[ She listens, and she does so completely in the moment - she's heard of seastars, has seen a few clinging to rocks and old docks below and above the waterline the few times she's been down in a marina.

Everyone has scars in places that won't show. Can't show. Psychological and emotional, part of the fabric of being human or sentient enough to feel and care and not all be suffering from anti-people-matter-at-all-I-can't-actually-relate-because-I-don't-have-empathy-pathy. She doesn't end up finding an insult in the star of the ocean; her lips quirk, hinting at amusement that reaches her eyes. ]

Us and the starfish. At least one of us was born that way.

[ Again, no bitterness, but a factual statement. Shifters were made, not born. Much like Titans... exactly like Titans. Except unlike Titans, shifters tired, they needed sustenance when out of shift, and they didn't get inactive at night.

What must it be like to live in the sea? Do creatures of that realm that don't cross between the two ever wonder at the empty fullness of air that presses down on the flexible roof of their world? ]

Mmm, let me know if you end up making anything out of those things.

[ The teeth. A memory. ]

I'd be curious to see it.

[ Art is not her strong point. It's not any point at all. ]