Fever wasn't anything he expected, being dead. And more he feels, like he's an insect, to be toyed w- Draven sits up, fast and regrets, catches himself from falling back. Still, he looks at who found him, and his eyes go to the wings and his hand to his dagger...nearly. Draven slows, stops. Would've missed anyway. Parkour...what hasn't gone wrong?

"This isn't the first torment I imagined, but now..." he dips his head, and for all his weakness, Draven's voice steadies. "Can't think of anything more tailored."

He'll explain himself, Davesprite, just...in a while.