[ There is, unfortunately, no delaying this part anymore. It has been easy up until now to pretend that he isn't as bad off as he is. By some miracle his wounds, as terrible as they are, stopped bleeding, but that doesn't mean he's out of the woods by any means.

There's something about actually seeing the damage that has his chest grow just a little tighter as he sits down and starts to carefully peel the shirt that had slightly congealed to his skin from the dried blood. He can mourn the loss of a perfectly good Hellfire Club shirt later, but right now his greatest concern is just how grisly the bite wounds look. ]

I would make a quip about something, something, not even gonna buy me dinner first? But I'd really rather not add a black eye on top of all the rest of the injuries.

[ They're not nearly as deep as he thought they would be, but there are so many of them across his chest and sides, and he tries to tear his eyes away because the more he looks, the more he's reminded of the bats tearing at his skin, chewing him to shreds. The world looks blurry now, but not because of disorientation, no, his eyes are stinging with tears as he finds himself overwhelmed, flashes of being held down as one of the demonic bat's tails wrapped around his throat, choking the air out of him. He had been so sure that he wouldn't make it in time for Henderson to send him off.

And now he's here. Wherever here is, and he's not really sure he wants to know. What he does know, though, is that if this really is another chance he's being given, he doesn't want to waste it. ]

So, um. How bad does it look?