No-- what? Dude, come on. That's unfair. Just because your legs are and have forever been tree trunks doesn't mean you can just expect other people's legs to work the same way.

[Church is absolutely blissfully unaware of the lingering eyes on their little public tiff. After all, arguing with Maine is kind of a full focus kind of deal. The guy's stubborn and without an actual continual mind link to him, he has to actually pay attention to the big guy's tells in order to fully communicate with him.

Which is annoying. Do-able, but annoying.]

You know what? Fine. Fine! No piggy back, no steering-- I get it. You just don't want to help someone who literally can't walk. So I'm just...

[Church glances around them, trying to see if there's any bench or ledge within hobbling distance, before just giving up and planting his ass right down on the ground, crossing his legs and arms and staring defiantly (and, for some reason, triumphantly) up at Maine.]

Move me or leave me, muscles.