(no subject)
Flagg was out, and Lloyd wanted, more than anything, to go to sleep himself. It seemed like he was halfway there already when Kojak interfered. Lloyd looked up, squinting with dazed confusion.
What's the matter, Lassie? Timmy fall down the fuckin' well again?
He blinked. Tried to get his vision to refocus.
Oh. Shit.
He started to push himself up, then actually screamed when he realized he was using the wrong hand to do it. That was about the dumbest thing he could've done. He had to spend a few second catching his breath, then wrapped his hand in his shirt; it was soaked with blood already, and clung to his skin. Lloyd shoved the gun in his waistband, and considered the task of getting up without falling right back on his ass. "Hey, c'mere," he muttered to Kojak, looking at the wolf-dog with pleading eyes in hope of mollifying the overgrown fellow, so he wouldn't accidentally end up a head shorter. When Kojak got close enough, Lloyd held on to him, and with serious effort, managed to pull himself up to his feet. "Good boy."
He didn't need a mirror to know he was a fucking mess. His cheeks were hot and swollen and crusty, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and considering how woozy he was feeling, he guessed he must have lost a pretty decent amount of blood, on top of everything.
But it was okay, right? It was over.
He made it over to Glen on impossibly heavy feet, and carefully peeled off the duct tape from his mouth.
"You okay?" he asked, in a croaky voice that didn't feel like it entirely belonged to him, before clumsily getting to work on the straps with his one good hand.
What's the matter, Lassie? Timmy fall down the fuckin' well again?
He blinked. Tried to get his vision to refocus.
Oh. Shit.
He started to push himself up, then actually screamed when he realized he was using the wrong hand to do it. That was about the dumbest thing he could've done. He had to spend a few second catching his breath, then wrapped his hand in his shirt; it was soaked with blood already, and clung to his skin. Lloyd shoved the gun in his waistband, and considered the task of getting up without falling right back on his ass. "Hey, c'mere," he muttered to Kojak, looking at the wolf-dog with pleading eyes in hope of mollifying the overgrown fellow, so he wouldn't accidentally end up a head shorter. When Kojak got close enough, Lloyd held on to him, and with serious effort, managed to pull himself up to his feet. "Good boy."
He didn't need a mirror to know he was a fucking mess. His cheeks were hot and swollen and crusty, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and considering how woozy he was feeling, he guessed he must have lost a pretty decent amount of blood, on top of everything.
But it was okay, right? It was over.
He made it over to Glen on impossibly heavy feet, and carefully peeled off the duct tape from his mouth.
"You okay?" he asked, in a croaky voice that didn't feel like it entirely belonged to him, before clumsily getting to work on the straps with his one good hand.