[ Matt's nose wrinkles as he catches a whiff of the cigar. He spent so much time thinking about pain--how Silco's bite had felt, how to mitigate the feeling--that he totally forgot about the acrid smell of those things.

A minor inconvenience, really, in the grand scheme.

Matt eyes up the couches, picking the one he thinks is more likely to be comfortable. And he sits. Spine straight, shoulders hanging loose. Matt draws in a breath, holds it for a short count. Lets it out. ]

On that subject ... or a related one, I guess. [ His gaze flicks to Silco. ] I would like to cast a little spell on myself. Localized anesthetic, effectively.

[ Relaxation techniques are well and good, but even the quasi-magical ones don't have much on actual magic. ]