At least now he has a little bit of a better idea on where the poison is coming from. As he looks over everything, Angeal mutters to himself. "The poison glands and such may have developed before your body could catch up in terms of immunity. Probably would take a real fuck-up for that to happen naturally, but nothing about this is exactly normal."

So fuck ups like this are much more likely to happen.

Taking a breath, Angeal rubs his hand against his face, mind going as fast as it can. "Okay. Rosie, I'm going to go for a second, okay? I'm going to come back with a knife, to cut through your shirt. I'm also going to grab what cloth I can, to press down along your new spines." Just don't think about it. Just think about crisis mode. This is fine and he will handle it. "Hopefully, they'll start to absorb more of the poison than your body."

What else? Shit. Maybe he can grab some snow, melt it for water, see if that will dilute it? His brain is rattling a bit and making it harder to deal with this, but he will deal with it, dammit.