[Raising the cotton to his head, he gently dabs away at the crusted blood and seasalt left behind. It's painful and tender to the touch, but he barely winces while he works. A light laugh follows, and some of that still water is swept away again under the more ever-present cheer. It's hard to tell if he's intentionally trying to dispel some of the underlying tension here or if he just doesn't see fit to cater to it anymore.]

It would be nice if I could take a day to rest, but that's no good. [He's no stranger to recklessly pushing his own limits, at least.]

I'll take as much time as I can afford, but we'll have to get back to work soon, I think.

[Which is followed by a sigh, like this is all a trifling irritation and not attempted murder part 4 ft. head injury.]