"Fire," Tamao answered with the same disinterested tone, still studying his arm. He found the paper-covered examining table and hopped up on it, holding his arm out patiently for Francis to fix it. "It's got red splotches and it's super pink. Is it bad?" Yes, it was pretty bad, but no third degree. Lucky for him.
Finally looking up, Tamao regarded his stepbrother with no real warmth or even friendliness. Despite living with the Drakes for half a year now, Tamao hardly ever saw Francis, and when he did the encounters were usually marked by silence or even just disappointed looks or annoyed glares. His parents were nice enough, but of course Tamao didn't care about them, either. The whole family were nothing but strangers to him, and it probably wouldn't change.
"It wasn't my fault," he added, just in case Francis immediately wanted to place some blame. Which was usual, given his reputation.