Owen holds up his bandaged hand, shrugging. "I wouldn't know. Takes all the fun out of self-harm, it does, being dead."

He bends his finger back just far enough to hurt any living person, and sighs as nothing happens.

Then he tilts his head, thinking. "It freaks me out more when people start being nice to me. Don't blame 'em; I wouldn't be. But I don't think there'll be any trouble of that with you." Owen grins.