[ Gen might not know anything about healing magic, but the time it takes for Emet-Selch to treat his arm to a level of satisfaction doesn't go amiss. And while he can guess that it's in large part because the injury is so ... traumatic complex, that still doesn't mean Emet-Selch had to do anything. It would have been fine without any further intervention. Probably.

It's that knowledge that makes the stint of silence while Emet-Selch is working feel exponentially longer. It's why he notices the way Emet-Selch looks just a bit more tired once the job is done. And it's why Gen doesn't bristle at that additional demand despite his usual aggressive tendencies -- he only looks wearily at the offered hand before shaking his head. ]

They're fine. Nothing I can't handle, since you fixed that one.

[ 'That one.' His arm, he means. Funny how he can't bring himself to address that matter in specific terms.

Gen doesn't wait for a response before forging on flatly: ]

I just ended up getting into a bunch of fights in Venera. [ A bunch of fights, he says. Like they were schoolyard scraps, not life-or-death battles. ] Estinien. That horse woman. ... Dokja.