[For Rogue] Better Days
Madrox's face was a mess. Blood had coagulated around his nose and mouth. His lip was split. A deep purple bruise had blossomed across his forehead. In short, if he'd looked awful on his first day of island living, he'd definitely ramped it up for the sequel. Everything ached, though his hand was notable for its particular brand of 'oh God, oh God, it hurts.'
He knew, logically, that he should go to the clinic. But that involved walking and walking involved standing up and really, he was perfectly fine exactly where he was, sitting with his back against a tree, one knee drawn to his chest. And so, pulling the sleeve of his coat over his one good hand, he tried to clear away some of the dried blood.
"Oh, that's disgusting," he said nasally.
He knew, logically, that he should go to the clinic. But that involved walking and walking involved standing up and really, he was perfectly fine exactly where he was, sitting with his back against a tree, one knee drawn to his chest. And so, pulling the sleeve of his coat over his one good hand, he tried to clear away some of the dried blood.
"Oh, that's disgusting," he said nasally.