Dakka is a doctor, so the frontlines are not a place she often finds herself nor does she prefer to be there. Most soldiers were idiots, as she has come to learn, and surrounding herself with a bunch of them would most likely be bad for her mental health. It was one thing to watch the competent die deaths of glory fitting of their occupation, and another to watch someone who was just following orders meet their demise. It was depressing, in short, and not worth the maintenance. However, despite that, it was her duty to help those who asked for it, regardless if they were good or evil. "Do no harm." That was one of the many oaths she took before dedicated her life to medicine, though more often than not it proved to be a pain in her ass.

Take now, for instance. Having heard the Fishmen's call for aid and also already being of Fishman Island, there was that part of her that compelled to lend a hand even if she didn't really want to. Stating that most of what she could do was work behind the scenes, they threw her in one of the many hospitals across the island, with her particular one being placed near the edge of the island and closer to the sea. With just a glance out the window she could witness a school of fish floating by, and if she closed her eyes she would hear the sounds of fighting not too far from her position. Every now and then someone was dragged into the hospital covered in wounds. Sometimes they were human, sometimes they were mink, most of the time they were fishman. Like now.

Two larger fishmen hauled inside one of their comrades. The injured one was covered in armor, though each piece was dented and he pooled blood beneath him. It looked like blunt trauma, something incurred by either a strong fist or a small blunt weapon. Nothing that Dakka hasn't seen before. With a simple sigh, she looked at the two carrying him and waved for them to follow her, Dakka leading them through the building to the nearest empty room. "You can leave him here. What's his name?"

Both of them looked at each other with confusion plastered on their faces, then back at Dakka. They didn't say anything. "Alright, you don't know his name." She muttered under her breath, though there was clearly a display of annoyance. If they were foreigners like her, then maybe she could understand, but the fishmen don't know the names of their own people? Seriously? With a flick of her wrist she dismissed the two helpers, an offer they gladly accepted as they quickly absconded from the room. Now that she was in complete silence, bar the sound of battle outside, Dakka could get to work. She started from the helmet, slowly sliding it off of his head as to not agitate any wounds that were already formed. It was caved in but not enough that the wearer was damage, at worst he would have a concussion. Next, she removed his gauntlets and greaves, those proving more difficult as they were slipped on rather than strapped. The patient winced as their gash was exposed to the air. Following this she carefully flipped him over and removed his chest piece to reveal many bruises and discoloring. This guy was going to be out of commission for a few days.

Now that her canvas was bare, she began her art. Wrapping the man in bandages, applying a split to his leg, disinfecting the wounds then dressing them. With her work done, she sat in her chair and moved towards the window.

Perhaps there'll be more.