The need for food eventually drags Rosinante to The Invincible. Cooking, or really anything that involves effort and more dexterity than lighting a cigarette, is just not in the cards right now.

He ambles over to the bar, exhausted but smiling despite it, and raises a hand - which looks to be thoroughly wrapped in bandages from what's visible past his sleeve. Somehow he's got makeup on as neatly as ever, though.

"Got enough of that to share?" he asks, though it's intended sort of teasingly, since he knows well it's meant for everyone.