[ it takes him a minute to come to the obvious, inevitable conclusion: lying to roxanne morton is pointless. he cards his left hand through his hair, mouth curving up into a sheepish half smile, too slight to be entirely calming. ]

Sorry. [ for fudging it. he should know better than to soften the truth with her. he takes a seat on the edge of his bed, looking up in earnest. ] Burned my whole arm, basically, but it's nearly healed.

[ it still throbs and inhibits his everyday activities, with training and patrolling off the table until he fully recovers, seeing as he can't fire a weapon or throw a punch, presently. if not for the supernatural nature of healing on el nysa, well, he wouldn't be as fine as he is — best to omit that, for the time being. ]

Normal wear and tear otherwise. Swear down, Rox. [ WELL. ] Got exposed to some nasty shit, like a toxic haze, but the doctors don't think it did permanent damage.