Halfway across the ship, Phil thinks the worst, though he can hardly be blamed. A scream like that cuts through two decks for an owl. In a moment he's on his feet; he hikes Bad Penny onto his hip and sprints.

The direction of the sound brings him into Sundries, and he crashes in, a hand on the hilt until he sees that the issue is not that she's getting stabbed to death or something, despite all the blood. No. It's a very, very violent way to say that he's not alone in being winged the way he is anymore.

"Oh, fuck, Erin," he says sharply. Those are fresh. Tender, probably. A gift as unwanted as his. He shouldn't touch those, but he's going to look, see if there's anything still actively torn and bleeding. "Shit. I--there's probably opioids in the infirmary. Are there still open wounds?"