"I dunno if I'd call it my favourite, but if I gotta pick one of those emotionally manipulating ones, it's up there," Amos drawls. He's not particularly interested in some of the other options — doesn't have a masochistic streak in him; isn't too interested in artificial happiness, either. When he's pretty sure he's never felt the real thing, it just feels like a bad idea.

And one far away from where they currently are, so he pushes the sentiment aside. Continues walking at an easy pace, nodding at Hythlodaeus' idea. "That sounds good to me. 's never a bad thing to find a place like that—"

A place for them to be regulars at, chat at, but his words are cut off at the same time as his airflow. He abruptly lets go of Hythlodaeus' hand, ending the process of purification, instinctually reaching for his throat where there's... nothing. Of course there's nothing, as he makes a slight wheezing sound, it breaking off into a cough as his breath returns.

Fuck, he's getting sick of that happening.