( with a croaking warble, malak gives his wings a flap and leaps from the top of julian's head to the shoulder closest to morga. ah, yes, that's how it is, isn't it? playing favorites. well, it can't be helped. for better or worse, morga just seems to have a way with birds. and... bird-like things, as it were. he's got plenty of odd, throaty clicks for her, but julian can't understand him any better than he ever did, either. whatever he's trying to say, it's probably exasperated, though.

and whatever it is is enough to bring some levity to julian's countenance, finally. his lips quirk in a way that isn't miserably wry and resigned. it's faint, but it's there. for all you can see of it before he—carefully—curls his fingers around morga's and brings her hand up. no, not for you, malak! for him. to tilt his head down and press his lips to the backs of her fingers, gently as anything. as if he could hurt her that way, either. his lips are at least more or less the same as they were. no scales there. )

No, my dear, that won't do. If anyone's swooping in to save anyone, it'll be me. I can still do it.

( and down it goes again from his hideous beak. ...and back comes the rough curl of his upper lip. well, it was nice while it lasted. )

If they said that, I'd think they were lying. He'll never not be a threat.