#wrxnch

[cerseilionesslannister]

wrxnch:

( msg. ) Dont forget abt the whol e ( msg. ) wrong numbers wrong button ( msg. ) hi cersei

[text; wrench] hi wrenchy [text; wrench] now i'm curious - the whole what?

[pxrtner-blog]

wrxnch

« Are you seeing this? Why are we even watching this crap? »

[pxpergirl-blog]

"Look, I wish I had more time to chat, but I don't, and I have to go."

[pxrtner-blog]

[text] Are you trying to bribe me with sex?

[text] yes.

[pxrtner-blog]

wrxnch replied to your post:[text] I’ve seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy...

[text] Because you can cook so much better.

[text] never said i did

[pxrtner-blog]

[text] I’ve seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy like 3 times. I practically have a PhD.

[text] yeah?[text] i wish you watching cooking shows meant you were a certified chef[text] doesnt work that way does it

[pxrtner-blog]

➳

Numbers is dying, but he’s more alarmed by Wrench staying there, an arm around him, holding him up. He fought him, he did — with all the energy he had left, and now he’s too tired and too ill. The bite is throbbing, the pain flooding over him like being plunged into a bath of boiling water. Feels like that, too, sweat sticking to his forehead as the fever gains on him.

    « Why would you do this to yourself? »

His signing is weak, doesn’t have any of the brusqueness it usually carries. It’s limp and floppy, but he hopes the tight set of his jaw and the way he’s looking at him, brow furrowed, says he’s angry about it all.

Wrench doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to watch Numbers turn, and he doesn’t have to lock himself up with a dead man who will rip him apart.

[pxrtner-blog]

┼

2. Covered in blood

He was going to wait for Wrench before doing this, but one of them had started to say the kind of shit Numbers couldn't stand, mostly at Wrench's expense. Stuff he didn't want to bother repeating even to himself -- not like he remembered much beyond the first flare of anger. They were going to kill them anyways, he might as well get started.

When Wrench walked back into the room, whatever they'd need in hand, Numbers already had bodies at his feet and was breathing a little heavily. It looked a lot worse than it was, really; he was usually better at keeping things clean, but one of the guys had tried getting away and Numbers had snagged an artery, resulting in an unpleasant warm, metallic spray. Most of his clothes were ruined, his fingers and palms a brownish-red mess, and he was pretty sure he'd felt some on his face too. Ugh.

« Took care of it, » he signed, before sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.