Yoshimi vaguely wants to protest to the use of his nasty overcoat as a bandage, but some logical part of her brain insists that ripping the damn thing is probably like ripping his own soul. She had deduced a while ago that he is powerfully connected to that coat, and while it repulses her for someone to wear an article of clothing as much as he wear that coat, she's comforted by the fuzzily remembered fact that the inside of the coat is made of a sterile polymer. She had heard him mumbling that one day when he stomped into the room, bleeding as usual.

Still, she's not exactly planning on thanking him as he draws hisses of pain from her by applying too much pressure to that one - yeah, right there - gash across her forearm. Definitely not the worst of the wounds, but it's shallow enough that it's stinging like all hell, and she's really not sure if she prefers the stinging to the throbbing, mind-numbing pain radiating from her shoulder.

Within a few minutes, the fabric around her shoulder is fairly soaked, but the pressure has done a good job of stymying the would-be exsanguination. With a puff of breath, she flops to the floor, back against a wall, eyebrows knitted together.

"What now?" Ah, the sound of gratitude...