"Don't know about you, but me and scenes get along just fine. You wanna start inviting them in to conversations, I ain't gonna be rude and turn 'em away." His hands settle at his waist, staying propped there, as he stares Finnick down. It's still a somewhat aggressive stance, but he's not making any further moves. Things are fine for now.

"Who are you supposed to be anyway? Actin' all important." Ghoul's sense of smell is pretty good, yeah, but he hasn't figured out the trick when it comes to pinpointing certain types of people. Finnick can't be a witch, since he's already implied he doesn't like them...

All Ghoul knows is that he smells vaguely of outside and other various things. One of those being the nauseating smell of sweet, slightly spoiled meat.

—Wait, no. That's one of the vampires strutting around. Fuck, they always complicate everything.