[ In the privacy of Archie's bathroom Rupert surveys himself in the mirror in dismay: pale, sweaty and blood-stained isn't his normal look and he isn't a fan of it. He pushes his hair this way and that, trying to look marginally less like a corpse, and throws a few handfuls of warm water over his face to sluice away the worst of his sweat. The damp patch in his clothing where the blood had seeped through is still uncomfortably wet; he makes short work of stripping out of his black uniform and bundles it away into another portal. This one leads to his own bedroom, right by his wardrobe, and he stretches an arm through it to fish out a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans. All mercifully unbloodstained, which is a vast improvement on his work clothes.

By the time he returns to Archie five minutes later, Rupert actually looks like a normal human being who hasn't been stabbed. He gives Archie a bashful, boyish grin and offers the dog-creature a telepathic wash of good-natured 'hello' thoughts. ]

I hope you haven't got anywhere terribly important to be in the morning. I've rather disrupted your night, haven't I?