The first response Ghastly got as Kenspeckle helped Tanith seat Gabriel on the table was a flat look. "Really, Bespoke? I wouldn't have guessed that at all, given that Fletcher here is the last Teleporter in this reality and he, apparently, didn't get the chance to be an idiot."

He turned back to Gabe, his eyes narrowed. The way the boy was moving, there was definitely some kind of muscular damage--a significant amount, Kenspeckle would say. The man could hardly move. He might not even be able to take his shirt off without help. (There weren't any bloodstains, but that didn't mean much. Extensive bruising? Quite likely.) "Clarabelle--oh, blast that girl. Low, hand me those scissors. I don't suppose I'm right in saying you're going to have trouble undressing? Of course I am. Pleasant will be able to provide you with new clothes, I'm sure."

The last half was directed at the man sitting on the table, an expression of patient, amused curiosity on his face. Kenspeckle ignored it, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. Someone this young hadn't earned the right to have that kind of expression. At least the curiosity was a good sign; showed there was something in there.