That's good, that's good. Good people, or aliens--whatever the fuck, don't let other people fall to their deaths. [The wayward teen is grateful that's for sure because there is no telling who exactly is travelling rooftops at night and while it's common practice homeward bound? Not so many people are likely fond of it in a place like this; a place with wings, nasty disgusting bird wings--alright, alright he's getting himself worked up again over birds as he coughs again, turning his head to the side and inhaling with a small wheeze.]

Shit--no, no I'm fine. [Forcing his posture from hunched to standing he lets out a slow, even breath.] Lungs, you know?

Can't live with them, can't live without them.