If it were only a bullet, maybe. Maybe. But he hadn't just been shot, and Midvalley spent most of his life carefully evaluating his own chances at survival. Wherever he'd been thrown in the ground, he should still be there. One dark eyebrow arches at being told to lift his shirt before he slowly and purposefully begins unbuttoning it instead. Whether or not there was anything still IN the wound is a good question, but by the dampness in his back it had gone straight through.
He doesn't have the extensive awful scarring the likes of Vash or even Wolfwood had, but he's been in his share of scraps. This new set of injuries, neat half-healed, half-open holes, by their placement absolutely should have resulted in a dead man. Lungshot, heart-shot, if he'd made it thirty seconds without losing consciousness it would have been astonishing. They still bleed a little, but it's the sluggishness of a nonlethal wound. It really shouldn't be.
By the shocked silence, he estimated the Stampede was considering Wolfwood, and not the likelihood of Legato.
Of Knives.
Of it all beginning again. Of course a mind would turn to a lost friend before vicious enemies, but Midvalley had to be more practical about that. If he intended to make the best use of this second chance at life, he was going to have to be very careful to steer clear of anyone connected to that hell that was the Gung Ho Guns. "It was never personal for me. No offense, but you were just a job I wasn't allowed to walk away from." Unlike some of the others, who sought a test of strength ... or revenge. "I can't say anyone else might leave you alone, Knives has followers like a cat has fleas."
But it won't be Midvalley. He's not stupid enough to take the same road twice, when it already got him killed once. "And if you're the "red brother" that ... screaming was calling for, and I wasn't the only one to hear it." People will come looking.
People will come looking. Vash drew chaos like carcasses drew flies.
no subject
He doesn't have the extensive awful scarring the likes of Vash or even Wolfwood had, but he's been in his share of scraps. This new set of injuries, neat half-healed, half-open holes, by their placement absolutely should have resulted in a dead man. Lungshot, heart-shot, if he'd made it thirty seconds without losing consciousness it would have been astonishing. They still bleed a little, but it's the sluggishness of a nonlethal wound. It really shouldn't be.
By the shocked silence, he estimated the Stampede was considering Wolfwood, and not the likelihood of Legato.
Of Knives.
Of it all beginning again. Of course a mind would turn to a lost friend before vicious enemies, but Midvalley had to be more practical about that. If he intended to make the best use of this second chance at life, he was going to have to be very careful to steer clear of anyone connected to that hell that was the Gung Ho Guns. "It was never personal for me. No offense, but you were just a job I wasn't allowed to walk away from." Unlike some of the others, who sought a test of strength ... or revenge. "I can't say anyone else might leave you alone, Knives has followers like a cat has fleas."
But it won't be Midvalley. He's not stupid enough to take the same road twice, when it already got him killed once. "And if you're the "red brother" that ... screaming was calling for, and I wasn't the only one to hear it." People will come looking.
People will come looking. Vash drew chaos like carcasses drew flies.