[He's cut himself in this way, been cut this way, often enough that Dorian knows how it's going to feel before he heals. There's hot, wet pain throbbing up his arm, and he's more aware of this than the feeling of being clamped hard in place as tongue and teeth run and bump fervently along the length of his cut. He takes a few breaths as stabs of pain surface along his skin as the gash in his arm is disturbed, and then he's being pushed away suddenly, the lightheadedness that's setting in making him slow on the uptake.

He catches himself on an arm, slips in the blood splattered all over the floor, and then grasps clumsily at a nearby box to steady himself.]

I did exactly what I had to. [Larus is healed enough to move like that, to make that face at him. He's glad.

A bit dizzy too, but relieved.

It's not over yet though.]

Can you get to your feet? [With his loose grip on the box, Dorian starts to haul himself to his feet. He's shaky as he reaches for the nearby wall, blood dripping onto the floor and down his arm, over his clothes.] If we can make it to the elevators and into the Up, we should be safe enough for now.