She snorts, unattractively-- amused? Maybe. "For you, or for them?" That's not a real question. She's pretty sure Advil doesn't work on angels, the same way bullets don't.

Casually, she floats around his wing until she's basically next to him-- she's seen his wings before, on the planet where she said some pretty cruel things last. She didn't like the feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one that made her flesh crawl and her scars throb with the memory of old pain. It's still no excuse. The wings are pretty.

"Maybe you being indestructible had something to do with it," she mutters, "but they still could've split them up. Doesn't seem fair."