Sorry for the long hiatus, my lame excuses are after the fic. J
ALSO I have no idea where this is going, if I ever did, it was a long time ago, so there. I'm making it up as I go, and if anyone who's still interested in this fic want's to give some suggestions, I'm open for any ideas.
So without further ado, I give you the next installment of…crap.
Well…all I can say is that DP would have been royally fucked if it weren't for your truly, please pardon 'your's truly's' French, for he has had a long day and is currently coated in rancid blood. Seriously, if you thought it was only his personality that was rank, you were wrong, Kanta's blood is tinted with an evil stank to rival that of the shit tankers my sis Natsuko drives.
Anyway, we met a nice lady today, goes by the name of Alexia, she's really pretty, not that it matters. I wouldn't mind keeping her warm by the fire. But oh, it looks like Akio has that covered. Me? I'm stuck pulling bullets out of retards. Alexia had a pair of forceps she lent me, she said they were originally made for picking up samples of moss and stuff, not that we have any in this damn desert, but I told her they would work just fine for the Demon of the Desert. And that bullet didn't go in too far, it ricocheted off the tip of the second floater rib and pierced the first one before finally settling just above the area of the larger intestine.
I know I'm kind of a nerd, and you wouldn't think I'd be into all the human dissection thing with my timid nature, but the stuff fascinates me to no end, it also comes in handy for surprise situations like this one. I'm so tired of people underestimating me like they do, I get that I'm not the best fighter and I tend to hide a lot, but I do come in handy. Also I'm NOT gay...
No ones POV
"Is it out?" DP half wined half asked. Haruo jumped as the bullet clattered against a small dish.
"Your awake!" the youngest machine gun brother asked.
"Yeah, your not exactly gentle with those." He glanced at the crusted forceps still in Haruo's hand and felt his shoulder begin to twitch with anticipation.
"You did get it out, right?"
"Well, yeah, that's what I was suppose to do." He held up the glazed bullet as proof then tossed it back into the pan. DP nodded in approval and shut his eyes against the dull throbbing that was beginning to make it's presence known in his side.
"I cleaned your wound and stitched it up, it'll suck to be you for a few days, but it should heal in about a month, give or take. I would give you a longer prognostics report, but you probably wont give a rats ass anyway."
"you know me so well." Kanta smirked mischievously, then frowned. "Where's the rest of the fag brigade?"
"Sleeping." Haruo sighed and wiped his hands on a rag, then propped himself up a few feet away from Kanta on the opposite wall of the ruined house and glared at each other.
"So what now?" Haruo sighed tiredly.
"I'm getting the fuck outta here." Kanta slowly shuffled over to his stuff, which lay neatly folded in a corner of the ruined hut. 'just like a chick to fold dirty laundry…'
"You really shouldn't be walking yet" came Haruo's tired voice, the man had made no physical motion to stop Desert Punk, but his eyes were fixed on the teen like a hawk.
"Sorry mother." Kanta spat out sarcastically, continuing to add layers to his frozen body. Once fully clothed, he considered shuffling around a bit to warm up, but his side protested angrily so he dismissed the idea.
"Do me a favor, pussy," he addressed Haruo. "Don't tell fun-bags over there anymore about me than you already have, or I'll kill you, deal?"
"Please, how many times have you threatened any of us before with our lives and never lived up to your promise?" Normally, Haruo was terrified of anything toting more than a buck knife, but the evenings events had left him more than a little ballsy with his opposite.
"Lets pray for your sake it's at least one more time." Kanta twitched and tucked his helmet under his arm and made his way to the dwindling campfire to wake Kosuna so they could make their initial escape, but Haruo's voice stopped him.
"So…..your still afraid of needles, huh?" Like previously mentioned. Ballsy.
"You son of a bitch!" the Desert Punk yelled and pounced on youngest machine-gun brother, the dull throbbing in his side flared up like the desert sun, but Kanta was lost in a blind rage. He mounted Haruo's stomach and punched at his face repeatedly until Akio flew in and pulled him off his brother. At this point, Kanta had begun bleeding again and was teetering on unconsciousness as Haruo-who had blocked most of the onslaught with his arms- began to inspect the damage done. He didn't cry, and this surprised Akio, the younger brother inspected the coming bruises on his arms briefly, and poked the new split on his lip where Kanta had managed a lucky shot, but that was it. No tears, no fuss.
Meanwhile, the Desert Punk began going into hibernation mode. His energy was spent, his wearing clothes combined with the recent physical activity had warmed him up considerably. And there was a strange wet, pleasantly warm feeling on his side. His eyes slid shut and he was asleep immediately.
"I'm not sewing him back up again." