An optimist. Always good to have in a test subject.
[ Not that he would know, honestly. The time Arcade spends in a lab is generally alone, with a bunch of plant samples and cracked beakers and mountains of useless notes. Any medicines he might help to eventually create won't be up to actual human trials until long after he's out of the research game altogether. (So rushing into this absurd, spur-of-the-moment trial-and-definitely-error feels almost blasphemous. Would, if he put any stock in that sort of thing.)
He grabs the mild antiseptic that he was using before, cleaning the worst bits of his burn, and a clean bit of gauze (both rare things that he takes excessive care with), and gingerly preps Jayce's arm, trying not to grimace just from the feel of that icy skin. At least he won't have trouble finding a vein; they're practically lit up technicolor from the inside. (And if this weren't completely horrifying, he'd be morbidly fascinated. Maybe he is, anyway.) ]
I'd say this might hurt, but in your state, I'm not sure you'll even feel it.
[ But he's sincerely hoping it won't, anyway, at least beyond the brief, professional administration of a couple of maybe helpful shots. Something for the pain and that labored breathing, something for the - infection. Neither one anything anywhere near strong enough to fight either more than momentarily. The sick bay simply isn't equipped to deal with such severe illness, and that's the one thing Arcade can't simply improvise his way through treating. If it were only a physical ailment he could brute force improvise his way through, maybe this wouldn't feel so hopeless. ]
no subject
[ Not that he would know, honestly. The time Arcade spends in a lab is generally alone, with a bunch of plant samples and cracked beakers and mountains of useless notes. Any medicines he might help to eventually create won't be up to actual human trials until long after he's out of the research game altogether. (So rushing into this absurd, spur-of-the-moment trial-and-definitely-error feels almost blasphemous. Would, if he put any stock in that sort of thing.)
He grabs the mild antiseptic that he was using before, cleaning the worst bits of his burn, and a clean bit of gauze (both rare things that he takes excessive care with), and gingerly preps Jayce's arm, trying not to grimace just from the feel of that icy skin. At least he won't have trouble finding a vein; they're practically lit up technicolor from the inside. (And if this weren't completely horrifying, he'd be morbidly fascinated. Maybe he is, anyway.) ]
I'd say this might hurt, but in your state, I'm not sure you'll even feel it.
[ But he's sincerely hoping it won't, anyway, at least beyond the brief, professional administration of a couple of maybe helpful shots. Something for the pain and that labored breathing, something for the - infection. Neither one anything anywhere near strong enough to fight either more than momentarily. The sick bay simply isn't equipped to deal with such severe illness, and that's the one thing Arcade can't simply improvise his way through treating. If it were only a physical ailment he could brute force improvise his way through, maybe this wouldn't feel so hopeless. ]