The initial calamity isn't worth observing. A chair tipping over is hardly catastrophic. Nonetheless, it sounds like Ralston is making a fuss, which doesn't surprise him at all—who knows how long the man been permitted to get away with his trifling bullshit, free of repercussions—so it's only when a new colour appears in the periphery of his attention that he turns his head to see it. His eyebrows drop in undisguised puzzlement.

"Are you bleeding?" When he comes back to the bed's edge, lowers his feet back to the floor, he does so without even the slightest urgency. "How in the world did you manage that?"