Sedjart, you wear optimism like it ill fits you, Bakura thought privately to himself.

"Yes," the thief answered, tone turning brisk and efficient, getting back to the purpose of the original conversation before they'd strayed into philosophical tangents. "Though I doubt, in all truth, the two actually had anything to do with each other. He appeared and attacked, used water to trap me then turned it to ice."

One hand raises again to the edge of the bandage and with a faint wince, realizes that when he'd said he'd change them soon, the 'soon' appeared to be upon them already. The sly tête-à-tête with Costigan had been a fine distraction from the pain but ignoring it further would be unwise. So he motioned for the man to follow, moving through the kitchen door to a smaller room that, given the suite's layout, probably could have been an office. There were clean rolls of bandages on the desk and he began unspooling them with deftness suggesting he'd done it many times before this injury, and apparently fine with patching himself up while continuing the conversation uninterrupted.

"You've been here longer. There's no record of anyone having armor like that?"