"Another healer? … Whew." Yuffie followed Okita into the room, and, after a moment of hesitation, sank into a crouch on the floor to empty her pillowcase. She set out the items carefully, leaving her own shuriken laying flat behind her. "Can't remember how much I've told you about my ability before, but awesome as I am, I gotta admit: it's really more suited to, y'know…" There was a soft jingle and jangle, and a rustle of cloth, as she extracted the keys and scalpels. "… the battlefield, or close to it. The bigger the pinch I'm in, or have been in, the easier it is to use."

The uniform, the box of cigarettes, the gun and the box of ammo, the whiskey, and the machete were soon littered neatly about on Okita's floor. Yuffie sat back on her heels, pillowcase draped across her lap. "There's a machete," she confirmed, staring at it—and everything else—longingly. Her fingers were itching almost as bad as the back of her neck; she could've sworn that the shadows were still flickering, mutating… "And scalpels, and—well, you can take a look for yourself."