A puff of thick, white smoke bellowed from Otto's lips and nostrils following a hearty pull from his trusty pipe. More smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke beneath his hood, "Young lady, nicely done with the machine. Perhaps before it sends us off gallivanting throughout the city, it can direct our friend in the corner to the nearest wash closet..." He subtly tipped a salute to Moth with his pipe and returned it to his lips, continuing a slow and steady drag/exhale.
Weapons? What sort of weapons would do this lot any good? Are there any former soldiers among us? It's been years since you practiced healing, old man--at least ten since you practiced any work as a medic. From the look of things, you are in need of a medic more than this lot.
Aggravated at himself for his negative (yet factual) thoughts, Otto flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing soreness. He had no experience with practicing medicine in a clinic; he would be a little use without his suitcase of supplies. Weapons would be of little use to him. Without his personal stash of readiness items, the best alternative would be an herb and tonic shop. The worst alternative would be to collect what he needed outside of the Periphery City boundary walls, which seemed more like the punchline of a ill-timed joke.