Marschal pushed past the guild doors, hunched over with his right hand gripping his broken left arm close to him. Blood trickled down from his shoulder, covering his hand and pooling to the tips of his fingers, where droplets fell from the edge. He collapsed onto the nearest bench and stared, wide-eyed, at the passersby, who stared back at the injuries he currently possessed. A few broken ribs kept his breathing ragged and quick, so as not to injure himself farther, or risk the possibility of rupturing a lung. Marschy had looked as if he had just gotten home from the Vietnam war, beaten up so badly that maybe. . . just maybe. . . survival wasn't an option. His head fell back against the table, where he kept blood from slipping out of his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. The pain was agonizing, but all that had mattered to him was that he made it out alive and partially kicking his way back home.
Given that the ride home was not all that comfy either, the pirates merely stared at him when he had boarded a ship. Not that he had wanted help from their makeshift doctor anyway, who was likely not a certified doctor to begin with. A groan emitted from his gorge and he stamped a foot against the ground, as if that would help stop the pain. It didn't.
"Pathetic," Marschal mumbled about himself, closing his eyes to rest them for just a little while.
Given that the ride home was not all that comfy either, the pirates merely stared at him when he had boarded a ship. Not that he had wanted help from their makeshift doctor anyway, who was likely not a certified doctor to begin with. A groan emitted from his gorge and he stamped a foot against the ground, as if that would help stop the pain. It didn't.
"Pathetic," Marschal mumbled about himself, closing his eyes to rest them for just a little while.