[Unsurprisingly, Wolfwood hits the ground about as heavily as a sack of potatoes when he's dropped. He's lucky he doesn't fall on his head and break his neck, but luckily the snow is such that it cushions his fall. No doubt the Punisher gets tossed nearby- he hopes, that's NOT yours to keep you bastard- but Wolfwood won't make any moves to grab and shoot it again now that Vash is here.
God. Vash. Has Vash known? Did he come across Nai yet, or is this his first meeting with him here? Cause if so, this is probably the actual worst way it could have gone...
For now, Wolfwood focuses on struggling to sit up so he can assess his injuries. Usually, he can tell just from sensation alone if a wound would be bad enough to kill him or not, but now he doesn't fucking know in this place that has dampened his ability to heal. The gash on his face is superficial, and the cuts from the knives on his ankle and elsewhere are semi-deep punctures, but nothing that will need stitching, he's pretty sure. It's that slash on the side where Nai got him pretty good, having ripped open both the blazer and undershirt, leaving him holding it closed with his free hand.
He's not dying but, you know. He's not having a good time. He doesn't say anything for now, spitting blood into the snow as his answer, fuck you.]
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God. Vash. Has Vash known? Did he come across Nai yet, or is this his first meeting with him here? Cause if so, this is probably the actual worst way it could have gone...
For now, Wolfwood focuses on struggling to sit up so he can assess his injuries. Usually, he can tell just from sensation alone if a wound would be bad enough to kill him or not, but now he doesn't fucking know in this place that has dampened his ability to heal. The gash on his face is superficial, and the cuts from the knives on his ankle and elsewhere are semi-deep punctures, but nothing that will need stitching, he's pretty sure. It's that slash on the side where Nai got him pretty good, having ripped open both the blazer and undershirt, leaving him holding it closed with his free hand.
He's not dying but, you know. He's not having a good time. He doesn't say anything for now, spitting blood into the snow as his answer, fuck you.]