Freelancer New York (freelancer_york) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-08-19 01:01:00 |
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The Spartan was suitably impressed with the Cajun's ability to flick things up into the air and cause them to explode. Sure, Gambit was mostly useless right now (with three broken ribs, an arm broken in two places, and a recently dislocated shoulder), but he still had one good arm and was flicking his playing cards into the air in a bored manner. It was fascinating to see them begin to glow pink, and then after a few seconds (when they'd been flicked up) to explode in the air like a firework. Except, without the fireworks. It was just a small explosion. Gambit had said he could make it a bigger one, but there was really no reason to. They'd only moved about a hundred feet from where they'd been, with Gambit bitching the entire way about how his arm hurt, and his ribs hurt, and his tailbone hurt, and he was tired, and hungry, and-- and York had nearly decked him, but he realized the guy wasn't exactly a soldier. What he didn't realize was that the red-headed man was doing it just to get a reaction from the frustratingly patient medic with him. Honestly, the mutant had been lucky that the Freelancer had been near him, because Gambit had landed atop his tablet when he'd fallen, so while he could have shot up flares for someone to find him, it'd been much more convenient to just have someone twenty feet away. And to have the guy be a medic? Well, it was good luck at its very best! Currently, Gambit had his chest wrapped tightly with a bandage made of strips from his own shirt. York had cut it off to check the Cajun out, then he'd torn it to pieces and wrapped it around the shorter man's ribs, nice and tight. Then he'd pushed his arm back into its socket (with some shouting and cursing on Gambit's part) and he'd fashioned a sling out of the American's jacket. That explained why the red-head was glaring at the blonde, both of the scruffy men awaiting someone to come and find them. Gambit was sprawled on the ground on his back, the rest of his jacket stuffed under his head like a pillow, and York was standing sentinel over him, trying to message Cas, or Harry, or Roy, or Steve, or.. anyone. But he was getting nothing. The tablet just couldn't find the user. What was going on here? |