"I have poor impulse control," Lamb told the human. "It is very difficult," she said, and the words did indeed sound like it was being drawn out of her with great work, "for me to... hold back from... anything I want."
Lamb held onto one of the circus poles and swung lazily around it as she waited for him to catch up. "My kind are instinct and hungers. I," she added proudly, straightening up, "am not like most vetala. I speak, I befriend, I travel, I learn." She shook her head. "My kind don't do bother with these. They kill and eat and and lurk only where the bodies are. We don't even talk to other vetalas. So," she repeated, "it takes many thoughts ahead to not follow each impulse as it comes."
When Oliver sped up to get to the freakshow tent, Lamb beamed and then followed him at a skip. She was about to become protective of her hooks - No, I work with these! but realised what he meant first. Her hooks. He would be borrowing only.
Lamb took hold of them both and lifted her feet off the ground, moving her knees to get some movement. "I hang here through flesh and they gasp and point and whisper and make this face-" She mimed the shocked and horrified expression of many of the patrons who wanted to look away but also desperately wanted to watch.