[ That unimpressed look rolls right off Gustave, busy trying to keep from passing out. What he really needs is Lune, Lune and her healing hands, her brusque no-nonsense practicalityโ
But Lune isn't here. Sciel, Maelle, none of them are here.
He straightens, carefully, metal left hand pressed to one of the two large, barely-healed wounds in his torso, one a little lower on the left side of his abdomen, one struck into the dead center of his chest, which works a little too rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Whatever brought him here had fixed him up, but only to the bare minimum, and he has a sneaking suspicion he might have opened at least one of those wounds back up again, fresh blood trickling into his already stained uniform.
He glances down at his hand over the wound, back at the younger man, lifts his shoulders in a tired shrug. His uniform is ruined on both sides of each wound, front and back; whatever struck him had apparently gone straight through. ]
no subject
But Lune isn't here. Sciel, Maelle, none of them are here.
He straightens, carefully, metal left hand pressed to one of the two large, barely-healed wounds in his torso, one a little lower on the left side of his abdomen, one struck into the dead center of his chest, which works a little too rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. Whatever brought him here had fixed him up, but only to the bare minimum, and he has a sneaking suspicion he might have opened at least one of those wounds back up again, fresh blood trickling into his already stained uniform.
He glances down at his hand over the wound, back at the younger man, lifts his shoulders in a tired shrug. His uniform is ruined on both sides of each wound, front and back; whatever struck him had apparently gone straight through. ]
Could be better, yeah.