green. — bowie v rafael, day six.
Apr 8, 2022 3:21:21 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Apr 8, 2022 3:21:21 GMT -5
Bang!
And Gamble collapses.
Stay down, he wills almost desperately. Please, for fuck's sake, stay down.
He feels his muscles ache and burn with the fire of exertion, of five restless days catching up to him, none of which his ambition can salve. The world spins on a cruel axis, so much so that he staggers for a moment, and standing up takes so much damn effort. He could lay down, too. The sands are inviting.
Rafael's fingers find one of the open wounds on him and press down—
He screams. “FUCK!” A lightning bolt of pain, so intense that it unmakes the world for a split second, but the adrenaline that follows after is akin to snake-venom. It hurts but it holds. It pains but it pushes. Stay on your damn feet. If he’ll die, he’ll do so standing and with a final bullet to shoot. Hell, damn showmanship, he’ll take Bowie down with him.
The dying sun behind him crests over them both, a burning halo that, for only a moment, crowns his head jaggedly. Selfish, ruinous, and oh so unyielding, Rafael protests against the fall.
Not again. Never again. He did not climb this high to be yanked back down, not by Cricket Antoinette, not by Maryn Hale, and certainly not by Bowie fucking Gamble.
As the other speaks, he looks at him again. “What?” he rasps back, his gaze drawn to the strips of shadow and green light dancing across Bowie's now-unshielded face.
“Did you really think I was going to kill Isaac in his sleep?”
Rafael laughs.
His helmet comes undone, too, and then rolls off in the sand as he gets rid of it completely.
“Not really,” he shakes his head, his hair still perfectly moussed. “I was wagering on him killing you. Quite disappointed in that regard.”
He makes a heavy, albeit painful, intake of breath.
It hurts but it holds. It pains but it pushes.
“All of us are liars here, Gamble,” the words come laced with the same laugh from before, bitter and corrosive. “And everyone better at it than you.*”
The gun raises itself again, outstretched at the other’s heart that is shielded behind iron but baring itself all the same in those oil-slick eyes.
“If you have any truthfulness left, I suggest you bury a dagger in it, too.
It is for the better, really.”
Changing trajectory, he shoots at the other’s knee.
And Gamble collapses.
Stay down, he wills almost desperately. Please, for fuck's sake, stay down.
He feels his muscles ache and burn with the fire of exertion, of five restless days catching up to him, none of which his ambition can salve. The world spins on a cruel axis, so much so that he staggers for a moment, and standing up takes so much damn effort. He could lay down, too. The sands are inviting.
Rafael's fingers find one of the open wounds on him and press down—
He screams. “FUCK!” A lightning bolt of pain, so intense that it unmakes the world for a split second, but the adrenaline that follows after is akin to snake-venom. It hurts but it holds. It pains but it pushes. Stay on your damn feet. If he’ll die, he’ll do so standing and with a final bullet to shoot. Hell, damn showmanship, he’ll take Bowie down with him.
The dying sun behind him crests over them both, a burning halo that, for only a moment, crowns his head jaggedly. Selfish, ruinous, and oh so unyielding, Rafael protests against the fall.
Not again. Never again. He did not climb this high to be yanked back down, not by Cricket Antoinette, not by Maryn Hale, and certainly not by Bowie fucking Gamble.
As the other speaks, he looks at him again. “What?” he rasps back, his gaze drawn to the strips of shadow and green light dancing across Bowie's now-unshielded face.
“Did you really think I was going to kill Isaac in his sleep?”
Rafael laughs.
His helmet comes undone, too, and then rolls off in the sand as he gets rid of it completely.
“Not really,” he shakes his head, his hair still perfectly moussed. “I was wagering on him killing you. Quite disappointed in that regard.”
He makes a heavy, albeit painful, intake of breath.
It hurts but it holds. It pains but it pushes.
“All of us are liars here, Gamble,” the words come laced with the same laugh from before, bitter and corrosive. “And everyone better at it than you.*”
The gun raises itself again, outstretched at the other’s heart that is shielded behind iron but baring itself all the same in those oil-slick eyes.
“If you have any truthfulness left, I suggest you bury a dagger in it, too.
It is for the better, really.”
Changing trajectory, he shoots at the other’s knee.
*Quote inspired by Game of Thrones.
RAFAEL attacks BOWIE | GATLIN GUN [4/6]
tCurflbJxRthrowing knife
9070 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage (Thrown Knife)
ACCURACY | DAY 6
throwing knife
9145 -- Shallow Cut on Bicep -- 3.5 damage (Thrown Knife)