"Yeah," Fred mumbled, and he forced himself to sit up - something about blood flow and poison coming back to him, but he'd be damned if he remembered whether it was slower if you stood up or if you laid down. So instead he sat up on the sofa and then slumped a little against the arm, looking down at his bleeding arm. "Sodding hell," he mumbled, poking at it with the fingers of the other hand and then hissing, that fucking hurt!
He looked up to Roger, then too, scowling. "Sorry, mate. Hell of an introduction to working at the shop."