S A M U E L
Sam looked up at his concerned stranger - at least she seems nice, he thought, thinking back on meeting Archebold in the Atheneum under similarly embarrassing circumstances. He had definitely not been nice. "Y-yes, I'm fine." He tried to reassure her, but he did take some effort in getting up with the sun on him and his legs stiff from the panicked move backward.
Dusting off his clothes as subtly as he could he was about to answer her second question similarly dismissively, when he caught a glance of his hand as he reached for his parasol.
There was not a cut, as such - he felt blood or at least something recognisably a wound had to be present for that. But his palm was sliced open, likely on a rock as he had crawled back. He stared at it. There was the ghost of something similar to pain, a tingling feeling along the edges; a sticky clear substance just underneath. It was alien, and he hated reminders of his 'predicament'.
"...I...will be alright. I think." He said, still staring at his hand. "I-um-I'm not. Normal. So I don't need the...h-help. But thank you."
I AM THE OCEAN CLAWING AT YOUR MOON
