A pigeon. Meaning a bird. Wash's life, as far as Maine can tell, consists entirely of animals. He's not sure if that's concerning or cute. Finds himself a little surprised that he hasn't yet heard of a cat grandma or something.

Because why wouldn't there be a cat grandma in this place? It's weird enough!

Wash stands, extending a hand. Maine doesn't hesitate to take it, letting Wash help him to his feet. And then he's standing again, for the first time since Wash pulled a gun on him. Seven feet tall and built like an ox, looming even when doesn't mean to.

He doesn't make the first move. He stands purposefully still, waiting for Wash to start leading the way. Waiting, too, to see if Wash will freak out at him again.