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He wasn't certain, all over again, how long it had been. He thought he remembered Acrucis moving about and cleaning the safe house- here and there while he slept or found water before sleeping again. The most he'd managed was maybe five quiet minutes watching her clean the blood off the sill. Maybe that was yesterday, if it was real? Opening his eyes, it looked like it had been in some capacity the truth. The place smelled less of Listerine and there wasn't bloody, used gauze everywhere.

He was still under blankets, warm technically for all his nerves complained that they were cold from low blood count. It was a better count that it must have been all yesterday. His wounds felt a little inflamed, and breathing couldn't go further than shallow, measured in and out.

The wrapping. My ribs need to be wrapped for support, and it will help the gash too. He set his jaw, got his hands flat under him and his knees shifted and pushed up carefully to hands and knees to look around. The place looked nice, too nice really, and he felt bad that the poor girl must have still been worried or bored or both. Keeping vigil over the sick or injured was taxing.

Eventually his eyes lighted on a girl in a warm looking jacket very nearby- hair in a braid that was only a little mussed from sleeping with it in. It was concerning for a moment who it could be, but the choices were limited. It was either Acrucis herself or a friend she had called on and trusted enough to spell vigil. He hoped it was the latter, hoping the girl hadn't just spent the lion's share of at least 36 hours watching his boring, sleeping self. Someone had, though- the water bottle had always been full and always in reach (which hadn't struck him as strange the day previous, but struck him as incredibly dedicated and sweet now).

Quenton shifted to a kneel, just looking at her in the quiet for a moment before venturing a hoarse, but gentle, "Hey-"

"It's hard to breath laying down, and I need to wrap my ribs anyway. " He light brought fingers to trace the glued wound edges on his face light as feather's touch, "I can't tell if this will be an improvement or not. I might have to reapply in a day with all the talking."

"Are you....Acrucis?" The glamour guarded her without an admission. It was tempting to just not ask, but that involved a measure of conversational acrobatics to not use names if he left it alone. Not an impossible task, but one he'd rather do without.

"Han-nah, " the way in which he said the syllables betrayed all the thoughtfulness and consideration give to speaking the first sounds of an alien tongue from outside the solar system.

It's going to take some acrobatics to assign the names together. Even looking at her, and believing 'this is Hannah', it felt unnatural. As unnatural as his own reply would/should/can/must be- "You can call me Quenton, if you like."

The familiar limb-asleep dance was something intrinsically human, and he offered up a hand for her to steady herself with, "Pins and Needles?"

The temptation in the exhaustion of wounds and healing was to not care and just do what came easiest. It was a temptation he did not relent to- there was never a time for letting down guard. "Its safest to check first. We have so few safe places that we shouldn't jeopardize them for convenience."

He gave an apologetic look, though.
He would have protested the use of more magic, but without any hospitalization at all it was foolish to not accept that sort of gift. He needed his ribs and back healed faster than nature would generally allow. He needed to be able to patrol- and there really needed to be some sort of effective organization of the available healers to keep as many of the senshi in one piece and on active duty as possible.

There was so much that the 'Court' lacked in all organization. The orderless Order, like the queenless monarchy and empty throne.

The memory of her small hand tugging hard at one of her crosses until it had capitulated came back to him, laid over the same limb that offered him a small conbini bag. It never ceased to be amazing, even when it was in chagrin, how their uniforms were impervious to harm or stain. "I'm sorry for all the trouble. But that's good to hear."

He worried briefly at whether she should be so freely spending money, but it was a gift, and he would not sully the gesture with protest. "Will you share some? I don't think I could manage two, and we've neither broken fast."

"Did you get a hold of Phact? My memory of yesterday is hazy, and of when you found me jumbled with ...stuff" Music compositions and odd dreams of your boots stepping on notes among other things. " I hope I didn't say or do anything too offensive or ridiculous?"

He pulled over two waters, reached a long arm to grab the camp-coffee mugs and brought them over to share juice if she agreed.

"I won't complain of being brought soup, but you don't have to do so much. Buying doughnuts is already a lot to ask on short acquaintance. "

"I don't expect I'll be going anywhere today either, but at least I'll be conscious. " He poured the juice into the two mugs and halved a pastry to slide over to her on top of the wrapping.

He looked up, blinking at the mention that he had said something dreadful, absolutely buying it for the few seconds she maintained serious-face. At the capitulation he arched an eyebrow, faux-imperious, "I take it back. You aren't given trouble. You are trouble."

He tried to recollect how old she said she had been, but it wasn't there straight in mind compared to latin conjugations of 'te' form. Why Latin?

His fingers moved to his mouth again, idle on the left side over the glue, "I don't expect I'll be able to play music for a while. This is breaking a lot of muscle. "

Drinking was going to be a chore as well. The water had stung initially the day before, given the condition of the inside of the laceration. It had healed up a little, though. The acid of the orange juice he didn't look forward to, however, surreptitiously wishing that he had thought of straws when he'd supplied the place. He settled for sipping gingerly on the right side and transferring the liquid as fast as he could to the back of his throat to swallow. It was a little odd, left hand to right of mouth, but he'd just take it with patience.

He set it down after nursing it, deciding against consuming doughnut before subjecting his body to pain. "Where you able to help get the support bandaging on before you needed to go? There's medical support bandaging, and it's self adhesive so it shouldn't be too bad. "

"Recorder and Shawm, both woodwinds. The recorder at least doesn't have a reed of any sort."

He shifted his position to be knelt seiza- it would make him easier to reach around and allow arm movement for holding the roll or adjusting over the shoulder strokes. "In those kits, bottom of the toolbox in the bubble-packaging."