"Yeah, they do that," Angeal says fondly, fully aware of the evil alignment of chickens. "But unfortunately for you, they are going to be free range. But that's exactly why I'm doing this." He jostles the rooster from its place in his arms.

This earns a loud little demonic bird noise of protest, and frantic scratching from its tiny little feet and spurs. He's not going to pretend it doesn't sting like a motherfucker, but he doesn't let go regardless. The other scratch marks on his arms are a testament to that.

"And he'll need to know how to get home anyway, so taking him out on town is good."