"Ah, but we did. It just wasn't all laid out in the fine print," he points out, entirely unhelpful when it comes to being visibly upset about the situation. He is, actually, in quite a few ways, but he's also Childermass. He plays most things close to his (recently cut up and bled out) chest.

Wings folded properly, he steps back again, one step, two, and sits down heavily on his own bunk — the lower one — once he feels hit come up against his heel.

"If you really want to know, it's because I'm too tired for anything else right now. I'll leave all the yelling to the younger members of the carnival..." Like Rita. She's free to yell all she wants. He isn't like to stop her so soon after Portland. "Well, that or I may simply be used to it by now. My own feathers were the first obvious changes I had, months ago. I wasn't too happy about that, either."