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Quinn's been thinking for a while, and he's finally come to what he hopes is a reasonable conclusion about his situation. There's a brief, quiet conversation with the Bar, after which he puts up a sign on the message board:

If there are any human or human-looking physicians, medics, or other emergency medical practitioners who are both willing to work in an extremely low-tech situation and are capable of dealing with advanced burn trauma, I would appreciate the chance to talk to you. My name is Quinn Abercromby. A physical description follows, as he doesn't have a photograph of himself. Thank you.

PS: No magic or psychic healers, please- it won't work.

That being done he heads to a seat by the fire with a cup of coffee, and tries not to look too worried about the situation back home.

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"Stephanie does, sometimes. Red and green and yellow tights, with a cape and an R on her left breast. R for Robin. She was a protege to her world's Batman. Which isn't mine. There's another Robin around, too, a boy, but I don't think he tells stories." Not as far he could guess from how Steph talks about him. "Rachel Grey wears spandex, too. Green and orange. She's the only person I ever met who looks natural in that sort of clothes. Like it's not a costume."

Quinn nods. "That's one thing that didn't make it to my time," he says. "Spandex. I don't think there're any Spandex garments left anywhere in the world, not that I know of."

"That's a shame. Some women look amazing in the stuff." Rachel does, come to think of it, but Knox doesn't see her that way. "Most don't, but some..." He smiles like one guy to another. "It's also useful. Rachel gave me a coat with a spandex lining. It's supposed to be bulletproof. I haven't tested it, though."

"I know what you mean," Quinn says, although the thought of Hero in something that form-fitted may not be what Knox had in mind. "Bulletproof, huh? Don't suppose you could take it to a firing range and hang it over a target for a test run?"

"You know, I never thought of that. Like I said, I really don't know guns. Never mind that I haven't worn in it a while. Gotham summers are brutal enough as it is."

"We've had to use them often enough," Quinn says. "Rifles, mostly. These days we've got a cache of weapons I bought off a gentleman here at the Bar that won't need ammunition for a very long time. We carry those first, instead of something that'd use up what bullets we have left."

"No ammo?" Forgive Knox, but he has little imagination for such things, even after being the Bar for so long.

"Some sort of plasma pistol or laser gun type of thing," Quinn says. "He called them blasters. They fire energy bolts, not bullets."

"No kiddin'? Like something out of a movie. Though since some movies are real here..."

"Something like that, yeah," says Quinn. "The fact that they work's all I care about, no matter what legend or what have you they came out of."

"Makes sense. Not that having that kind of firepower doesn't come n handy, I'd guess."

"Eddie tried turning it on a dragon a while back, him and his kids," Quinn says quietly. "They weren't good enough to get in a kill shot. All they managed to do was hurt it enough to make it angry."

"Oh." He is not going to make any more guesses about things. Not a one. "Did they get away?"

"Eddie did," says Quinn. "I mean, we got him out of there, Creedy and me."

"Ah." What a mess. What a damned, terrible mess. So much so that Knox is sure he can't say anything else. So he finishes his coffee and thinks of an excuse.

"Anyway, Quinn, I got work to do. Good seeing you."

Quinn nods. "Take care, Knox," he says. "I'll let you know if I hear from any more superheroes."

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