>>5384537“I swear, if you don’t shut your mouth right now– I don’t care if I have to live with it for the rest of my life, but, if she doesn’t do anything to you, I will,” Julia hisses, stepping up to Ursula who’s still in your hold and pointing one of her spike-laden arms straight to her face. “And trust me when I say I have a whole lot weaker of a moral-compass than Kelpie ever will. Do I make myself clear?”
The mad-scientist can only nod, stunned into silence by her former-experiment.
And you’d nearly been ready to break Ursula’s bones yourself for straight up pouring gasoline on what already constitutes a steadily-burning flame, but, for the sake of being the rock for everyone else, you have no choice but to stay perfectly, perfectly calm.
“B,” You start, keeping your voice level. “Wanna tell me what happened?” While you know the news is going to be nothing good, you have no choice but to find out what sort of damage has been incurred.
“Jerk got stabbed from one of those stupid rods they got.” Bernard says simply. “Bleedin’ pretty bad.”
“Asshole,” Valjean fumes. “I can still fight, and I told you we were going to cauterize that…”
“My ass! You’re gonna die before we even get to Conduit at this rate, and what about internal-bleeding, don’t you understand?” Bernard growls. “I thought you were supposed to be one of the smart-guys, but apparently you’re not…”
“Przestań próbować być twardy, dupa!” That comes from Boleski, who sounds like he’s ready to spit fire.
Right as you’re about to tell the guys to get a damn hold of themselves, there’s a hot, searing pain–one that you’ve been accommodated with one-too-many times– that feels as if your calf and elbow had suddenly exploded.
Something hot and red splatters forth from your person, painting the floor in a shade that's not unlike Ursula's matching lips and nails. Catching up with the present moment-- along with the fact that that's your blood on the floor-- your mind buzzes, buzzes, buzzes, as your instinct rears its ugly head at the onslaught of pain.
Taking stock of your body, to the average onlooker, such a sight would be gruesome. But in the heat of the situation, there’s a silver lining for one such as yourself, since the bullets ended up hitting parts of your body where you can easily pluck the bullets out of with your pointed claws-- not like that one time Bernard had to literally put his finger inside of you and teleport the bullet out nor that one time you got impromptu surgery from John.
No matter, the couple of bullets that had managed to make it past your tough skin are terribly burning against your fingertips, an odd, gamey smell that can only be your cooked flesh becoming harrowingly apparent.
>(4/?) 