"No, I don't believe that's necessary, I think I can--oh."

One failed attempt at standing later sees the Fool lowering himself back onto the filthy alley floor with a dazed, dizzy look to his face, accompanied by real dismay as he takes in the state of his clothes. It's more than just disgust at a bit of dirt and mud; the look on his face hearkens back to some deeper, darker trauma, a time where being in such a state meant something far worse to him than just a mere brush with a local criminal.

For a moment he sits very still. He swallows, then looks to meet Eiji's eyes. His own are rather pleading.

"...I don't think I can stand on my own, but neither can I tolerate being here a moment longer." If his voice shakes, he does his level best to keep it steady. He reaches out toward his rescuer. "Perhaps if I leaned on your shoulder...?"

An imposition, but one he would not make if he were not desperate.