Rambo
A wounded arm meant that Rambo spent most of his time standing aside and on the sidelines.
So when the others really started drinking and getting the party underway, he modestly smiled back at them and made a toast occasionally without actually ever getting up off his chair. He was even pretending to drink because with all the drugs in him and that throbbing pain, he couldn’t possibly have drunk anything, or he’d have passed out for sure.
As the night went on however, his arm hurt more and more.
His teammates celebrated unrelentingly right in front of him taking little or no notice of him whatsoever. At one point though, Rambo broke out into a cold sweat and was barely able to keep his moaning quiet.
He watched the others keep dancing around, already drunk and somewhat out of control. Despite the carefree scenes, Rambo’s thoughts returned to the battle. If it hadn’t ended as quickly as it had, how on earth would he have manged to fight with his arm as injured as that?
He actually didn’t have the answer.
Sweat began rolling down his neck as he fidgeted uselessly in his chair.
The very last thing he wanted to do was ruin the party for his friends so he hadn’t told anyone about his career probably ending because of his injury.
Still dead set against wrecking the party however, he decided to suffer quietly in pain and with this knowledge for the rest of the night.