There's an injured rifter prone to biting in the cells, apparently, and a dearth of available (or willing) healers to go down and deal with him. Octavius is the newest staff member added to the weekly rotation at the infirmary, which means whether he actually drew the short straw is immaterial. He's the newbie, and he's from Tevinter to boot. Hence, here he is, inching his way towards the bars to peek inside at the newcomer.

He balks almost immediately, blanching the colour of bleached bone. Was no one going to tell him that the latest resident looks like he could have easily waltzed ashore from the war in Seheron? Still, he's clearly injured, and those wounds (probably) won't treat themselves.

He clears his throat and tries to adopt a pleasant expression, which only grows slightly queasy at that threatening growl. "Uh, hello," he starts, but makes no move to cross the threshold into the cell just yet, particularly not when the guard on duty takes several steps backward and just abandons him there within potential striking distance of this strange not-Qunari. He swallows hard. "I'm, ah, here to take a look at your injuries. Would you allow me to do that?"