That earns a short bark of laughter out of him. Brief and breathy, like always. Good genes, she says. Like all their bodies have gone through is genetic. A product of breeding and chance. He looks down at his hands, how much more talon-like they've become. "You won the lottery there," he agrees, and it's meant to be a joke. By comparison, anyway.

He won't admit it. But part of him relaxes when she changes like that. Makes his own form feel less like it stands out painfully against the world around them. He knows he's always been a bit of an oddball, though the centuries have made the reasons why blur and fade. "Yeah, I do." He looks slide long at her, difficult given the lack of visible eyes and all. "Got to admit, I'm a little jealous with your theme. Always did like looking at the stars."

It's a good aesthetic. A very, very good one.

"That's probably a good thing. After this long, someone's bound to have run out of things to talk about."