ii

[Viktor is not in pain--even if he was, though, there's little he can do with the pills they send him out of the medical tent with. He has no way to functionally ingest them, though he knows it's the thought that counts, given the distressing nature of the injury on his face.

Which he's currently disguising with an oversized sheet of fabric--maybe a curtain, once--draped over his head like a hooded cloak. Better to hide, for now, so as not to alarm anyone with his appearance. Still, he must look miserable, seated like some kind of oversized metal gargoyle on a pile of scrap. It takes him a moment to realize someone is talking to him.]

I'm-- [He has to think about this, apparently.] --fine. Thank you.

[The two yellow eyes inside the darkness of the hood seem to look her up and down, lingering, briefly, on the injury. Viktor will produce his own recently-acquired medicine, holding it out in offering.]

You likely have more use for this than me.