[He shakes his shaggy head of soot and ash and debris, half leaned against one of the nearby walls.] Butterflies. Butterflies! My handwriting's gotten away from me. [Without looking at this other onlooker, Arthur continues trying to clean himself up, furrowing his brow while his hairline and eyebrows slowly grow back.]

I've had drunken brawls worse than this--may as well have stubbed my toe or something. I'd be swearing more, for certain.

Don't worry, nothing toxic! I think.