[ falco wasn’t one to swear, but luz had all the liberty (and, hell, reason!!) to. it was better that than moving too much. perle can keep an eye on his vicinity and let him know of any immediate danger. for now, it was just . . . him.
there may by an exit as much as an entry, but falco wouldn’t find much of a bullet left. it was from a rifle— the calibers more often disintegrate than get lodged in a place or perforate like handguns. the bleeding had to stop, though. falco pressed into milky paleblood and soaks the outside, the other side, keeps the site pressed with one hand.
his eyes are grim and apologetic. ]
I . . . Always carry a gun.
[ it’s dangerous out here, the beasts are ravenous. mando taught him to, as reluctant as he was of the idea. the connors taught him, after the last time he’d come under an attack he couldn’t bring himself to fight against. he doesn’t know if he could still bring himself to carry it. his gut felt heavy and nauseous of the idea of shooting someone, shooting someone he knew and cared about.
it wasn’t the smell of paleblood that made him feel ill. it was his actions.
she’s still conscious. he has to work quickly and repair his error, even though he’ll never feel like that debt could be paid. ]
—I’m going to put a mix of my blood around the wound, okay? That should lessen the pain.
[ then he’ll think about taking her to a healer. ]
no subject
there may by an exit as much as an entry, but falco wouldn’t find much of a bullet left. it was from a rifle— the calibers more often disintegrate than get lodged in a place or perforate like handguns. the bleeding had to stop, though. falco pressed into milky paleblood and soaks the outside, the other side, keeps the site pressed with one hand.
his eyes are grim and apologetic. ]
I . . . Always carry a gun.
[ it’s dangerous out here, the beasts are ravenous. mando taught him to, as reluctant as he was of the idea. the connors taught him, after the last time he’d come under an attack he couldn’t bring himself to fight against. he doesn’t know if he could still bring himself to carry it. his gut felt heavy and nauseous of the idea of shooting someone, shooting someone he knew and cared about.
it wasn’t the smell of paleblood that made him feel ill. it was his actions.
she’s still conscious. he has to work quickly and repair his error, even though he’ll never feel like that debt could be paid. ]
—I’m going to put a mix of my blood around the wound, okay? That should lessen the pain.
[ then he’ll think about taking her to a healer. ]