[There's no time for Wolfwood to twist away from being thrown, resulting in Wolfwood being tossed the entire length of the table, his body scattering whatever might be on it to the floor as he slides towards the far end. He almost would have preferred being dropped to this wild careen, all the way down until he just barely avoids flipping head-first off the end of it.
It seems that Razlo ended up dead-on the mark, with Wolfwood left grunting under his breath as he pushes himself stiffly up onto his arm, the pool of blood trembling with the way his weight shifts unevenly on the table. He doesn't know where the blood came from or what it's really supposed to mean, not so much as he does that pouch full of vials. Those he's intimately familiar with, and for a wild moment, he wonders if he could get away with stealing a few. He won't, not when Razlo is right fucking there, but still...
The sight of it, emblazoned with a cross, fills him with dread despite not having the proper context clues to connect it to the rest of the scene.
After a moment, he manages to push himself up and off the table, staggering as he shifts upright. He's fine- more than a little bruised for sure with Razlo's blood beneath his nails- but otherwise...fine. More or less. He, at the very least, thinks he gets what Razlo meant now.]
How should I know? [He scoffs.] As if I even care. I don't live for his approval.
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It seems that Razlo ended up dead-on the mark, with Wolfwood left grunting under his breath as he pushes himself stiffly up onto his arm, the pool of blood trembling with the way his weight shifts unevenly on the table. He doesn't know where the blood came from or what it's really supposed to mean, not so much as he does that pouch full of vials. Those he's intimately familiar with, and for a wild moment, he wonders if he could get away with stealing a few. He won't, not when Razlo is right fucking there, but still...
The sight of it, emblazoned with a cross, fills him with dread despite not having the proper context clues to connect it to the rest of the scene.
After a moment, he manages to push himself up and off the table, staggering as he shifts upright. He's fine- more than a little bruised for sure with Razlo's blood beneath his nails- but otherwise...fine. More or less. He, at the very least, thinks he gets what Razlo meant now.]
How should I know? [He scoffs.] As if I even care. I don't live for his approval.