It was late, but the full moon shone brightly whenever the clouds would permit. Deep in the heart of Soon's Haven, somewhere on that teardrop shaped land mass, Makeinu was alone. Surrounded by a number of small farms, he was afforded ample shelter by the terrain while he licked his wounds by a stream's edge.
He was knelt down, with his right hand floating through the rushing water. His gloved palm and exposed fingers were stained with blood. The boy's left shoulder was soaked in the same red liquid, and as the shroud and damaged clothing was pulled down a bullet wound dripped red.
The grayed skin that stretched over his bones allowed for the wound and leakage to appear more vibrant. Meanwhile the breathing mask hung around his neck loosely. He'd hunch over and reach into his wound with the same bloodied fingers from before, apparently not the first attempt. Biting his lip and growling quietly to himself hr finally exhaled and dropped the small round onto the grass. Who knew how long he'd been trying, but he seemed exhausted and near overwhelmed.
Falling back onto his bottom the boy went into his belt pouch, pulling out a signal flare. Cracking it open against a nearby rock, he allowed the dark powder onto the ground. Taking a small stone and striking it against the rock he'd set the powder aflame. It wouldn't last long as sparks danced about, but he managed to light some paper he'd been carrying enough to rub the ashes into his wound to stop the bleeding.
As the ash stung his nerves bitterly, he sat there looking into space. The boy's eyes seemed tired, the left crimson and the right ebony. His full lips no longer chapped and cracking like back at the hospital, but now sporting dried blood. His pale hair clung to his face, not attractive or handsome nor hideous. Simply different, another phenotype altogether. His dull eyes seemed to grow hollow, recalling the day's events and failures. Wondering how to recover and push forward, but there he sat barely able to move his left arm. He had enough tools and fire in his gut to put up a fight if he had to, but whether that fight lasted more than a second or two was another thing. Passing out seemed to become a characteristic of his, but not now...Not anymore.
[This takes place after the Beyond Our League mission with Riyota. I'll fill in the blanks as things progress in both settings. Sorry for the quality, posting from a phone at the moment.]
He was knelt down, with his right hand floating through the rushing water. His gloved palm and exposed fingers were stained with blood. The boy's left shoulder was soaked in the same red liquid, and as the shroud and damaged clothing was pulled down a bullet wound dripped red.
The grayed skin that stretched over his bones allowed for the wound and leakage to appear more vibrant. Meanwhile the breathing mask hung around his neck loosely. He'd hunch over and reach into his wound with the same bloodied fingers from before, apparently not the first attempt. Biting his lip and growling quietly to himself hr finally exhaled and dropped the small round onto the grass. Who knew how long he'd been trying, but he seemed exhausted and near overwhelmed.
Falling back onto his bottom the boy went into his belt pouch, pulling out a signal flare. Cracking it open against a nearby rock, he allowed the dark powder onto the ground. Taking a small stone and striking it against the rock he'd set the powder aflame. It wouldn't last long as sparks danced about, but he managed to light some paper he'd been carrying enough to rub the ashes into his wound to stop the bleeding.
As the ash stung his nerves bitterly, he sat there looking into space. The boy's eyes seemed tired, the left crimson and the right ebony. His full lips no longer chapped and cracking like back at the hospital, but now sporting dried blood. His pale hair clung to his face, not attractive or handsome nor hideous. Simply different, another phenotype altogether. His dull eyes seemed to grow hollow, recalling the day's events and failures. Wondering how to recover and push forward, but there he sat barely able to move his left arm. He had enough tools and fire in his gut to put up a fight if he had to, but whether that fight lasted more than a second or two was another thing. Passing out seemed to become a characteristic of his, but not now...Not anymore.
[This takes place after the Beyond Our League mission with Riyota. I'll fill in the blanks as things progress in both settings. Sorry for the quality, posting from a phone at the moment.]