He pulls his hair, irritatedly, out of the way, before it can stick to where blood has settled on his skin, shoulder to elbow and smears beyond. His bandaging has helped but it's-- Lucius' bandaging skills, so.

He sits.

"You've not any firewhiskey, I take it," he says, dry enough that he doesn't mean it - even dismissing it with a shake of his head in case her and her ~English second language~ self doesn't parse. He'd rather not also be drunk in some stranger's house, as well as bleeding. "I can use a charm," a glance up, to see if that even means anything to her, "to keep it dry."

Because in Baedal, the usual divide doesn't apply. So maybe he won't have to convince her as to the existence of magic.