Baze is already clinging to the fountain, himself, looking irritable and bedraggled and a lot shaggier than usual-- which given how shaggy he usually is, is really saying something. He glares at the offered hand from under a fringe of dark, bunched hair, grown out but still tied at the ends in its usual bundles, and from the messy tangle of his too-long goatee.

"What happened?" he asks, instead of taking the offered help.