She's the last person that should be judging someone based on their background. Lord knows she had spent enough time in her earlier years fighting against the X-Men and others. She'd stolen enough powers and memories to put her as so many different people's villain. But she's gotten better. Or at least she hopes she has.

Regardless, when Scott and the others had brought back Victor Creed's "cub" after a mission, she hadn't been ready to write you off as someone unsalvageable. If she could be changed, so could you.

....Even if you didn't seem to take a shine to that idea so far.

*But that doesn't mean there isn't progress! Small-steps are still steps!

Like right now, how she's got her gloved hands buried in your mane of hair and you aren't trying to claw her face off! The layered, unruly mess was clearly inherited from your "dear old pop" and she wasn't about to ask to cut it. You still seemed to hang on to the idea that the man would tear down the door any day now and take you back to wherever you were before, and you simply had to play nice till he did.

And as such "Howdy, sugar. How does letting me cut off a physical reminder of yer daddy who you haven't seen in weeks and who you clearly adore, sound? Yeah? Maybe we'll get you a nice buzz-cut." Didn't seem like something you'd take kindly to.

Regardless of emotional attachments, she figures doing something nice for you might brighten your mood and since she's well versed in the struggles of puffy hair with an absurd amount of volume, she's doing her best to braid yours to keep it out of your face.

You've yowled, hissed, the occasional low rumble in the back of your throat when she tugs too tight, but you've been mostly cooperative as you sit in front of her on her bed. "Maybe if yer feelin' nice, we can paint them claws of yers' a pretty shade." She teases light-heartedly. She knows she's probably poking the bear with this. But she's cautiously optimistic that you're starting to have fun. "We'll make yuh a house cat 'for too long."