"I should pluck you bald as a baby just for that,"
Jo rolled her eyes at the replacement name. "Stop wiggling."

There's a momentary urge to grab his something—it starts as a thought about the generic grabbing his shoulders, but there's so much more wings everywhere that shoulders would take a few to find—but it turns into nothing. God. She's never actually been this close to them. She had seen them across from her, had them thrown out over her under a collapsing building, but never from right here, from right behind.

Never considered reaching out to touch them.

"Tell me about some of those other times." Jo's hand hovers, unsure where to start or how. Top, bottom. Wings aren't like hair. She'd never wanted a bird for a pet. Jo snorted, quiet, as the thought connected in a second way right after. Then, she reached out to brush a collection of the small feathers down the right direction, one of the smallest disastrous of the helter-skelter mess of patches, sending herself back to words. "Other ways this place had messed with everyone before I got here."