"Nnno, don't do that--we don't even know what those staples are made of," says Herbert, halfway joking. He's been absorbed with keeping the plate in place, and watching Hamon's work to be sure he doesn't cut through into Ignatius. Leaning, he ducks his nose in front of the plate, flatly staring. "Strange, you're aware I'm a doctor." Which means this must be sass. Uncalled for. He puts the plate facing down on the table so Strange will have to look out the other reflective side if he wants to keep attending, and looks back at Hamon.

"Are...all of your tools in some way iron-based? I could do with a sharp knife or a. Sharpened spoon if you have any alternate metals, and proper bandages, of course--clean fabric. Iiii don't want that injury stitched up yet: I'm fairly certain iron influence is the equivalent to infection in fae. It will just. Fester. Inside him. Actually a syringe of some sort could possibly help, flush out the wound, if that is how injuries work in the fae." He turns back to frown at Ignatius. At least there's only the one, really bad gash to be dealt with.