Re: [Carnival - Adult]
There was blood in his mouth, climbing up his throat from rapidly filling lungs. He was choking with every half-breath, and his lungs rattled with the sound of half-empty milk jugs. The liquid made him rasp and vibrate, and he watched her with a red mouth when she painted blood across his lips with a worried touch. He wanted a cigarette, but seeing as how he couldn't even draw full breath without choking, he didn't reach for the pack in his jacket. The pack was likely soaked through anyway by now, just like the jacket.
His bird spoke of demons and wards, and Rory stared at her with blatant confusion, a lack of understanding for just a few moments more. He'd lost a lot of blood, he was still losing it, and his face had grown very pale. His stubble stood out like cinders stuck in white wax. His eyes were once more very human, although they seemed a little wide due to shock.
"Why would... a demon... affect me?" The words were rasped and brittle. His dark eyebrows were pinched, contemplative of the irony that would be required for this to be the work of some goddamn demon. It was a little funny, actually. If he could have spared the oxygen, he might have laughed. But laughing was off the table, as he could barely even form sentences. Rory winced, unbuttoning his bloodied shirt with hands that were remarkably steady, all things considered. He'd been shot enough times, he knew what it felt like. He remembered these particular bullet wounds well enough, one in the abdomen and two high up on the right side of his chest. "Fuckin' hell," he muttered with more resolution than panic.
She asked if the man's name was Matt, and Rory nodded because that sounded about right. But when she said that she would go and fetch the veterinarian alone, Rory grabbed her wrist, although the movement wasn't as dexterous as it should have been. "I..." Whatever protest or declaration he'd been prepared to make, it fell through. His fingers released her wrist, and touch fell to the grass again, useless. "Just go."