| [Mar. 4th, 2008|10:54 am] |
Ryouma's fingers closed around the belt reflexively, calluses slipping and snagging on the wet leather. He blinked down at it, gritted his teeth, reached after coherence, and dragged it up by the scruff of its neck. "Blood pills'll do." He was mostly done bleeding now, anyway. It had to be just the drop in adrenaline, his body's decision that he was home and safe and it could therefore shut down, that had tipped him over the edge. Damn, he was cold.
It took him two dropped rolls of bandages and a tube of antiseptic, but he finally wrestled his medkit out, popped the cap off the little vial of blood pills, and promptly dropped two of the remaining three on the floor as well. They dissolved instantly in spiraling crimson curls. "Kinda pretty, really," Ryouma told the floor. "Nicer than when it's our blood." And there he went babbling again...
He tipped his head back and rolled the last pill from vial to tongue, without bothering with traitorous fingers on the way. The rich coppery tang blossomed as he bit down, thick and warm and faintly sweet, as if he were choking on a mouthful of his own clotted blood. Not a pleasant memory.
Swallowing didn't help the taste. He spat, hit his own foot, closed his eyes, and tried to convince himself that dying really would be a bad idea.
For one thing, Kakashi would never let him forget it.
"Medic won't do much for a concussion," he said at last. His eyelids didn't seem to want to open. "Ream me out an' tell me to sleep it off. Sugar for the shock. Got blood already. Gettin' warm would be nice..."
But his body could handle that on its own, once it had the oxygen and the fluids it needed to recover from its trauma. His face was more troubling. "'m I gonna need stitches? Gonna scar?" |
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