There's just a huff from the off-white mech, his shoulders twitching, but there's nothing else said, and it's not as if he doesn't want his hand repaired as fast as possible. By now he's not even including the knee, even if it, too, is still injured.

"... said I was sorry," Cliffjumper muttered from his seat, only briefly looking away from staring with open suspicion at the gladiator, one hand curling into the metalweave and stuffing of the huge pouf he's sitting in, nearly dwarfed by it.

He doesn't like this, or that mech being here. At all. But he's also well-aware - if from another angle than the rebel leader - of the corruption still rampant.

::I think we'lll survive, but I... admit that'd be somewhat of a relief.:: Elita said over the comm, frowning at Cliffjumper more out of concern than disapproval from the grumpy attitude.