The conversation was almost enough to keep Solomon's mind off the pain in his knee. Almost. When he moved, he could still feel that he was drugged; the world turned, and he was aware that his reaction times weren't the best, even leaving aside the way his knee radiated fire all the way up to his hip. (It was also enough to let him pretend he didn't see as Saint Gabriel slipped the teddy-bear into a coat-pocket.)

The former Necromancer kept an ear on that conversation while he concentrated on not passing out, throwing up, or otherwise letting go his composure. Saint Gabriel helped him into his coat and then pulled down the sheets, but Solomon, conscious of the Archangel's own injuries, turned toward Paddy's side so rely on the priest to take the brunt of his weight. Even that small movement made him have to take deep, slow breaths to avoid panting with the exertion, and his body was already sending him warning signals that he really didn't have the strength to spare for this.

Tanith Low's giggles were what made him raise his head. "Ah. Yes. I should introduce all of you. Paddy Steadfast--" He lifted a deadpan, but somehow knowing, eyebrow at the priest. "--you remember Fletcher Renn and Valkyrie Cain, I'm sure. Meet Tanith Low and Skulduggery Pleasant."

Solomon motioned at each of them as he said their names, gesturing so as to hide as best as he could the way his fingers trembled.