[Elsword's adrenaline is wearing off, but Add has no such mercy. This part is supposed to be his responsibility. Checking for wounds, infections, patching everyone up, ensuring that it's truly safe to relax... his hands won't stop shaking, and he knows that's going to be a problem. He can't administer medicine like this. He stares down at the clean needle in his hand that rattles just as loudly, struggling to get the tip into the vial.]
Come on. [he hisses at himself, biting back a curse. He's getting nowhere... he has to calm down. He forces himself to breathe deeper, head down, resting the glass tube carefully against the floor.
... pausing to catch his breath, it's really not as helpful as he would've liked. Now, he's looking over at Elsword again, noticing the veins, the blooming sprouts, bloody stains on his hands with matching gouges in the arm... he's been trying, he's trying, why does it keep getting so much worse? Should he be letting Elsword rest like that? Does he have to operate immediately, or will that make it worse? He's supposed to be the expert but he doesn't know what he should do anymore
He clamps his eye shut again, leaning further and further towards the floor until he's sure his face is hidden. He feels dizzy... he can't do this right now, why can't he ever get it right when it matters? Elsword is depending on him to fix this. Why can't he just get it right—
the needle cracks (when did he start applying pressure?) and he jerks his hand away. his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, a pathetically strained whine that he's quick to suppress.]
Shit, I— I'm sorry, I have another one. Just give me another minute— [he fumbles into his pouch again while his composure disintegrates in real time, hey u ever wondered how bad it would be if you built your whole personality around shouldering everyone's burdens and then bottling all your emotions and throwing them in a fire for five years straight]
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Come on. [he hisses at himself, biting back a curse. He's getting nowhere... he has to calm down. He forces himself to breathe deeper, head down, resting the glass tube carefully against the floor.
... pausing to catch his breath, it's really not as helpful as he would've liked. Now, he's looking over at Elsword again, noticing the veins, the blooming sprouts, bloody stains on his hands with matching gouges in the arm... he's been trying, he's trying, why does it keep getting so much worse? Should he be letting Elsword rest like that? Does he have to operate immediately, or will that make it worse? He's supposed to be the expert but he doesn't know what he should do anymore
He clamps his eye shut again, leaning further and further towards the floor until he's sure his face is hidden. He feels dizzy... he can't do this right now, why can't he ever get it right when it matters? Elsword is depending on him to fix this. Why can't he just get it right—
the needle cracks (when did he start applying pressure?) and he jerks his hand away. his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard, a pathetically strained whine that he's quick to suppress.]
Shit, I— I'm sorry, I have another one. Just give me another minute— [he fumbles into his pouch again while his composure disintegrates in real time, hey u ever wondered how bad it would be if you built your whole personality around shouldering everyone's burdens and then bottling all your emotions and throwing them in a fire for five years straight]