"Yes, and whatever happened to them, that's the one exception. It's—unsettling, to be killed and then not be dead anymore but remember having been killed."

"...does that happen often?"

"Does, when I go patrolling. I'm a bit more reckless than other people, because I can afford to be, and it's as confusing to the villains as it is to me."

Hug?

...sure, why not. Pat pat.

"I wonder if I made you things if they'd stick. I guess probably not."

"Like what?"

"Dunno. Wings, if you wanted wings."

"Oh. I don't think so, but—you could try?"

"Okay. I'll make them so if they don't magically come off in thirty seconds I can take them off anyway if you don't want them. ...for wings you'd need to not be wearing a shirt."

He shrugs and removes his shirt. His skin is weird enough that it barely looks like skin.

And now he has wings like Epic's but grownup sized.

And he waits thirty seconds.

They're gone.

He sighs.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault, pretty used to it by now."

"...I can also turn people into birds, but there's no reason to expect that one to stick either -"

"Sure, why not?"

That one's touch-range. Bird.

Bird!

And thirty seconds later: not a bird.

Sigh. "Sorry."

"It's alright, kiddo," he says, and ruffles Fëanáro's hair (it will become unruffled in thirty seconds, of course).

He kind of freezes up. Humans. 

"ThankyouforcominginIhopeyouhaveaniceday."

"You too," he says, cheerfully oblivious, and leaves.

"...was that upsetting?" Legend asks.

"Elves don't touch hair. Ever. ...I guess if you're married."

"Oh. It's sexual? I'm very sorry, I'm sure he didn't mean it—"