Mirthful motherfucking Messiahs two. There are so many reasons why he shouldn't be okay with this. He isn'tentirely sure he is okay with this. The back of his mind is screaming that he should cull this troll, this heretical bit of walking Empress chattel, he should do himself right by Messiahs now. But it gets harder and harder to hear over the wash of waves, the gentle shooshing. And he can't kill here anyway, right? Not yet. This is fine.

And it feels nice.

"Brother, hair grows back," he says. He gives his hair a quick shake once the Helmsman is finished. "GOT LOTS ANYWAY."

He looks at the directly Helmsman once more. His hand grips air at his side, opening and closing, and for once not entirely in want of his clubs.