That's about what he expected. Maybe not the best idea? But oh well, too late now. Cloud just sighs as Sephiroth tosses the mirror down and sits back where he was. Maybe not quite as physically close, rummaging around in the first aid kit until he finds some adhesive bandages. He'll have to cut them to fit, and it's not going to make the scars go away, but at least it'll cover them? Whatever, it's all he's got. Take it or leave it. He starts unwrapping them and trimming them to size with the miniature pair of scissors included.

"It's your own damn fault," he mutters. What great bedside manner. "The Turks are tight-knit. You should've known better than to piss them off. You'll have the whole rest of the rat-pack on your ass now."

He doesn't say it like it's any sort of actual threat; in fact, he sounds kind of regretful about it. They're all going to get themselves killed, and he doesn't think he can do anything to put a stop to it. It's... already too late.