Defensive knows defensive, and Kabal is looking more than a little familiar.

"Only because I passed out. That was low blood-sugar, not skill." Len rolls his eyes, still pissed off at his traitor body. He can't afford to be weak right now. Not with Chronos gunning for him.

As for what comes next, at least Len has an excuse that's as convenient as it is inconvenient. He doesn't want to play nanny, but he's safer in here than he is out there. Chronos will be looking for him everywhere but here. An occupied room with a long-term tenant.

"No. I stay here and make sure you don't go septic and die before I can kill you properly." Len moves the bloodied bucket and dirty equipment off to the side, to be sterilized later. He doesn't have it in him right now. Lack of sleep and nutrition is already biting at his heels.

Now to clean himself. A glance around the room. It's a pig-sty, which he's used to, Mick being a pig, but Len is meticulous about organizing their particular chaos. He knows where everything is at all times.

Kabal's mess is just... messy. Len doesn't know where to start.

"I need something to wear. Where do you keep the rest of your Burning Man wardrobe?"