Quinn took some time to retrieve his water skin from his bag.  He was parched, his mouth bone dry.  He took a restrained sip and then got out of his chair to find a darker corner of the house.  He was still in the room with Charlotte and Alyssa but he faced away from them.  He knelt down and in the glow of his flashlight he gingerly removed his bandages and placed them down on the floor in front of him.  He filled his cupped hand with some water and then proceeded to clean the area around his scars where sweat had left him sticky.  He ran some hands through his scruffy grey-blonde hair and through the accumulation of rough stubble on his cheeks.  It wasn't much of a bath, but it would have to do.

He tied a new bandage around his head with the practiced motions of repeated application.  It was incredible how much better something like clean bandages could make him feel.  This was his last one, and unless he spent his dwindling supply of water on cleaning his old ones, he'd have to make the fresh ones last.  
He frowned slightly and got back up to join the others at the table.
The silence hung between them heavily.  It made Quinn shift in his seat.
"I suppose," he said at length, "this would be a bad time for a ghost story."  He said as he shined the flashlight on his face as if he were about to tell one around a campfire.  He smiled crookedly and immediately felt abashed by the action.  He probably did cut a rather ghoulish figure after all.  At least two of his teeth were cracked and then the edges of burn scarring gave off a dull shine like thick red spiderwebs.
He lowered the flashlight and muttered a weak, strained, "Sorry..."