"Grif?" He looks back in the direction they came from, dizzily, still a little dazed by Grif's grab and run. He shakes the dazed feeling off -- but only partly, because there's only a part of it that's coming from being grabbed like that.

The rest of the dizziness and the feeling of unreality is being caused by the blood loss and the effect this place is having on him.

"Seriously? I was like this close to getting her number."

He holds his fingers just a tiny hair's width apart, talking about it like she was a normal girl and this is a normal summer's day. It looks like one to him; the blood streams are burbling happily and carnivorous flowers are in bloom. Everything is the way it should be.

He wipes at his face, which he can't seem to get clean even though he can't figure out why. Every time he pulls his hand away, it's covered in blood again, and then he wipes it off on his uniform -- which is already filthy from the blood he's already wiped on it. Then it starts over again, as he absently wipes his face and gets surprised at how he can't seem to get it clean...

"You're cramping my style, man."