Leo's under the tent, mostly dried out from the rain. Curiously, he doesn't seem to be taking many supplies, just a blanket or two, which he isn't even using despite the cold. He's already taken a potion, the purple one, and is in immense pain right now.

Apparently, he's not the only one, judging by Vasquez slumping in the chair nearby. Leo's staring at him with a decidedly hungry look on his face. Don't worry, he won't feast on anyone just yet. It's just so tempting with all the little sinners running around. When he's asked for his help, he jumps to action.

Leo picks up one of the blankets, tearing a long strip from it even as his arm feels like it's been broken. He folds it up and starts putting pressure on the injury with an air that suggests he's done this many times before. Henry Flynn, the man who had taken him in and that Leo considered family, had been a surgeon before the city had been split, and unfortunately still had many occasions to use his skills. Leo had helped him many times, so he knew some basic things to do for gunshot wounds. "It could be worse."