[He's up and at 'em, and only staggers a little before he seems golden. Pats Edgeworth's shoulder twice reassuringly, as if to wordlessly tell him don't sweat it. But the guy seems like he will anyway; so audible responses probably wouldn't do for that. Instead he just holds one hand against the stained handkerchief. There's an obvious mask of ache, but it's more annoyed, a short grimace about as telling as a man with a hangover.
Though, his vision was still a little unfocused.]
So you're like a X-Man.
[Because it's the first thing he can spit out, without much thought.]
no subject
Though, his vision was still a little unfocused.]
So you're like a X-Man.
[Because it's the first thing he can spit out, without much thought.]