“Thank you.” he says.

Ilian leaned up, peering over the top tier of the cart and beginning to prepare needle and thread to suture the cut on his creation’s leg. Another gurgle catches his attention, and though no words were spoken the way their eyes darted about then to him gave him enough to guess.

“This is…” he pauses, looking around the room himself. 

For the first time the chaos of the room is made apparent to him. Small shards of glass lay at the base of the crowded machinery. Sketches of his creation’s design and notes are plastered along the walls, what was once a dining table shoved to the side and piled high with books, journals, and vials. Shelves were lined with jars of preserved past trials, both failed and successful, their dead eyes clouded and staring out into nothing. Floating around a few rodents left open was the same murky grey fluid that seeped from his creation’s wound.

It was an unpleasant sight, he realized. The slow build up of the mess and the months he had spent alone within the room had blinded him to how others may see it. It would be enough to drive most away or drag law enforcement to his doorstep. To have awoken in a place like this…

He lightly cups his creation’s jaw, shifting their attention back to their leg, feeling a faint tinge of shame. “This was the dining room at one point. Now it’s my workspace.”

“It…” Moving their hand aside, he discards the now grey rag, wiping away the rest of the murky liquid with disinfectant and spreading a dollop of a pale green gel on the surrounding areas. “It will not be like this forever. I did have plans of cleaning it up once you had awoken, maybe even reverting it back to how it was before.”

Looking at the wound he notes that while it isn’t that long an inch is still far too deep for his liking. His creation’s previous prodding and unintentional damage of the deeper layers hadn’t helped either, prying the cut further and exposing the fascial layer. Needle in driver and forceps holding down the skin, he looks back up at his creation.

“I’ve administered a numbing agent, just to be safe. I am going to close up the wound now. Please refrain from touching it.” he says.

He waits for his hands to steady before proceeding, trying to keep the creeping fatigue at bay. He had made sure to rest before his creation’s awakening, paced himself throughout the day, and yet it came once more. He sighs, adjusting his position and resets the placement of his hands. After a few moments, finally, he could begin.

Needle bites into the fascia, working in a zigzag pattern. He finds himself continuing to talk, his manner a little less stilted and awkward as he explains the process to his creation, wanting to indulge their previous curiosity. While it had been unexpected, he took it as a good sign

“The layer I have closed up is called the fascia,” he points to the shiny pale purple layer pulled together with thread, “It is made up of connective tissue and is what separates the top layers of your skin from your muscle.”

Above it he points to the surrounding wall of soft, spongey grey mush, needle beginning to dig into that, continuing to lecture as he goes. “That is the subcutaneous layer or fat. It’s what provides protection for your entrails and structure for your skin. The top most layer is called the epidermis.”

Layer by layer he sews it shut, occasionally glancing up to gauge their reactions before finally closing off the last stitch along the top layer. How long it would take to heal without further intervention was the next question he had in mind.