Wounds of the Heart -Arcade-

When was it not busy?

The words 'stop being such a wimp' were continually running through Arcade's mind. Those words at the least, more often than not they were a bit more foul than that. He was hopping from tent to tent in the facility, switching quickly from person to person. However, the victims seemed to come in herds. Much like feral Brahmin. Were there even any left feral? Probably not..

His thoughts continued like this for most of the day. On an infinite loop of sorts, now and then switching to something more abstract.. such as Brahmin. He was thinking of this while he wrapped up someone's arm, banding their bicep with a piece of rubber or something of that sort that would momentarily halt an amount of circulation. From there, Arcade began to draw and replace blood, a rare procedure. This man was dying, however, and one of his friends had been the donor. Lucky guy. Friends were something few had in Vegas and something even fewer kept.

The transfusion was making him a little queasy; he glanced away for a moment, before glancing back. He filled in another Follower on what to do, not entirely too fond of working with blood. One would think that seeing it so many times would get a person accustomed to it, but he still got a little shaky every once in a while, such as now. Arc took a few seconds to change gloves and labcoats, the patient having made him a bloody mess.

It was then that he was alerted of a new patient needing attention. Apparently he'd been found just outside the Fort, and someone had dragged him in. Arcade went to a tent closer to the entrance to the fortress, where a very beat-up man lay sprawled across a bed haphazardly. One of the followers had lifted him up there. Arcade quickly did a sweep of the man's body with his eyes, before beginning to take his pants off nonchalantly. Not exactly romantic for a first date.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gannon, please make some sort of noise telling me you can hear me. You're going to be okay."

The words were mechanical, almost blunt, but Arcade could never be entirely cold with his patients (although life would be far simpler if he was). Arcade swiftly took off the other man's pants and began to examine the wound, pursing his lips into a thin line as he thought. Bite. Radscorpion? No. But definitely some sort of scorp had gotten to him. Without further to do, he plunged a syringe into the wound, giving the man a healthy dose of antivenom.

Oh Lord, he was coughing up a storm. Arc quickly got him into a sitting position, letting him cough wherever. His clothes weren't exactly perfect, more grime wouldn't hurt him. He held his shoulders with his arm while the other held his leg down, should he refuse the syringe and kick out instead of sit quietly; for once, his long arms were a blessing.

He looked up at the other man's face, attempting to give him a reassuring smile. The silver-haired man had never been exactly 'good' at comforting people, nor had he been outstanding at socialization in general. He finished giving him the antivenom, discarding the syringe. He quickly got the man some water, as he looked like he could need some.

He passed him the jar wordlessly, keeping him in a sitting position for a moment. It sounded like there were more.. things lodged in his chest, and they would likely be coming out sooner rather than later. "I need you to stay up for a while, alright? I'm going to clean the wound, then you can sleep, or do whatever else." He had a very serious-sounding voice, and yet it was the sort that didn't get on your nerves.

Arcade gently let him sit up on his own, inserting another syringe into him for the pain. The stimpak would hopefully take the edge off of however he felt right now, although he seemed to be rather quiet, so complaints would not be too much of a problem with him. Arcade began to clean the wound, applying a couple of other painkillers, before beginning to wrap it up.

"Besides nearly needing to get your leg amputated, how are you feeling? If there are any other symptoms, I need to know."

Arc looked up at him, steely blues narrowed slightly as he focused on what he was doing behind the rims of his glasses. He pushed all non-professional thoughts out of his head, wrapping up the wound tightly, with gauze or whatever he could find that would act like a bandage.