"Would you like me to?" Oh that is one lecherous grin he has behind that mask, might even be audible in the tone of his voice. But for now the mask is staying firmly in place. Arm first, imagining what this soggy wet disaster looks like peeled out of his pants will come later.

But alright, he'll be a good boy, for now, and slide out of his jacket. It's slightly difficult when he's trying to not move his arm much, but he manages to get out of his very stylish fur and leather jacket thank you very much. Those little metal hooks aren't really there to be used as handholds to tug it off when his arms not working but hey, added bonus.

Along with the jacket comes the respirator, connected to the mask with two thick flexible tubes that he reaches up to disconnect. There's a brief purplish wisp of steam when he does so, and he grunts under his breath. He can survive for a few hours without the respirator, much longer than without the mask, but that doesn't mean that time is going to be much fun.

"Worse than it is already? I'm not a doctor but I'm pretty sure my arm is not supposed to be that color. And I've been dead so that's saying something." He hunches over shirtless, muscles in his arm flexing as he prods at it to test the damage. His fingers he can't feel at all, but the upper part of his arm is nothing but a constant sharp shooting pain. The sensation of circulation returning after your foot has fallen asleep only about a thousand times worse.