A hoarse laugh rattles its way out of his chest, followed by a fit of coughing. No ink this time -- he's surprised he has any left in him, but supposes that's what happens when the origins of such a substance are mysterious. Of course, so were many truths about the twice-cursed. If only he knew years ago what he knows now.

"How gentle can you be?" he asks, both in earnest and in jest -- his humor only shows at the most macabre at times, it seems, but he cannot help but take advantage of the reprieve his partner has given him simply with his appearance. "A strong breeze could knock me off my feet, much less the... currents you provide. I..." Another breath, in and out, as he tries to focus his eyes. "I haven't the control necessary Not presently."