Vash was, unfortunately, inebriated enough and far too used to being doctored for even more severe wounds then these that he didn't quite register just how painful the alcohol would have been, and if Midvalley wasn't going to say anything, he wasn't going to catch on. Luckily for the musician, he was finished quickly enough.
"You should still get some antibiotics, the good stuff. Sepsis is probably worse than going out with a gunshot." He shook his head, his nose curling. He'd seen enough people suffering from that over the years, had even had it on a couple of extremely unlucky occassions, thank whatever was out there for whatever made his body heal as well as it did.
He sighed at the man's pessimism, though he would have been lying to say it didn't sound a whole lot like the kinds of things Nicholas might have said about people, before. Which wasn't a happy thought to have roll through his head, especially not given the night's circumstances. Was it also a quality they looked for when recruiting for their little murder-cult? People who were so damaged that the world just seemed so bleak?
"Not even most of them, really." Nicholas, Livio, Emilio, Hoppered, Midvalley. Even Zazie had had their reasons, and to be honest, he could understand them. "How many of you did he pull in again? 13? So..." If you counted Razlo, and yeah, sure, he did. "More than half of you were just...pawns. Lives he played with because he thought it was his right." And even if he hadn't directly caused their descents into madness, even if they'd been allowed to live their lives without him forcing them to fight in his petty power struggles? It all came back to what happened the night of the Big Fall, didn't it? Everyone's lives were worse because of Knives, and because of Vash's inability to stop him from doing what he'd done, over and over and over again.
He sighed again, sinking with an unhappy groan into one of the seats, his gangly legs bunching up and making him look even taller than he already was when he was sitting in a chair meant for a small child.
"I just wanted this to all be over. I'm just so. Tired of all the fighting." His head dropped down to the table with a loud thunk. He'd been to the point of being a sad, mopey drunk before his night had gone all sideways. There was enough of that left that he was starting to veer into mopey, whiney drunk, and he didn't even care. Hell, he didn't even have to be drunk to act like a whiney, petulent child. The alcohol in his system was just helping it along.
"I've been dealing with this for a hundred and fifty. Years." His voice was muffled against the old, metal table. "Do you know how many generations that is? I'm old enough to be your great. Great...Greagreagreagranddad! Aren't old men supposed to retire???"
Yep, whining and moping. He felt pretty damn justified, though, given the circumstances.
no subject
"You should still get some antibiotics, the good stuff. Sepsis is probably worse than going out with a gunshot." He shook his head, his nose curling. He'd seen enough people suffering from that over the years, had even had it on a couple of extremely unlucky occassions, thank whatever was out there for whatever made his body heal as well as it did.
He sighed at the man's pessimism, though he would have been lying to say it didn't sound a whole lot like the kinds of things Nicholas might have said about people, before. Which wasn't a happy thought to have roll through his head, especially not given the night's circumstances. Was it also a quality they looked for when recruiting for their little murder-cult? People who were so damaged that the world just seemed so bleak?
"Not even most of them, really." Nicholas, Livio, Emilio, Hoppered, Midvalley. Even Zazie had had their reasons, and to be honest, he could understand them. "How many of you did he pull in again? 13? So..." If you counted Razlo, and yeah, sure, he did. "More than half of you were just...pawns. Lives he played with because he thought it was his right." And even if he hadn't directly caused their descents into madness, even if they'd been allowed to live their lives without him forcing them to fight in his petty power struggles? It all came back to what happened the night of the Big Fall, didn't it? Everyone's lives were worse because of Knives, and because of Vash's inability to stop him from doing what he'd done, over and over and over again.
He sighed again, sinking with an unhappy groan into one of the seats, his gangly legs bunching up and making him look even taller than he already was when he was sitting in a chair meant for a small child.
"I just wanted this to all be over. I'm just so. Tired of all the fighting." His head dropped down to the table with a loud thunk. He'd been to the point of being a sad, mopey drunk before his night had gone all sideways. There was enough of that left that he was starting to veer into mopey, whiney drunk, and he didn't even care. Hell, he didn't even have to be drunk to act like a whiney, petulent child. The alcohol in his system was just helping it along.
"I've been dealing with this for a hundred and fifty. Years." His voice was muffled against the old, metal table. "Do you know how many generations that is? I'm old enough to be your great. Great...Greagreagreagranddad! Aren't old men supposed to retire???"
Yep, whining and moping. He felt pretty damn justified, though, given the circumstances.