[he jumps at the sudden voice -- some fierce undead warrior of Odin, etc etc -- but then he's looking up at Ronan, all gauzy and ethereal. he looks like a cross between a dream and a nightmare, thinks Magnus quite fondly]

[he tries to shove all that emotion, battering around inside his chest like some kind of crazed trapped bird, back into the box he usually keeps it, with limited success]

Y-yeah -- um, yeah, I know.

[again, yeah, he definitely doesn't know; he touches his mussed hair, trying to flatten it back out again. he'd tried to style in Ronan's bathroom and under his guidance with the hair stuff, but the impulse to try and dye it was a later one, back at the camp. the streaks and glitter are not the best look, which is what he thinks Ronan's referencing]

It didn't come out like, great. I don't think I can pull off dark and spooky, anyway, walking corpse or not.

[he's trying to slow his heart, but his pulse is still thudding hard in his wrists and at his throat. it's all just, a lot]