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"Sem[i]yon[/i] not an 'R' to be found I'm afraid," The Wight corrected Nestor pleasantly, not at all offended by his -rather common- mispronunciation, or his somewhat eccentric actions. He began switching out his leather gloves for Nitrile as he spoke, the rotted flesh and mottled bone of his hands revealed momentarily in the transition. "And I'll try to do much better than my worst, just give me a few moments."

The man's shoulder was... a bit of a mess. Fragments of stone had torn into him, with more than a few still stuck in the poor man's flesh. His shirt -torn as it was over the wound- still managed to get in the way, damp with blood. Normally Semyon would ask Nestor to remove the shirt, and probably take his time trying to stitch up the wounds. It would leave the man almost good as new, ready to hurl himself into the fray with abandon.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem they had time for anything close to that. 'Do your worst' might have been more accurate than Semyon had wished it to be.

Field patch would have to do, the undead soldier wasting not a moment in drawing out the needed supplies and getting to work. Scissors and tweezers came first, gloves fingers working with cautious dexterity to snip away fabric overhanging the wound, as well as to pull out as much rock as possible.

"Looks like I'll owe you a new shirt." He spoke casually as he worked, switching scissors and tweezers for antiseptic wipes and a length of clean cloth. "And... this will sting."

He alternated wiping away blood and disinfecting the wound, eyes constantly judging the injury before him. Perhaps not as bad as he thought? Stitches would still be the best idea, probably, but it neither looked nor felt like Nestor's bones were broken. More blood than he might like to see leaving the body of a comrade, but that would be stopped shortly enough.

Disinfecting gave way to applying a local anesthetic, while the bloodied cloth was replaced with a tightly-folded dressing to be pressed against the wound.

"Lift your arm... just slightly? Thank you." Semyon wrapped a length of gauze around Nestor's shoulder and across his chest, until he was sure the dressing was secure. "The pain should dull, and that should stop the bleeding... But you probably shouldn't launch yourself at anyone else anytime soon..." Frowning at the bloodied tools and cloths, Semyon kicked a small depression into the ground for the latter, and slipping the former into a small bag filled with peroxide. 

"I'll grab your drink... before it floods the place." Nodding at Nestor, Semyon paced quickly over to the spilled flask, giving a curious glance as he picked it up. Not a common enchantment it seemed, though one that many would find attractive. Maybe he'd ask Nestor if it was something he could share. Romanoff would definitely have a use for such a thing.

A quick glance around showed him that things seemed to be moving on. There hadn't been time for a true fix after all then, but given Nestor's apparent resilience, perhaps the patch was all the man needed? He did seem to have control of a... spirit? Demon? Either way, he'd keep an eye on the man, but the danger seemed mostly passed.

"Here you are, and hopefully that bandage works?" Offering the flask back to it's owner, Semyon glanced up once more. "Because it seems we're moving on yet again."