[Visual] EVERYONE I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE [also location: birdhouse]
For a moment the screen is at a crazy angle, and fingers smeared with blood scrabble over the glass, leaving red messy trails on the broadcast.
Paul Smecker rights the tablet, gives Taxon a visual of his face, paler than normal, dotted with sweat. The hand not holding the tablet is clutching at his neck, and blood is visibly welling out from between his white-knuckled fingers. His shirt collar is damp too, but the astute-eyed may see that it's mostly water, and not quite as bad as it looks.
He's sitting on the floor, leaned back against an overturned table-- a shambles behind him, signs of a struggle however brief. Paul sags against the table, tries to focus. Blood loss, his mind tells him, it's blood loss making him weak, shaky-- (not shock, not panic, not shameful fear over someone he trusted turning on him-- no, not weakness like that), but he has to focus, has to tell people.
"Dawn--" His voice is a croak, he clears his throat, tries again. "Anyone who's watching-- Dawn Summers's... a vampire. Attacked-- bit me..."
Yeah. Yeah, bit him, and the mere thought of that makes him start wanting to hyperventilate. Keep it together, Smecker-- but all he's seeing is an innocent face twisting into a smile out of hell, fangs gleaming. The strength, the speed-- how the fuck do you fight that? All his planning, and... he'd trusted her. Trusted-- stupid, fucking stupid.
"...hey.... Buffy?" Paul rasps. "So's you know-- holy water... works pretty goddamn well."
And then he closes his eyes, leans back against the table and tries to think. The tablet's heavy; he lets that hand lower it to his lap. His other hand is still keeping the pressure on the punctures on his throat; he tries to think, figure if he'd be better lying down or not. Elevates the wound, yeah, but doesn't let blood get to his brain either, hell. Handkerchief-- he's still got one somewhere, right? Pocket-- yes-- he folds the cloth, gets it over the holes in his throat, then lies down on the floor, taking deep breaths.
[OOC: So, I MADE A BOO-BOO, some miscommunication on my part. Paul's not as seriously injured as the initial tags would have suggested-- he won't be unconscious, and will be able to update people as to the situation. Anyone needing to alter their tags in light of that, I will offer you chocolate. Sorry!]
Paul Smecker rights the tablet, gives Taxon a visual of his face, paler than normal, dotted with sweat. The hand not holding the tablet is clutching at his neck, and blood is visibly welling out from between his white-knuckled fingers. His shirt collar is damp too, but the astute-eyed may see that it's mostly water, and not quite as bad as it looks.
He's sitting on the floor, leaned back against an overturned table-- a shambles behind him, signs of a struggle however brief. Paul sags against the table, tries to focus. Blood loss, his mind tells him, it's blood loss making him weak, shaky-- (not shock, not panic, not shameful fear over someone he trusted turning on him-- no, not weakness like that), but he has to focus, has to tell people.
"Dawn--" His voice is a croak, he clears his throat, tries again. "Anyone who's watching-- Dawn Summers's... a vampire. Attacked-- bit me..."
Yeah. Yeah, bit him, and the mere thought of that makes him start wanting to hyperventilate. Keep it together, Smecker-- but all he's seeing is an innocent face twisting into a smile out of hell, fangs gleaming. The strength, the speed-- how the fuck do you fight that? All his planning, and... he'd trusted her. Trusted-- stupid, fucking stupid.
"...hey.... Buffy?" Paul rasps. "So's you know-- holy water... works pretty goddamn well."
And then he closes his eyes, leans back against the table and tries to think. The tablet's heavy; he lets that hand lower it to his lap. His other hand is still keeping the pressure on the punctures on his throat; he tries to think, figure if he'd be better lying down or not. Elevates the wound, yeah, but doesn't let blood get to his brain either, hell. Handkerchief-- he's still got one somewhere, right? Pocket-- yes-- he folds the cloth, gets it over the holes in his throat, then lies down on the floor, taking deep breaths.
[OOC: So, I MADE A BOO-BOO, some miscommunication on my part. Paul's not as seriously injured as the initial tags would have suggested-- he won't be unconscious, and will be able to update people as to the situation. Anyone needing to alter their tags in light of that, I will offer you chocolate. Sorry!]