He's not going to laugh. He's not, because he has a weapon of mass destruction checking out his bullet wounds and he very much wants to live. There were just certain risks not worth taking, and Midvalley's well able to control the impulse, aided by the burn of alcohol on open wounds. There's a noticeable twitch, but no other sound made about ALCOHOL in open wounds. It stung like a bitch! If he had to guess, whatever brought him back from certain death was likely also what healed the wounds that killed him. If he were a religious man..
"It won't kill me again, at least. That's good enough." Finding a doctor wouldn't ordinarily be difficult, but there was a strange silence in the air that made him wonder if something had changed, if he'd missed something very important ... it could just be the utter quiet of a battlefield's aftermath, he supposed. He had a good idea of where various cities and towns were, once he had a lock on where this was, getting proper antibiotics or whatever shouldn't be difficult.
Except that most of the planet is barren of human life now. He'll find out in time.
Were it anyone else but Vash the Stampede, he'd probably make a suggestive comment about being stared at, but that doesn't seem ... wise, no safer than implying the same if it were Millions Knives. And he can't bring himself to consider Vash in such a way either, any more than he could a plant in a bulb or a worm. He looked human ...
For a moment Midvalley considers rebuttoning his blood-soaked shirt, and then decides to just leave it til it dries so it doesn't stick to his fresh new bandages, giving a small quiet chuckle at what sounds like indignation from a mortal enemy. A lot of them, the Gung HoGuns, they'll do it because they want to, not because Knives forced them to. Some people are just born bad. Hoppered wasn't a monster at heart though, just dealt a bad hand. "Most of the Guns were not nice, normal, kind people even before that man came along." But not all. "Most of them turn up suddenly, expect them to pick up where they left off. I'd just rather go back to playing for happy crowded nightclubs." It paid better, it was safer.
And maybe saying so will be to his benefit. An assassin he was, but a homicidal maniac he was not.
"...Yeah?" He'd always had exceptional hearing, it helped with his music. All sounds were good sounds - and now he was hearing plants? Those were the sisters, based on how Knives referred to them. This isn't a confirmation he's entirely thrilled about, was he going to KEEP hearing them? "Huh, well, if it's you they want to get help for, and them, maybe it's not as settled as you hoped and Knives wasn't the problem."
..... Damn, it better not be, if Knives was a symptom and not the disease they were all fucked.
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"It won't kill me again, at least. That's good enough." Finding a doctor wouldn't ordinarily be difficult, but there was a strange silence in the air that made him wonder if something had changed, if he'd missed something very important ... it could just be the utter quiet of a battlefield's aftermath, he supposed. He had a good idea of where various cities and towns were, once he had a lock on where this was, getting proper antibiotics or whatever shouldn't be difficult.
Except that most of the planet is barren of human life now. He'll find out in time.
Were it anyone else but Vash the Stampede, he'd probably make a suggestive comment about being stared at, but that doesn't seem ... wise, no safer than implying the same if it were Millions Knives. And he can't bring himself to consider Vash in such a way either, any more than he could a plant in a bulb or a worm. He looked human ...
For a moment Midvalley considers rebuttoning his blood-soaked shirt, and then decides to just leave it til it dries so it doesn't stick to his fresh new bandages, giving a small quiet chuckle at what sounds like indignation from a mortal enemy. A lot of them, the Gung HoGuns, they'll do it because they want to, not because Knives forced them to. Some people are just born bad. Hoppered wasn't a monster at heart though, just dealt a bad hand. "Most of the Guns were not nice, normal, kind people even before that man came along." But not all. "Most of them turn up suddenly, expect them to pick up where they left off. I'd just rather go back to playing for happy crowded nightclubs." It paid better, it was safer.
And maybe saying so will be to his benefit. An assassin he was, but a homicidal maniac he was not.
"...Yeah?" He'd always had exceptional hearing, it helped with his music. All sounds were good sounds - and now he was hearing plants? Those were the sisters, based on how Knives referred to them. This isn't a confirmation he's entirely thrilled about, was he going to KEEP hearing them? "Huh, well, if it's you they want to get help for, and them, maybe it's not as settled as you hoped and Knives wasn't the problem."
..... Damn, it better not be, if Knives was a symptom and not the disease they were all fucked.