While he's occupied, Benny hangs her own coat up on the back of the bathroom door and puts her sweater in the laundry basket; the last thing she needs is getting his blood on what wardrobe she currently has, but she's not as worried about her tank top and jeans. It takes her much less time, enough that she helps to ease his shirt down over his injured arm before directing him to the stool, a little hint of a moue on her lips as she examines the injury more closely.

"That's going to need stitches," she says, frankly; she's prepared for that, but not as prepared as she'd really prefer to be. "I was going to put you in the shower after I'd tended you, but you're going to need to keep them dry for the first twenty-four hours." Unless he has, you know, some kind of magic spell than can protect the area. "I'd really like to give you a local anaesthetic, but we're going to have do it the old fashioned way. I'll get you something to bite."