[She won't mind him tending the wound for her, so long as he doesn't try to jostle her clothing off. Maria is from a very modest time, to say the least of it. Setting the bandage in place over her torn vest and undershirt would do just fine by her, she'd survived worse wounds with less treatment. Her manner to calm to the touch and she lifts the alcohol, and now blood, soaked handkerchief away from her wound without flinching.]

Antiquated, in your eye then? Good sir, that firearm is the height of Hunter's Workshop craftsmanship. I dare ask... when and where might we be? [Maria isn't going to doubt the malleability of time, to find herself in some distant future would not be a surprise. Nightmares know no limits, after all.]