Feb 10, 2010 20:51
No plan is foolproof, and no grudge John Abruzzi held would not go acted upon.
T-Bag probably should have kept that in mind. After he'd handcuffed himself to Scofield in an attempt to ensure his place on the escape team, he hadn't expected preventive measures to involve pinning him down to a car and using an axe to chop off the hand that had the handcuff on it.
When he stumbles into the bar, it's with his now-detached hand clutched in his still-attached one, face pale, and blood running down his front. He blinks, stopping a couple of feet in, eyes adjusting from the darkness on the other side of his door to the relative brightness here. It takes him a little longer than usual -- when one is as disoriented (and suffering the same blood loss) as he seems to be, it's a little more difficult than it usually is.
Still, when he realizes where he is, he manages a laugh, limping over to the nearest table before sitting down.
He'll think about getting medical aid once his head is a little clearer.
( ooc: semi-plotlocked; ping before tagging, please! )
saffron,
theodore bagwell