‘ just hold it --- there. ’ there’s a bit of gauze stuck to his arm with blood; chris taps just beneath it before moving on to the kit in his lap. ‘ obliged. ’
@oathbroken. / sc.

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‘ just hold it --- there. ’ there’s a bit of gauze stuck to his arm with blood; chris taps just beneath it before moving on to the kit in his lap. ‘ obliged. ’
@oathbroken. / sc.
“I don’t — think anything I said was deserving of that. Kinda hostile.”
@oathbroken. — sc.
the trek from job-gone-sour to the nearest pub comes and goes in a wild, painful blur. it gives chris’ adrenaline a chance to stop pumping, for which he is simultaneously grateful and regretful. he crashes into a quiet panic which betrays itself only by way of his should-be steady right hand.
he’s bleeding from just about everywhere. he’s caked in dirt. he all but falls into the bar to place his order.
‘ --- why not take a picture? ’
@oathbroken. / chris.