[The woman who stops her is a stunner. White blonde hair lopped stylishly short, perfectly cut jaw, slender and sweet. Fukawa immediately hunches away. Her cut hand is cradled to her chest, the napkin pressed to it now blotting red. If anyone saw them together, they'd probably ask this woman why she's bothering to humor a total hag.

Just what she needs. Lost, bleeding, and being demoted the ugliest woman in the room.]

Wh-what's it to you? I don't know you. Anyone could say they're a nurse right now and get away with it. [Her eyes narrow.] For all I know, you m-might be working with the creeps who set this place up. M-maybe you're just after more blood!

[Though perhaps she could do with a little help. Conspiracy theories aside, there was little reason to lie about being a nurse. And Fukawa had been looking for something to sterilize the wound with.

Hygiene may as well go out the window. Fukawa may not have been stupid about it — she'd done the best she could with shaking hands and a mounting urge to faint, using a fresh napkin to stifle the bleeding — but if the motel wasn't sanitary then her clothes ought to be burned. The drab school uniform she's too old to wear is practically rags and has picked up a bouquet of curious odors. You can thank the smoking debris of Towa City for that.

In spite of all due precautions, she's nervous that some superbug might crawl up and wriggle into the wound anyway. It would be just her luck.]