The Balladeer nods, already in the process of unbuttoning his shirt. It's a hell of a lot easier than trying to keep the sleeve free. "I guess we can just use the soap," he says as he slips his good arm out of its sleeve, nodding towards the sink where he figures there should be some. That's probably going to sting, but he'd rather that than infection.

Speaking of stinging, he hisses in pain as he carefully extricates his wounded shoulder from the rest of his shirt. Once it's off, he tosses it into the tub and peers down at the wound with a grimace. Lucky he's never been squeamish about blood, though he'd kill for some painkillers. "We're not going to be able to stay here forever."