It was a disgusting, painfully uncomfortable feeling.
Being stabbed.
Franz clutched the wound, trying to lessen the flow of blood that escaped him. As with every injury, he could feel the entire wound. How deep the dagger had gone. The intensity of the pain as the bullet was fired. It was moments like these he felt the most alive. Dying.
Coughing himself, there was a pained glare at Jin'li. "I'd have thought you knew better, but I suppose that was a mistake. You know it takes much more than just a dagger to get anything done. Were you not watching when Rotunda decided to impale me?" As he spoke, he was already visualizing a mental image of the required arcanima to seal and repair the wound.Â
He made an attempt to try to shove the miqo'te and his dagger far away enough to do trauma repair. Get himself far away enough to actually assess and treat the damage. It was still only a single gunblade wound. He could still move his legs. His arms. Pain had permeated his body, but an escape wasn't impossible. A gate into the aether would be impossible, however. Between the lack of required concentration on such, it would have given plenty of opportunity for another attack.Â
Franz's plan was to escape the room, seal the wound to prevent further blood loss and then find someone safe enough to decide a future move.Â
There was no intention to die here. Not at this place. Not at this time. And certainly not when there was still so much to do.
In a way, it was almost reassuring. An ample reminder that he was unwelcome in Eorzea and Garlemald alike. It didn't matter who he encountered. Perhaps they were all the same.
There was a blood/splattered laugh at the thought. "Maybe I do need freedom." As he tried to steady himself to get away, there was only a final remark.
"Is death truly freedom?"
Being stabbed.
Franz clutched the wound, trying to lessen the flow of blood that escaped him. As with every injury, he could feel the entire wound. How deep the dagger had gone. The intensity of the pain as the bullet was fired. It was moments like these he felt the most alive. Dying.
Coughing himself, there was a pained glare at Jin'li. "I'd have thought you knew better, but I suppose that was a mistake. You know it takes much more than just a dagger to get anything done. Were you not watching when Rotunda decided to impale me?" As he spoke, he was already visualizing a mental image of the required arcanima to seal and repair the wound.Â
He made an attempt to try to shove the miqo'te and his dagger far away enough to do trauma repair. Get himself far away enough to actually assess and treat the damage. It was still only a single gunblade wound. He could still move his legs. His arms. Pain had permeated his body, but an escape wasn't impossible. A gate into the aether would be impossible, however. Between the lack of required concentration on such, it would have given plenty of opportunity for another attack.Â
Franz's plan was to escape the room, seal the wound to prevent further blood loss and then find someone safe enough to decide a future move.Â
There was no intention to die here. Not at this place. Not at this time. And certainly not when there was still so much to do.
In a way, it was almost reassuring. An ample reminder that he was unwelcome in Eorzea and Garlemald alike. It didn't matter who he encountered. Perhaps they were all the same.
There was a blood/splattered laugh at the thought. "Maybe I do need freedom." As he tried to steady himself to get away, there was only a final remark.
"Is death truly freedom?"
