Titus stopped at a pharmacy on the way to Miskatonic University Library. He pulled a pack of baby wipes from the bag and scrubbed his hands with them until they were crimson and his hands were clean, then he moved on to his face. He used one towel after another until he was sure everything was clean. He probably should get stiches, it was wide enough it would probably scar without them.

He stopped outside a café and used the front window to carefully clean around the gash that now divided his eyebrow. He pulled out a box of butterfly bandages from the bag, and carefully put several over the cut.

He probed the tender skin around the wound and decided he would have a major bruise; he’d definitely have a black eye. By the time he finished, he looked relatively normal, though several o...

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