A rag? What kind of barbarity is this, if he has to clean up blood he should at least be allowed a stiff bristled brush, maybe some 409. What a blood cleaning novice. That's okay though. Hopefully he won't have to clean it off in the first place. He pointedly ignores the bucket as he scrubs his hands clean. "Well I am," as he inspects for blood under his fingernails, just like his mother always fussed at him to do. "I worked up a real appetite looking for this blood. Do you eat, actually? I guess I didn't think about that. If that's not a thing you do, then that's fine, but otherwise, you'd really be missing out. I even got curly fries." He looks at the TARDIS expectantly. Isn't there a homely kitchen somewhere? Or like a really cool banquet hall? He remembers there had been some real oddities here last time. And he's not going to leave without providing some kind of assistance, now she's admitted to needing it, not to mention the librarian/warding issue which is really a public health concern.