[ it's only now that he takes the time to truly assess the damage. outwardly, he looks like he normally does after walking away from a fight. battered, bruised, cut up and bleeding in places that have barely begun to heal from the last time. a laceration alone his left leg has been bleeding profusely since he'd received it, but the color and material of his pants hide most of what dull noses cannot sense. he is standing, even if it's more like leaning, and there is a dry humor in his eyes and quirk of his mouth that seems to suggest all is well. all will be well.
inwardly, there is a clock counting down. the vials that dagger had given him — a drug unlike any celebre he'd ever had before — they had taken their toll, and his organs are slowly paying for them. he is no doctor, but he imagines each one slowly blackening and withering away, at least that's how it feels, though one would assume he's more than used to his body giving up on him by now. ]
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inwardly, there is a clock counting down. the vials that dagger had given him — a drug unlike any celebre he'd ever had before — they had taken their toll, and his organs are slowly paying for them. he is no doctor, but he imagines each one slowly blackening and withering away, at least that's how it feels, though one would assume he's more than used to his body giving up on him by now. ]
i FeLl.
[ he falls down a lot. ]