Cuz I get waaaay too invested, I did research on Middle Age Highlanders~! Though EOU's Highlander seems to be wearing more Medieval style clothing... He's too well trained though... And there was a chief as well... Urgh...
Clear fluid spurts out of the needle as Simon tests the syringe. The sharp point glimmers in the candlelight, and the Highlander swallows hard. He's never seen a syringe before, but Simon has kindly explained to him its usage. It's similar to the way a snake injects venom into animals, just smaller, more precise, and considerably less deadly. Still, he's been bit by snakes before, and it was brutal. He doesn't care if this needle is much smaller than a fang – the feeling of something rushing into your veins is far worse. He's supposed to always be calm and composed, but how is anyone supposed to react in his position? He's never seen this medical instrument before. It's quite clear that medicinal science has progressed extremely far at the Midgard Library, and seeing all these new chemicals and tools with odd names is making him dizzy.
"I told you, this is just a local anesthetic, and try not to tense up your arm, alright?"
He nods and lets his arm lie limp on the bed. Simon knows what he's doing; the Highlander has seen proof of his skill many times inside the Labyrinth. In fact, he feels as if the treatment Simon gave inside the Labyrinth was more than enough.
"I'll explain again. I will first disinfect and clean out the wound again, and check it over before attempting anything. If everything is fine, I will begin to give you the stitches and sew close the wound. Pain killers and bandages can only do so much, you know?"
He nods again, and understands that something like this is necessary. He nearly bled out while taking a bath today, as the warm water washed off the muck that stemmed his injuries and dilated blood vessels. Arthur's terrified shrieks ring in his head, and he resists the odd urge to snicker.
He is more tired than he realizes.
They defeated a Ragelope for the first time today, and returned to Etria with their loot, covered in blood and filth. To his dismay, they were forced to leave behind much of the meat, and he lamented quietly over the loss of such a massive amount of venison. Instead, they returned with the antlers, which were just as tall as him, consisting of pure ivory. Their own blood stained the red-tipped horns, and he graciously accepted the en that Shilleka offered, even though it was far less than he had hoped. The cheapness of their lives is a reason he feels uncomfortable within Etria.
He stops daydreaming and looks at his arm again. While he was off thinking, Simon has already begun sewing shut the wound. The anesthetic is really amazing, if it can make a needle threading through his skin feel like nothing.
"Oh god, that's gross!" Arthur shouts, before burying his face into the pillows of the other bed. The Highlander and Simon are used to this, but he can see the poor alchemist's face turn green. If Raquna weren't in the other room, she would've been mercilessly teasing Arthur by now. The bandages on Arthur's arms are clearly visible, and he remembers the feel of sawing off the antlers, how ugly his dull blade looked, cutting through gorgeous cream.
"Why do the monsters attack humans?"
His question catches both of the young men off guard. The Highlander is one who answers questions and does not speak freely. To hear him genuinely ask something out of curiosity is a first for all.
"Whaddoya mean? They're monsters," Arthur stresses, "horrible things that drink blood and crunch on human bones!" he exclaims, baring his teeth and waving his noodle arms over his head.
The Highlander smiles weakly at Arthur's dramatization.
"Don't patronize me," Arthur mutters.
"I think he means something different," Simon says, never breaking his concentration on the stitches. "Did you forget? Humans were also trapped inside when the Labyrinth appeared. We became part of the food chain back then."
He sighs at Simon's (rather boring) response, and his fingers involuntarily twitch as he swears he can feel the needle.
"Perfect," Simon murmurs, wrapping the stitches, "the anesthetic is wearing off too as well, right?"
He nods, and Simon finishes his treatment. He mentions something about disinfecting his tools, and leaves the room, carrying everything with him. His arm is beginning to feel sore, so he gives it a few experimental twists and stretches, marveling at how strong the stitches are.
"Don't push it! I've seen people snap stitches," Arthur shouts, strangely responsible for the time being. "It'd suck if Simon needed to patch you back up," he explains.
"I understand."
The sky outside is pitch black, and when Simon returns, they begin playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to sleep on the floor or in a chair today, since the only two beds look mighty comfortable right now. It's almost sad how quickly Simon loses.
"Fine, I'm sleeping in the chair tonight," he grumbles, ready to spread out some extra blankets and a pillow, before the Highlander stops him.
"You can have the bed today. Since you took care of everyone."
"Wow! Our Highlander is so nice!"
The sudden generosity confuses Simon, but he still accepts the offer. Right before he snuffs the lights, he reminds them he has painkillers in case anyone needs them, and they all mumble incoherent affirmations, too tired to make an effort anymore.
Despite throbbing pains and itchy bandages, everyone in the room sleeps soundly that night, exhaustion burning away all other annoyances. They decide to flub their careful schedules and sleep in a bit the next morning. They get charged extra for it, but no one really minds. The fact that they can take down an F.O.E. now makes them want to treat themselves.
Yaaay. Done.