Gabriel growls again, reaching out to push Shrieky away so that he can leave. The man's second comment stuns him a bit, though. Why would someone like the living even give a damn? Glancing at the man, the undead rogue touches one torn cheek with an annoyed look.

"They'll be fine." He mutters bitterly, even though it was a lie. To fix up this mess, he needed needle and thread to fix the rips. That... or a nice meal.

Eying Shrieky once more, Gabriel's eye sockets focus on the strange man's skin. A pound of flesh or two should fix it right up. "Unless you want to help."