[Kratos does, in fact, follow instructions -- for the moment. Gingerly he sits on the edge of the bath-tub, choosing not to contemplate how he's meant to get undressed, with how he's aching. Instead he holds out his arms to inspect them for himself. None of the cuts are fatally deep -- he knows what it takes to achieve that -- but they are ragged from the handcuffs' dull edges. It looks worse than it is; the cleaning is going to be the worst part.]

Hmh. Just as well; I'm likely to forget my limits.

[It's a concession to Yuan's need to pretend, a concession to the way they'd always said one thing and entirely meant another. It's comforting to know that much hasn't changed. Kratos holds out his arms to Yuan, and raises his brow.]

Though you may need to change your shirt before we go there.

[Blood splotches, Yuan. Just saying.]