He takes the crab-claw down. "Yeah, I figured. And look, it's a fucking TEAM PORCUPINE shirt. I've always wanted my wounds to be dressed with the wishes and dreams of a bunch of weirdos who ship that crazy girl in your district from the planet France with that guy who's made out of rocks."

He squints at her backpack. "Why is my face your backpack? And where the fuck did you get the shipping shirt anyway?"