Well, he walked into that one. "Anyone in particular from Scotland - or similarly accented alien world?" As if that were a perfectly reasonable possibility.

He's a little curious about the state of his torso himself - his memories aren't as clear as he'd like, after a certain point. He feels stiff, and sore, but there's no throbbing from the cuts, which is a good sign, so he's only a little hesistant to lift his shirt and bare his stomach and lower chest for inspection. And cranes his neck to look for himself - looks like they worked hard to find unscarred patches of skin to mark.

"Sure, eggs sound good." Sudden, sharp pause, and he gives Bruce a guarded look. "... Did you cook them yourself?"