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  • Cyrus nodded tiredly, "Mhm." He frowned as he looked at the blood dripping. People are going to start asking questions. . . That was something he just couldn't risk, especially if it was an authority figure.

  • "Mmph." Was all Cyrus said. He began to occupy himself with thoughts that would keep him awake, at least a little longer anyway. When that began to fail he pressed on his wound, his mind shot awake with the sudden instance of pain.

  • //Cy mentioned it being tan with lots of graffiti.


    /Now that he was awake, or at least more than before, he pointed out the building that he was currently using as a safehouse. "Th-that's the one."

  • (Ya, I know that, but you have a better idea of what it looks like than I)


    “Just r-right into the front?” She swallowed weakly and sniffled. Oh no, please don’t cry, he doesn’t need that right now— she squeezed her eyes shut and walked even faster, forgetting that she was helping an injured person.

  • //Ah, my bad


    "Right through the gate," Cyrus explained. The building was nothing special, and looked like it wasn't being taken cared of from the outside. In fact, the building had a sign on the small lawn that suggested it had just been sold.

  • "I'm alive, aren't I?" Cyrus replied, somewhat sarcastically. He gently pushed away from Mistique, "I can open this door up." He was referring to the front door of the building, which he double locked every time he went out.

  • "Don't be," Cyrus said pushing open the door with his weight, "people like you make this world so much more bearable to live in." This was true to him, as he found most others greedy or selfish.

  • Cyrus stumbled, but he didn't fall. To an outsider, it might seem he was off-the-walls drunk. He forced his way to stuff he needed right now: painkillers, a mirror, and readers. As he removed his coat, he told Mistique "You're gonna have to pull the bullet out," he took some of the painkillers, "I won't be able to do it my condition." Cyrus didn't consider while he was used to this, Mistique most likely wouldn't be.

  • Mistique froze in horror, her eyes dilating. “Im... you’re— pull it out?” At even the thought of it she felt her stomach lurch. She looked away, covering her mouth with a hand as her scales immediately spiraled into a sickly green hue. “Can’t— we just call a hospital?” She rasped weakly with a desperate glance up to Cyrus.

  • Cyrus sat down on the couch in the middle of the barely furnished home, he looked at the floor, and spoke. "That's. . . not exactly an option at this point." He needed to word what he said next as carefully as can, "That vendor you saw, V, he's got contacts ranging from street dogs to other mercenaries." Shoot. He had just said other mercenaries.

  • Mistique noticed him tense up and cracked a small smile, but said nothing. Her fingers still trembled as they latched onto each other, her nervousness evident through her stiff posture and wide eyes. "I-I just -- I don't know if I can do it; I've never been great with ... injuries..." She swallowed.

  • Cyrus tossed the tweezers to her, "You'll be fine, just think of it as a game of Operation." Though th stakes were a little higher than that of game, but he felt at least a bit of encouragement might help soften the situation.