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...that had been an impressive jump, yes. It even made Warwick blink a little, surprised by the power behind that movement, by the fact that the unassuming knight could actually do something.

For a moment, he was too surprised to do anything but stare. The orders, though, kicked in: Warwick was used to taking orders, and they immediately rebooted him. He started back into motion, taking a few steps forward for his own feat. A running start and he scrabbled up the side of the trunk, one hand free to catch the branch beside the youma and the other cramming the knife into its great hand while it was distracted with Valhalla.

Of course, then its other hand came around to knock Warwick back to earth like a bag of flour. The dull throb of knife in its hand made the creature wobble, off-balance. Much easier prey.

There was a long scrape along the back of one of his arms, bleeding and nasty looking but really just a surface injury. He'd caught it as he tumbled past a tree, bark ripping up flesh in a way that was very familiar. He'd done that to his knees quite a few times in his youth, learning how to climb the damned trees. Hurt like a b***h for now, and it probably would keep hurting later, but there would be nothing permanent...

He stayed where he was for the moment, wincing as he stared up at Valhalla in his stupid outfit, the grass beneath him cool and reassuring. Warwick had missed the dust explosion of dying youma. If he'd known, he probably would have been disappointed. As it was now, it was probably easier to just say it was an escaped monkey and let him think it rain off.

"...cell phone?" He clutched after something small for now, blinking dazedly. He only had one cell phone.

"Uhm. Yeah. Somewhere. Near the bottom, maybe..." He wobbled as he stood, eyes closed and two fingers pressed against his forehead. There was a throbbing in his temples that probably just stemmed from the adrenaline that had coursed through him, from the end of stress. That didn't make it hurt any less, but it meant there was no more damage, really, than the scrapes and bruises that would inevitably take him over tomorrow.

"It's orange, plastic..." He gestured, vaguely, to the approximate size of the thing, and then stumbled forward another step, cracking his eyes to aid in the cell phone search. He wasn't going to be much help at all, stumbling a bit as he was, but at least the thing wasn't that hard to find. If Valhalla rummaged around where the youma had fallen, he'd probably find it.

The screen was broken.

Warwick took the phone and stood staring at the broken screen for a very long time before he tried the power button. He pressed it slowly, fingers lingering, as if by taking his time he could prevent the inevitable. Definitely he could delay it but --

But miracle of miracles, his phone did in fact work. The screen was smashed in, but the protective case [important for someone who ran around the city like a madman] had done its job and defended the sensitive machinery inside. HIs expression washed quickly to relief. Sure, his phone looked like s**t now, was something of an embarrassment perhaps, but at least it could make calls. And get them.

"...Ah." He looked up at Valhalla, not quite sure how to go about offering his own name, so he went with the question instead -- licking his lips and considering the bag. He shifted, lifting one arm to display scratched skin. "If you can get the one on my elbow I should be okay..."

He was taking it all rather well, even the smashed screen of his phone, even the sharp sting of anti-septic against his elbow. Valhalla's parting with was greeted with a sharp grin, even as Warwick sat down to deal with whatever other scratches and scrapes he might have -- the rest of them, he could handle on his own.

So he raised a hand in a wave to the knight, shoulders rolling in a quick, brief shrug. "I tend to do pretty well, so don't worry about it. Thanks for the help!"