"Maybe the bar will indulge us and offer her a conveniently timed door."

He glances, pointedly, at the door.

Garrus snorts. (Well, actually he makes a clicking sound and flares his mandibles slightly. The gesture contains approximately similar emotional context.)

Then he sighs and gets up. "I'm sure Liara would kill me for this, but I think I'm too tired to take advantage of the time-stopping magic bar in whatever way a clever person could think up. It's midnight on my clock, I'm only awake because I'm an absolute wreck of a turian. So, I think I'll stop floundering through this conversation and bid you good night."

"There are rooms upstairs, and Bar will give you a key to one for either a reasonable price or becoming a staff member. If you'd like to not lose the door to the magical bar entirely."

"You know what? That actually sounds pretty nice. Bar, what's the price?"

Anywhere from 80 to 1000 credits, depending on your preferences. Alternately, you would qualify as security, even with only the weapons you have on you.

"I'm not strapped for cash, exactly, but security detail actually sounds kind of fun after three weeks of nothing. Sign me up."

She does so, and with a quick, ironical salute in Gann's direction, Garrus heads upstairs.

Well that was mildly interesting, but not particularly so.

Gann finishes his ludicrously expensive tower. It's surprisingly tasteful, for something made out of literally the most expensive things he could ask for. .... He asks to borrow some of Garrus's tech so he can take a picture of it, because he wanted the picture. And if he doesn't, no one will see it. Which is fine, really, but if someone wants to see it they can. Bar can relay the picture. Probably. And if not, eh, he tried. He takes the picture, and then pulls out one ludicrously expensive foundation piece and sends the entire tower crashing to the table.

(That was the best part.)

He glances at the empty bar, sighs, and heads off to nap in the infirmary. Wait, no, he means work in the infirmary. Where he will nap.

Briefly.

An apparently young woman runs in, followed by the sound of gunfire, with several wounds bleeding violet onto her pale blue skin. She looks around at the bar in abject confusion, taking in both the mid-20th-century human design sensibility and the lack of guns. The outside sounds fade, and she sinks woozily to the floor.

"H-hello?" she calls weakly. "I don't mean to inconvenience anyone, but I have been shot! Medical help would be appreciated!"

.... Siiiiiiiigh. And he'd just gotten comfortable.

He cracks an eye open, huffs slightly at the prospect of actually having to do his job, and gets up.

"Luckily for you, we have an infirmary," he calls, exiting said infirmary to attend to his patient. Looking bored.

She squints at him, then goes somewhat giddy. "Oh my! I've never - unless you're simply a human with - no, no, the - the- tint, the oils, all different... I've never seen anyone like -" She shakes her head firmly. "I'm rather badly injured. Do you have any gel?"

Well, when she reacts to him like that, suddenly he is much more interested in being pleasant.

"No, but I think you'll find that you're in capable hands anyway." He kneels beside her, inspecting the injuries. Hm, yes, quite within his abilities. And he doesn't have to worry about such trivialities as bizarre alien biology. "Please try to remain calm, this won't hurt at all."

She lifts a hand to gesture vaguely. "I'm, mm. Probably. I'm calm."

(She has by this point lost rather a lot of blood.)

"Excellent." He clears his throat, closes his eyes, and calls to a set of nearby spirits. Fulfill the bargain we made.

"Charisa, Salali, Sikya." These were the names of telthor with the forms of an elk, a squirrel, and a rabbit. There's more to them than their form, but their form was often indicative of what they did. Any one of them could manage to keep the woman alive, but often it's best to split the work and delegate each piece to a spirit more suited for it. A spirit's energy could be wasted attempting to do something it wasn't meant for. Charisa exudes pride and dignity and power, all of the austere and slightly pompous grandeur he expected of an elk. She would do the bulk of the work, knitting together flesh and restoring the vessel that housed this woman's life. Salali cut less of an imposing figure. Like many squirrels, he's quiet, nervous, prudent, and often prone to precaution at the expense of sense. Or perhaps not. If Gann were a squirrel, maybe he'd spend the majority of his time preparing, too. Regardless, the telthor squirrel would be best searching for remnants of projectiles and foreign contaminates, and removing them. Perhaps if he were in some kind of emergency, he'd remove Sikya's purpose altogether and hope for the best. The rabbit's nearly as touchy as Salali, but reacted to the circumstances of being a spirit of a prey animal quite differently. He is energetic, friendly, and most importantly for Gann's current purposes, nurturing. He believes the best reaction to the threat of oblivion was to live life to the fullest, and to help others do the same. As such, he's to restore the woman's energy and body. If Charisa is to repair the vessel, Sikya is to help to refill it.

Their jobs assigned, the three set to work. To an unskilled observer, there is a faint twist in the air, like the subtle near-invisible waves given off by excessive heat. The woman's bleeding slows, and then her injuries begin knitting themselves together. To a more skilled observer, the injuries knit themselves together from the inside to the outside, and little subtle specks of removed foreign matter flee with the slowed bleeding. The blood that pooled on her clothes and on the floor began drying to a dull black, as Gann directed Sikya to salvage the wasted lifeblood to return what could be returned to the woman herself.

To an adept observer, the likes of which would require years of practice, the machinations of the spirits themselves were visible. Attempting to get Salali and Charisa to coexist in the same space was a recipe for a very squished squirrel, and while Sikya and Salali could cooperate with more success, Gann knew from experience that Salali preferred to avoid his peers and work alone. Sikya meant well, but Charisa would be insulted at his blithe attempts to aid her. Having the three work together was not a recipe for disaster, but it was a delicately measured concoction that could end poorly if one part were to be taken to excess. But Gann was no novice, and such mistakes were beneath him. Whenever one of the three begins to stray too close to one of its companions, he corrects it, and keeps each focused on the appropriate part of the healing process.

And then her injuries finish knitting together, the spirits each wrap up their own part in the assignment, and the subtle twist of the air stills to normal.

"There you are," says Gann, brightly. "I recommend drinking a lot of fluids, and perhaps spending an hour or two in bed to recuperate."