Yuffie still didn't really have a clue what was going on. All she knew (aside from the painfully obvious) was that it sucked, and that it was sorely tempting to act on her impulse to plant her slipper in the back of Sagara's head.

She didn't, though. Yet.

Stumbling across the hallway, the ninja rubbed her head. Ow. Owwwwww. "Ow," she mentioned outloud, for good measure. "Sagara, I goddamn hate you. Even if I can use Clear Tranquil, you can bet your ass I won't be using it on you again!"

Even though the fighting seemed to be over, the atmosphere still felt so tense and thick. Thick like butter. Or maybe batter? Yeah, that was it-- walking was like wading through an ocean of Tifa's best, thickest waffle-batter. Or maybe that was just because of how suckylicious she felt? As soon as she could, Yuffie flopped to the floor on the other side of Kenshin.

"You're lookin' a bit worse for wear," she told the red-head conversationally, despite how hard it was to keep her words from slipping into a mumbling slur. Never mind the fact that she could barely see a thing, let alone make out the extend of his injuries; the smell of blood was a pretty good, if gross, indication of how beat up the guy was.