"The pizza's here," Teige said from the other side of the bathroom door. "You lost your feathers yet?"

"Does it hurt 'em?" Hawk asked, and peeled a particularly long strip of black-and-yellow scaly skin off �his forearm. "The ghosts, I mean. D'ya think it hurts 'em, t'just dissolve like that?"

Teige had to press his head against the door to hear the next bit; Hawk couldn't quite keep the doubt out of his voice.

"I mean, they scare the piss outta me, but..."

Teige rolled his eyes, smirking to himself. "I kin promise you ent hurtin' enny ghosts, yeh great dumbass," he said dryly. "Ennyway, you're probably even doing them a favor. How'd you like to be stood around not even knowing you were dead?"

"I guess," Hawk mumbled, and reached over to turn the shower off. On the other side of the door, Teige went back to scrubbing his underwear in the sink. The rest of his clothes, and Hawk's, were laying out on every available surface, drip-drying.

"D'ya know what kinda monster I am exactly, Teige?" Hawk asked after a long moment.

"Not one fucken clue," Teige answered cheerfully. "You?"

"Nope."