Altaïr is well accustomed to attending his own injuries, or to visiting a trusted physician when necessary. Unfortunately, the latter has become much scarcer since his arrival in this world; he doesn't truly trust anyone, though there are some people he is more comfortable with turning his back on.

This would be less of a problem had the bandit he encountered this morning in the wasteland been less erratic with his knife strikes. Altaïr had never considered his life to be in danger, but he'd ducked at the same time the man had flailed, and now there is an irritatingly placed wound near his shoulder blade that is just deep enough to be a bother.

None of this stops him from eyeing the setup toward the back of the room once he enters. He has an oozing knife wound, yes, but the pursuit of some kind of knowledge is much more interesting.

"Good afternoon." He raises a hand in greeting, refusing to show the twinge of pain he feels as he does. "What is it you're working on?"