[Jetshard sighs, sitting down at the edge of the bed once she's been reassured that there won't be further sharp objects incoming. With a flick of her wrist, she summons the array of semiphysical blue-bordered cards that serve as the interface for her own personal hyperspace inventory system - there's still some things she prefers to keep in her own sylladex rather than dumping in with everything Izunia's carrying, and the bulky, densely packed canvas case of her medical kit is one of them.]

Look, buddy, I've got my friend, your commanding officer, and a dozen sweeps of experience as field medic with outfits you wouldn't believe telling me you're my priority. Press the issue and the only thing that's going to change is me adding "petty spite" to that list.

- You're not going to have a problem if I do a magic medical scan on you, are you? More than the considerable problem you apparently already have, anyway.