the host pressed a boot against sparrow’s hip and he bit back a scream. he pulled the bandana from his face and grinned.
“dont worry,” he said, kneeling down and snatching the pistol out of sparrow’s hand. “im not hostile.”
he smelled rank, like a rotting carcass on a summer day. sparrow hadnt noticed before, but his hands were stained with blood and the bandages wrapped tightly from his wrists to elbows were brown from how much blood had soaked into them. there was no way it was all his. he popped the magazine out of sparrow’s pistol with practiced expertise and checked how much ammunition he had. sparrow weakly attempted to grab his arm and was promptly shoved away.
“later, pretty boy,” the man snapped as he stood up.
“fucking asshole,” sparrow growled. he felt his hip and grimaced, his hand coming up dripping with blood. he had to get out of there somehow, he could get his gun back or find another one if he survived. the surgeon was for sure still alive, but he was fairly certain that he and the host had taken care of the others. still standing over him, the host shot once, then twice. his tail thwacked against sparrow’s shoulder and he cursed in a language sparrow didnt recognize.
“if you’d give me my fucking gun back, i could hit them,” sparrow said.
“shut up,” the host stuck one hand in his jacket pocket and cocked his head, firing a third time. they both heard the grunt of pain and heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. “there.”
“great. give me my gun,” sparrow held his hand out expectantly. the host glanced down at him and back at the gun. then to sparrow’s horror, he opened his mouth and shoved the barrel of the gun inside. sparrow scrambled to his feet to wrestle it away from him, ignoring the searing pain in his hip, but the man pulled the gun out of his mouth and laughed. he tossed the gun back to sparrow and wiped his mouth with a bloodstained hand.
“i cant pull the trigger,” he said, clearly trying to disguise his bitter tone. “you should sit back down, unless you want to do it for me.”
“im not going to kill you,” sparrow said, leaning against a tree. his strength was rapidly leaving him. “i need you alive.”
“shame,” the host said. sparrow panted for breath. he had to stay awake somehow.
“what’s your name?” he asked, blinking spots out of his eyes. his fingers were shaking.
“your, uh…” sparrow made the mistake of trying to stand straight and nearly fell onto the host, grabbing his arms and dragging them both down to the ground. he let out a pitiful groan and curled into a ball in the dirt. he’d been too full of adrenaline to make sure he didnt bleed out while he was busy arguing. he opened his eyes and blinked, but his vision was gone. the host had said something to him but his hearing was going as well. he tried weakly to find his bag and grab anything to help.
something knocked against his knuckles. a hand closed his fingers around the neck of a bottle and lifted it to his mouth. smelling ethanol, sparrow clamped his jaw shut and tried to move his head away.
“just drink it,” came an annoyed command. “it’ll help.”
“you sound like youre underwater,” sparrow slurred. as soon as he opened his mouth the bottle smacked against his teeth and he got a mouthful of whatever was inside. the liquid burned against his tongue and throat, but someone held his jaw shut until he was forced to swallow. when the pressure released, he opened his eyes and snapped upright. almost. someone was holding him down. the host sat straddling his waist, facing away from him and presumably looking through his bag for things he could take. sparrow tried to buck his hips to throw him off but his legs were weak from blood loss.
“get off of me,” he snarled, trying unsuccessfully to shove the man away. “what the hell did you make me drink?”
the host held up a bottle of medicinal spirits and took a swig. sparrow stared at him, aghast.
“thats not to drink, you fucking freak!” he yelled. as soon as he did another wave of vertigo washed over him and he fell back to the ground.
“you’ll be fine,” the host said. “just drunk.”
“just shoot me,” sparrow groaned. he could hear the man pulling things out of his bag and tossing them to the side, but he couldnt muster the energy to care. “youre fucking crazy.”
“youre going to die if that bullet doesnt come out of you. you probably wont bleed out, but itll sit in you and turn your blood into poison.”
“thats fine,” sparrow said weakly. he felt something against his face and attempted to lift his head again. the host had wrapped his tail around sparrow’s shoulders. it was almost certainly unintentional but felt in a strange way almost comforting. sparrow raised a shaky hand and brushed it along the fine bristles and smooth chitinous plates. the host flinched at the touch and glanced back at him, but didnt pull his tail away.
“keep drinking that pure stuff,” he said. he pulled something out of his pocket, and sparrow caught the flash of a knife’s blade.
when he regained consciousness, he realized dimly that he was being dragged by his vest and cape. his throat felt dry and parched and his head pounded like it never had before. he tried to speak before passing out again but merely managed an incoherent mumble.
the next time he awoke, he was in a small house.
he closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them again. he was definitely in what used to be a house. one wall and half the ceiling had caved in. if there was anything left of the former owner’s belongings, theyd surely rotted into dust. moonlight filtered through the numerous holes in the walls and ceiling, casting a soft blue light into the single room.
something moved next to sparrow’s feet and he raised his head.
the plague host leaned against the wall, tipping what was left of sparrow’s medicine down into his mouth. sparrow watched him peer into the bottom of the bottle, swish it around a bit, then toss it to the side before looking up and noticing sparrow. he jumped in surprise, making sparrow jolt upright in return. all at once the pain from before flooded back into his body.
“hurts, dont it?” he heard the host say. his already slow and melodic tone was difficult to understand through the filter of alcohol.
“you drank all my medicine,” sparrow said stiffly.
“you drank a good third of it. what, you dont remember?”
“i remember you shoving it down my throat,” he snapped, leaning forward and rubbing his temples.
“good. that means it worked,” the host tossed something to sparrow and he instinctively caught it. it was covered in dried blood and dirt, but the glint of the silver bullet was unmistakable. he rolled it over in his fingers, feeling the etching of albamuro’s crest.
the host stood without a word and left, stumbling into the doorframe on his way out.
sparrow stared after him, the bullet resting in the palm of his hand. the empty medicine bottle at his feet was smeared with bloody fingerprints.
