[Plenty of things are complicated here. At least some of the usual problems are tabled for the moment, or... not much of a problem anymore. That wing flutter leaves Quentin wincing a bit in sympathy.]

Why, doc, you don't want to spend time with me? I'm wounded. [His tone is dry as he presses a hand to his chest melodramatically, only to let it drop.] Fair enough. Lemme guess, the rings are... some kind of conduit? And without using them, I'm fucked feeding-wise.