[ he's clearly not fine but vax, while a soft and cushy good boy on the inside, is still vax'ildan, and... they don't exactly have a choice but to be fine. neither of them can die here, after all.
(well. vax can. wouldn't be much different from home, would it?)
either way - he pulls a bit of a grimace but otherwise shoves a little more pressure against the injury itself and pulls the little suture kit he got from their chromatic overlords who we don't know yet out, tugging the thread with his teeth so it's taut before going to stitch him up. ]
Focus on the pain. [ because he can see it, he can see the way the light's trying to leave percy's eyes, and thinks don't you fucking dare backslide, i won't let you. ] Or talk to me. Pick one.
I'm going to talk you into the grave, don't you worry, so long as I'm breathing—
[ breathe, he tells himself, you have to breathe. his heel nudges whatever he can. a sign. i'm here, just hurting. ]
... I'm going to be a thorn in your side.
[ so he's chosen talking instead of focusing on the pain, searing and burning, leaking hotly under vax'ildan's palm. he laughs again, which doesn't help, a fresh half-gush even as he "ow"s and his fingers curl into his palms. the injury stops once vax applies more pressure, begins to work at preparing the needle and percy sees it. he hates it. he's dealing with it, taking another long drink from the bottle.
he almost offers it out, but he'd rather a sober surgeon than a shit-faced one. granted, vax has steady hands. he's picked locks with as much finesse as any tailor bets their reputation on their finest work. ] Don't just stab me like some pincushion, all right? A surgeon's hand and a rogue's hand surely aren't all that different.
[ sterile, clean, quick - he's no pickles, but he knows what he's doing. years of living alone with vex taught vax all kinds of useful skills. i'm going to talk you into the grave gets a huff of a laugh, humorless, the corner of vax's mouth lifting as he stretches across the room for a candle and sticks the tip of the needle in the light.
with vex, for vex. for percy, his friend, companion, teammate - his brother in law, he thinks. he hopes. for their sakes, for percy's sakes, for vex's when he's gone, he hopes. and that, more than anything, is why percy will stay a thorn in his side, and vax briefly glances up to lock eyes with him. ] Damn right.
[ no one's dying here.
vax's hands are perfectly steady, even if the left is bloodied now; he pulls the thread, looks down, and while percy's drinking, plunges the needle through to start the stitches so he doesn't see the first push. it's easier that way. ]
Might wanna keep with the compliments to the guy stitching up your fucking insides. [ this is delivered as dry as the desert. normal, normal. everything's normal - pull the stitch, close off the bleeding, fix percival. it's normal. ] Thankless bloody job, taking care of you.
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(well. vax can. wouldn't be much different from home, would it?)
either way - he pulls a bit of a grimace but otherwise shoves a little more pressure against the injury itself and pulls the little suture kit he got from their chromatic overlords who we don't know yet out, tugging the thread with his teeth so it's taut before going to stitch him up. ]
Focus on the pain. [ because he can see it, he can see the way the light's trying to leave percy's eyes, and thinks don't you fucking dare backslide, i won't let you. ] Or talk to me. Pick one.
im taking him from 69 before his rez so rip
[ breathe, he tells himself, you have to breathe. his heel nudges whatever he can. a sign. i'm here, just hurting. ]
... I'm going to be a thorn in your side.
[ so he's chosen talking instead of focusing on the pain, searing and burning, leaking hotly under vax'ildan's palm. he laughs again, which doesn't help, a fresh half-gush even as he "ow"s and his fingers curl into his palms. the injury stops once vax applies more pressure, begins to work at preparing the needle and percy sees it. he hates it. he's dealing with it, taking another long drink from the bottle.
he almost offers it out, but he'd rather a sober surgeon than a shit-faced one. granted, vax has steady hands. he's picked locks with as much finesse as any tailor bets their reputation on their finest work. ] Don't just stab me like some pincushion, all right? A surgeon's hand and a rogue's hand surely aren't all that different.
[ a cough, more blood. messy bitch. ]
oh big rip
i'm going to talk you into the grave gets a huff of a laugh, humorless, the corner of vax's mouth lifting as he stretches across the room for a candle and sticks the tip of the needle in the light.
with vex, for vex. for percy, his friend, companion, teammate - his brother in law, he thinks. he hopes. for their sakes, for percy's sakes, for vex's when he's gone, he hopes. and that, more than anything, is why percy will stay a thorn in his side, and vax briefly glances up to lock eyes with him. ] Damn right.
[ no one's dying here.
vax's hands are perfectly steady, even if the left is bloodied now; he pulls the thread, looks down, and while percy's drinking, plunges the needle through to start the stitches so he doesn't see the first push. it's easier that way. ]
Might wanna keep with the compliments to the guy stitching up your fucking insides. [ this is delivered as dry as the desert. normal, normal. everything's normal - pull the stitch, close off the bleeding, fix percival. it's normal. ] Thankless bloody job, taking care of you.