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The light knock on the door preceded Oddys voice, in what was probably becoming a bit of a parade of visitors and well wishers, though he'd gotten back here a little later than planned, after trying to crack a "Godfather" joke with the nurse. That hadn't gone so well. People were so -weird- about that, although he'd finally convinced her that the only thing likely to bleed through his bag was his markers, not an horse head, though there were enough pastry's carefully stashed in the bottom of his bag, carefully boxed and camouflaged under notebooks and a disarray of markers, that he probably could have, if not choked one, given it mild indigestion.
"Hey..." He called, opening the door slightly as he did so. Classic Oddy assumption that no one was naked, dead, or otherwise indisposed. "Mind if I come in? Mom sent you a care package." He reasoned that was the great opener of doors. Steriotypical maybe, but his mothers baking was not to be trifled with. Or refused if possible. "And markers." And that was the fun part, which he hoped might make her feel a little better.

"Two monster Cinnamon rolls, an canoli, and a YEE! Lobster Tail" Oddy offered in explanation, though his voice rose briefly in pitch at her ab-attentions. "If you keep tickling me I'm gonna drop the whole lot! I mean as funny as it would be to see you trying to lick it off the blankets..." He added, in a halfhearted scold, trying to dislodge the box gently from under everything. "...I'd probably crap blood too if I had to eat Hospital food. Damn. I mean seriously cruel and unusual." He grimaced, which was immediately followed by one of his thousand watt grins, if somewhat dimmed by his actual concern for her well being. "Hopefully the pastry are at least as theraputic as my amaaaaaaaaaazing abs." He added, purposefully putting an ridiculous roll on the tone, as he handed her the box, another marker skittering off the top to land haphazardly on the edge of the bed, then tumble to the floor.
"Any requests for the cast?" He ignored the marker for the moment, fishing for some of the others as he handed off the box.
He suspected his mother might have packed too much to avoid detection, but that was his mother for you. The road to weight gain was packed with her good intentions and delicious baking.

His grin flickered out like a dead bulb when he let his gaze linger on the marks around her neck, and he pulled up the visitors chair to cover for his upset. Char was like extended family, and you just didn't do this s**t to family.

"Hey, My cape is sexy." He joked, though it sounded a lot less enthusiastic this time, as he uncapped a marker with his thumb. "You're just jealous of it."

He stared in silence at the cast for several beats, as though he were studying the totem pole design and committing it to memory. Maybe he were on some level, but his expression indicated he was somewhere else entirely for a moment.

He didn't answer her demand for him to 'get out' of the business. She wouldn't like the answer that popped to mind, especially since out of the two of them, it wasn't exactly a secret that she was the more powerful Senshi, so he let her fill in her own answers, by asking another question.

"What the hell happened out there??" He asked, voice pitched low so it would be harder to hear if someone was listening outside the door, but it was still pitched with emotions you didn't normally hear in his voice. Anger being one of them, though not at her.

He leaned forward to draw on the cast, planning on an small spider web, defined by black space, to make it stand out more, as though this small little normal thing would ward off whatever horrors had gone on in the nights preceding. Little talismans to keep the dark outside.

He went dead silent again, which made him look like he'd just aged thirty years, shoulders drooping as he lowered the pen, swallowing hard. "...s**t."

Her tone sounded so wrong it grated, like putting your hand in something thick, cloying and slightly cancerous, and he didn't like hearing it from her.
He couldn't remember -loosing- someone before, either It was like someone had driven a truck into the room and then parked it on him.

"s**t, I'm sorry, Char..."
He wanted to reach over and hug her, again... classic Oddy failure with personal boundaries, just give her a bone crunching hug until he squeezed out everything she was bottling up like poison, but he'd only make her physical damage worse, and he didn't think he could squeeze hard enough to crack that brittle feeling, jagged shell.

He ran his fingers through his hair, nearly drawing on his own forehead in his distraction. He'd always figured in this kind of situation some -amazing- idea would pop to mind. Some divine inspiration from above to summon amazing power from the cosmos and save the day... but there wasn't anything of the sort. He just felt sort of... faintly nauseous and hollow, thinking about it. He didn't even feel quite life finishing the drawing, which made him stare at the marker again as though he'd never seen it before in his life, then reach back over to start again.

