Mere minutes after sending that message, he'll hear a perfunctory knock on the door, followed by an equally perfunctory pause before it swings open to admit Allen and Timcanpy. Both boy and golem look slightly worse for wear. Allen in particular isn't looking half as... put together as he usually is. Scruffy, even.

He's wearing dark trousers, an open-collared, long-sleeved shirt with its unbuttoned cuffs rolled up to his wrists, a rumpled sweater over it, and no tie. Ties are a luxury here. Oh, and he should really go steal a pair of boots sometime. Those flats he had to wear in prison aren't all that sturdy. His right sleeve looks strangely lumpy, as if he'd tried to re-bandage his arm one-handed and managed a very mediocre job of it. The bandaid on his left cheek is gone, leaving a still healing welt in plain view, but the fact that Allen would rather ration medical supplies than hide it means it doesn't hurt too bad.

He's also moving smoothly, far too smoothly for someone who was clearly in a recent battle, which in Allen's case means he's probably also injured elsewhere, and busy helping everyone pretend it away.

"Kanda." A nod in greeting. "Are the others coming?"