“The ground floor,” she says, alert to that glance at her shoulder and careful to keep the unbroken skin hidden beneath (torn) cloth and blood, careful to keep favouring it as she lets him help her to her feet. The sword she carries, and after a slight hesitation she picks up the crossbow as well, cradling it with her 'bad' arm and supporting both against herself with the good one, with the hand holding the sword.

The bottom of her satchel is soaked; the whole mess stinks of whiskey. At least going back to her apartment hopefully means an opportunity to restock whatever else may have been broken in her fall--

“I moved; not far.” The explanation is...not really an explanation, and a bit absent, the kind of incongruous focus on small and immediately irrelevant details that would be normal right now. Shock behaviour.

She's very good.