Kal's sitting in one of the lobbies, half an eye on some hour-long infomercial, trying halfheartedly to practice calligraphy in an overwritten sudoku book. (His hands won't stop trembling, and the ectoplasm leaking intermittently from his scalded fingers keeps smudging the ink.)
Twists to look over the back of his chair as the mystery visitor marches back out of Kai's room, headed past him towards the stairwell. Hm!
He looks to Su-jin first, and not her master. Smiles, easy and with the tiniest hint of ill omen. "And who might this be?"
Su-jin hardly bothered to spare Kalmar a glance. Her eyes glazed over him, cool as marble. If he wasn't worth the attention of her master, then he was not worth hers.
To Iroksa, Kal may as well have been another piece of furniture: his presence was merely set dressing, something to liven up the atmosphere. But when he spoke, they stopped and turned sharply. It had just occurred to them, you see, that perhaps this lucky bystander could be of some use to them. Smiling, they approached Kalmar in his chair. "Greetings, would you perhaps--ah!"
Their eyes fell on his burned hands. A bad hookup, Kai had said. Iroksa lacked a list of this clinic's residents, but perhaps that was a fact they needed to rectify. As things stood, they lacked the evidence to be certain. It wouldn't do to make a mess of the wrong person, not right outside Kai's room. It might make coming back unnecessarily difficult. "My, those burns look quite painful."