"....Eat your other roll...Mom thinks you're going to turn into underfed dust and blow away."
Completely lame thing to say, but he -had- nothing else. There was just this huge void in his head where he'd expect there to be something meaningful, deep, or ... something, and somewhere beyond that there was a little voice in his head screaming bloody murder and kicking the walls. A trapped voice of emotion that didn't know exactly how to vent itself.

He forced a smile again, drawing carefully with the marker so he wouldn't interrupt the world sneakingly important task of eating.
"..Hey maybe I'm sad because I just calculated the cost of parking tickets for a tank, and it would totally blow my Christmas savings." He joked, thinly. He felt like they could use one though. Damn. Just, goddamn.
He glanced up and gave her a look that was half grimace and half smile, switching the marker to his off hand so he could delicately tousle her hair.

"...One of my relatives wants me to go spend the summer working at his theater. I'll think about it." he offered. He just didn't say what he'd think about it. Or how long. "...But not while you're stuck here." He added, firmly. He couldn't just leave her laid up in a hospital with... whoever, or -whatever- had done that to her wandering around. Bastards.

Fight the good fight. God, was there really such a thing? I mean how did you have a good fight when the other side would do whatever it took to kill you and everyone around you?
"I'm not gonna get myself killed. I promise. Mama Corlione didn't raise any idiots."

Weird how it almost felt -better- to see her fighting tears, because at least that was -something-. Because it wasn't both of them sitting there like they had a truck parked on their emotions. Because anything at this point was better than nothing. "...you got a cell with you or anything?" He asked, frowning in concern again. "So you can reach me if you need anything?"

"Why shouldn't I worry about your a**? It's a great a**." he joked, this time with faintly more feeling than before. Cheerful facade restoration at 35%.
"Dunno. I was thinking about it. I haven't got a date though. Might go stag myself. We can hang around, drink punch till we explode and check out girls or something... try and imitate the best Don ever by stuffing marshmallows in our cheeks..." He offered this up with a faint wink, though added an much more exaggerated grimace. "Should we start a pool to see if someone asks the Chaz-man? Or if he, amazingly, asks someone?"

"That is some serious needle though. What were they -doing-. Scrimshaw?"

He laughed at the suggestions, honestly amused. "Yeah but I've got two left feet too. I just cram one of them into a right hand shoe to fool people." He added, with a wink. "I mean I suppose that might be negated by the cape of awesome, but the cape of awesome is of course, top secret."
The earlier conversation still left a dull ache, but it was like putting a band-aid on it for now. Walls might get punched in an hour or two, but for now there was some laughing.
"Pan's cute." he admitted. "They're both cute, if Tate's a little on the odd duck side. I mean...then again. So are we. You're definitely on about Chaz." he added. "I'll ask someone." he promised. He didn't really know either girl as more than a passing recognition and a vague idea of tastes, but they seemed like good folk. Who knew. One of them might go for it. That would just leave getting them past the parent-radar without having to explain that no, they really weren't anorexic, or trying to insult the cooking, but most girls these days seemed to have some kind of demented 'dieting' complex, and these two were a mystery on that front. "Why go stag yourself then? You don't have to buy a corsage." He pointed out, gesturing with the marker. "Getting off easy like that..."

Don't go out alone? Damn... that really did sound more like Astrea than Char, which was perhaps why he decided to take it to heart.
"...I'll see if I can find someone to pair up with, at least till you're back on your feet." He promised, starting to put the markers away. "I'll tell mom you liked the pastries, bring you more if I get a chance." He promised. Hell, his mother would probably be sending him with extra lunch until she was satisfied that Char was sufficiently capable of feeding herself. That could be a while.
"Enjoy your scrimshaw." He joked, as he retrieved the pen that had escaped earlier before it could get kicked under the bed. He did think about leaving it, in the amusing fantasy that some little kid would find it and draw all over the sterile, inhospitable walls, but it would probably be found by a nurse first. "Definitely call if you need anything though, ok? Anything." He raised an eyebrow to underscore it, as though -somehow- he could actually force Charys to do anything she didn't feel like doing.