"Only eight or so motherfucking sweeps," He boasts. Because what else was ridiculous height like this even good for? "GOT LONG MORE TO GO YET, HE UP AND DOES." He's snickering before Courfeyrac can even make any kind of face. It's preferable to joke of it than lament and ponder how in Mirth's name he's gonna get through a door if he reaches proper age.

"Fear fucking not, it ain't prevalent for his whole kind. AIN'T EVEN COMMON," He amends.

"And how has a brother's own self faired? HAVEN'T SEEN FOR FUCK ALL. Haven't got a gander on for no one. BUT YOU." If nothing, he could offer something of his own claim... but he's still too much of a troll, invested in his own survival to think of such. No, it was generous enough to let him live. He had to craft something for Capitol.