The Balladeer hisses as the washcloth meets his shoulder, but holds himself still to let Greta work. Resting place, he needs to work out a real name for it now that there's other people involved. That makes it sound like he's some kind of subterranean monster. "No. I follow them more than anything." Unless someone shoots a president there, he's not likely to just hop to a new location.

He takes the second cloth and presses it over the wound. "Were you?" He HAD been wondering that - he'd asked her how she got here, he remembers, but then Guiteau came along and they both got caught up in all this. "I don't know. This..." He frowns, brow furrowing in thought. "This shouldn't happen. This doesn't happen, random people getting caught up in this. Sara Jane had a point, I don't talk to people outside of them."