant to be threatening? Angel? Seriously? It's already over.

[ He comes up behind her, closing the gap quickly and wrapping his arms around her from behind. It's loose, far from the bear hugs he used to give when he was bigger and she, smaller. ]

There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. So... let's put it behind us, yeah? Consider this a fresh start.

Ah-ah, lang-

[ Handsome Jack would like to think that he's prepared himself for every outcome in this situation. He anticipated anger. Sadness. She's a child, after all, and as smart as she is, there are things she doesn't understand straightaway. He even planned on her pushing or pulling away.

The letter opener, however, takes him completely off guard. And that's how Jack's new body ends up with a sizable slice curving up from his chin, cutting across his cheek and nicking the bridge of his nose.

In the end, it's Jack who shoves her. ]

B-baby, what the HELL?!

Angel.

[ He's not over 'it'. He, in all likelihood, will never be, no matter how hard he's been trying to justify it over and over again in his head. She came at him. She was going to kill him, if she could. She betrayed him. She.




Is his daughter.

Jack shakes himself out of his thoughts and drops the bags. He flips her upside-down and holds her at arms length by the ankles, head an inch from the snow. ]

Cool it.

[ He will dip her head in the snow if the tantrum persists. He'll see this ill-timed dad joke 'til the end, so help him. ]

[ Well, that barb was a direct hit. Jack has to look away, lowering Angel unintentionally as she does so, which is guaranteeing some soaked hair. The hurt is that much more apparent when it's not on his masked face.

Jack sets his face again and lowers her all the way. Gently, and not headfirst as promised. He gets her on her back and releases her ankles. ]

Let's just keep walking. We - we can have a discussion when we settle down for the night.

Because then it's just me and Rhys.

[ Which, of course, means that it's a Rhys trapped alone with Jack. While that sets in, he takes something from his pocket and covertly winds it around one hand as he simultaneously kicks the bags out of her reach. ]

Think about things carefully.

Yes.

[ It's a blank, empty, and hollow affirmation. And nothing else as he shifts subjects, thumb dancing over the Whatever wrapped around the rest of his fingers. ]

Last chance, Angel. Walk towards me.

Then, for what it's worth, I am sorry.

[ Considering her fears, this is probably not reassuring. Especially when he rushes and grabs her about the shoulders, forcing them both down to their knees.

He then unwinds the length of - is that a pair of shoelaces tied together? Yes -- and forces her wrists together, tying them tightly. ]

You already hate me, right? So what can this hurt?

I am. And I do. I always will, because that's what fathers DO. Even after their kids stop loving them.

[ He turns his face so she can see the scar she's inflicted. He hasn't bothered to clean or dress it, and the blood has soaked his collar and Hyperion yellow jacket. It's still oozing as he turns away again and yanks Angel's sleeves over the laces.

It's not the best camouflage, but he has to work with what he has. He kneels down by the bags, removes the sharpened letter opener, and covertly slides it up his sleeve. People will probably feel confident enough approaching "Rhys". This could work. This WILL work. ]

Now march, missy.

Hey, Angel? I'm not stupid, and neither are you. You have to know that I've been watching and listening to your conversations with your ~real father~. I know that you're basically playing us against each other. I know that he said he'd do the exact goddamn thing I did. Zero hesitation.

[ He has to reshift the packs he's carrying, and the tremor in his flesh hand has started up again. Frickin' great. ]

Either we're both irredeemable crapbags you hate, or neither of us are. Which is it?