( it's certainly for the best that someone was passing by in the lodestone chamber to take note of the state that he's in, and especially someone who would actually think to help and not merely rub salt in the already very concerning wound. he recognizes the girl, of course — in a way she seems more familiar to him than many of their more human comrades do, just in that a creature like her wouldn't have been surprising to see in his version of hell. he hasn't had the opportunity to speak much with her as of yet, so he thinks he should be grateful she is a helpful type.
even if he really cared to, he's not particularly equipped right now to fight back against her concern and offer for help. the bloodied coat is slipped off of his other remaining shoulder, and, well... at that point, his shirt is essentially hanging off of him in tatters, so to use it to help wipe away some of the blood is a good enough use for it. a sound catches in makoto's throat — half a huff of scorn and half a gurgle. ) The sharp end of a spear, ( he replies in a thin, strained voice, trying (and failing) to distract himself from how shameful it is to return in what he views as sound defeat.
at least he had managed to land a blade into his attacker's back before he'd left.
he breathes, but raggedly; whatever damage exists to his lungs or whatever other internal organs will simply be until the point that it doesn't any longer. he won't die from it — once mended, his body will doggedly pursue stability, whether he wants it to or not. at her question, he nods; he extends a bloodied hand to offer her something. a sturdy needle and surgical-strength thread. )
I - can't reach — ( a sudden fit of coughing interrupts him, so instead he has to gesture, indicating the small wound the tip of the spear had made as it exited through his back. even still, it runs wildly with blood. ) If you can sew it up - I'll begin to heal. Do you know how?
no subject
even if he really cared to, he's not particularly equipped right now to fight back against her concern and offer for help. the bloodied coat is slipped off of his other remaining shoulder, and, well... at that point, his shirt is essentially hanging off of him in tatters, so to use it to help wipe away some of the blood is a good enough use for it. a sound catches in makoto's throat — half a huff of scorn and half a gurgle. ) The sharp end of a spear, ( he replies in a thin, strained voice, trying (and failing) to distract himself from how shameful it is to return in what he views as sound defeat.
at least he had managed to land a blade into his attacker's back before he'd left.
he breathes, but raggedly; whatever damage exists to his lungs or whatever other internal organs will simply be until the point that it doesn't any longer. he won't die from it — once mended, his body will doggedly pursue stability, whether he wants it to or not. at her question, he nods; he extends a bloodied hand to offer her something. a sturdy needle and surgical-strength thread. )
I - can't reach — ( a sudden fit of coughing interrupts him, so instead he has to gesture, indicating the small wound the tip of the spear had made as it exited through his back. even still, it runs wildly with blood. ) If you can sew it up - I'll begin to heal. Do you know how?