Ozymandias prided himself on his intellect, but he had to admit he had entirely lost the plot on this conversation. He was being accused of something, but what precisely he couldn't have said. Whatever it was had affected her greatly, and Oz was almost concerned by the way she clutched at her chest. Well, he was concerned — but given the accusations she was leveling against him, he presumed any attempts to comfort her would not be taken well.

The name drop of 'Jacob' did nothing to clue him in to what was happening here, and the reference to the Khimki forest had him equally at sea. He didn't know who Jacob was, and he didn't even know where the Khimki forest was, much less ever pretended to have visited. The only straw he could clutch at in this jumbled mess was her reference to a scent.

"You're upset about the way I smell," he repeated, as though he could not quite believe it. Needless to say, this had never happened to him before; hardly anyone even bothered to comment on his cologne, much less saw it as evidence of some disgusting trick. Why had such a small thing had such an impact on her? A few seconds ago she had been beckoning him up to her side, and now she had all but called him a predator. The scent had some special meaning for her, that much was obvious — and quite an emotional meaning, if she was this quick to jump to conclusions once she'd caught a whiff of it. He had an urge to raise his wrist to his hand and take a sniff himself, but of course that was silly — he knew very well he wouldn't be able to smell whatever it was she had.

Oz edged back on the chaise a few more inches, hoping that giving her a little extra breathing room would help defuse the tension slightly. "I invented this cologne," he admitted, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. "But months before I ever saw you perform. I couldn't have anticipated it would have this effect on you."

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