( now that's curious. there's another small pass of smoke past his lips, considering; a heteromorph. that's not a term that they use, which means that--'in my world', hawks had said, hadn't he? meaning that there's multiple worlds. multiple places. that not everyone here is from where he's from, or even close to it.

that realization isn't fully sudden: he'd been considering it as an idle possibility, but now, hawks has made it a reality. with a soft nod of his chin-- )

A human being, then. ( that at least reserves his hatred--and means that he'll carry on like this, polite enough, cool and composed. ) I've never seen one with wings like yours.

( and curious, that they're growing back in--though it's not the first time he's seen something like that, it does make him wonder-- )

What's your occupation? ( he considers apologizing for the multitude of questions, but then decides against it. leaving his cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside table, he takes up his coffee cup again; there's a slow swallow, letting the heat roll down his throat. ) I ask because of your injuries. It seems like you do something dangerous.