His breath is ragged. It draws through his teeth and he remembers with irony thinking how it was a good goddamn thing Cecil Palmer couldn't bite out his tongue when his guts got all torn in the arena prior. Such a good thing the avox couldn't scream, it was. He feels even more a fool for thinking it than he did back then.
He ain't going to be sick, he knows that. But the final slash brings a terrible surge of illness with it what he can't deny. Every muscle in him is cramped from the effort of staying still. The blood is washed over his neck, all upon his bare face and around his eyes in trails. He can taste his own blood in his grit teeth.
Good enough, Eridan says, and he can't hardly believe it, even when the skate is tossed away and he can see the blood on it too, as well as the small spatter trail from the work what got done. His face is pushed further into the blood, crushing that ruined ear down and soaking his hair and clothes purple. There's a split second twitch of what might have been snarl once, but mostly his eyes stay shut and his teeth stay grit.
He could almost make like he ain't listening, except the order comes and his eyes open, face going blank once more even despite the pain piercing his skull and zapping every nerve end like he's on fire. The moment Eridan allows him he stands upright, swaying only a little. He doesn't give the other troll so much as a passing glance. He walks off to clean the blood as ordered. The lack of fins leave a hollow feeling but it's one what he can ignore, with the press of fear saying these must be hidden from sights what could be offended. Even if wrapping and taping them down immediate like that hurts something unholy. After that, will come cleaning the blood from his hair and the clothes he's been given, to watch indigo run down some drain.
And of course, once Eridan is gone, he will return to wash the blood from the floor too. He is not a person and so he should not leave no trace. Not even by his blood.
no subject
He ain't going to be sick, he knows that. But the final slash brings a terrible surge of illness with it what he can't deny. Every muscle in him is cramped from the effort of staying still. The blood is washed over his neck, all upon his bare face and around his eyes in trails. He can taste his own blood in his grit teeth.
Good enough, Eridan says, and he can't hardly believe it, even when the skate is tossed away and he can see the blood on it too, as well as the small spatter trail from the work what got done. His face is pushed further into the blood, crushing that ruined ear down and soaking his hair and clothes purple. There's a split second twitch of what might have been snarl once, but mostly his eyes stay shut and his teeth stay grit.
He could almost make like he ain't listening, except the order comes and his eyes open, face going blank once more even despite the pain piercing his skull and zapping every nerve end like he's on fire. The moment Eridan allows him he stands upright, swaying only a little. He doesn't give the other troll so much as a passing glance. He walks off to clean the blood as ordered. The lack of fins leave a hollow feeling but it's one what he can ignore, with the press of fear saying these must be hidden from sights what could be offended. Even if wrapping and taping them down immediate like that hurts something unholy. After that, will come cleaning the blood from his hair and the clothes he's been given, to watch indigo run down some drain.
And of course, once Eridan is gone, he will return to wash the blood from the floor too. He is not a person and so he should not leave no trace. Not even by his blood.