[ Cagey guy, sudden shock: yeah, the yelp is reasonable. He has the grace to look genuinely contrite, hands splayed in a little ceasefire gesture, posture leaned back. ]

Right— sorry, should have said. I get ahead of myself.

[ He points, not touching: finger hovering a polite distance away, tracing the flow he'd seen from sheared-off organic humerus to mechanical joint, radius, ulna. ]

It's a common problem this season. Blood magic catches in the joints, gums everything up— pretty nasty if you leave it untreated, but it's not a tough fix. Check the mobility, see if I've got it all.