Erskine opened his mouth to argue the point. Corrival would have been working at this nonstop all night - there was no way he should even think of giving up the only chair in the room. But Erskine pushed himself off the doorjamb to accompany his words with physical proof that he was fine, and his legs nearly buckled underneath him.

Okay, then. Not quite perfectly fine.

It was interesting, actually, from an objective viewpoint. Erskine had folded into the frame of the doorway just in the few seconds of leaning against it. Giving up his magic to help heal an Archangel, as it turned out, had its consequences. Who knew? Erskine took a moment to collect himself, then nodded wordlessly and sank gratefully into the chair.

"At the Hibernian," he replied after another few moments, gently rubbing the bridge of his nose. The earlier headache was starting to creep its way back in. "With his insides turned to mush. Otherwise, he's fine." The words were a little more biting than Erskine originally intended, but he decided not to apologise for that. "He doesn't particularly want to see any of us ever again, but he's going to be okay."