She touches her face -- you've got blood on your face -- stricken by the thought, like it's some sort of disfiguring disease.

"Sorry," she says, before really thinking about it.

She realizes it's not just a little blood, rubbing her fingers together again to watch it flake from her skin. It's nothing she can simply wipe off without soap and water (or a mirror), and that's why she nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Wouldn't want to be a mess when they arrive."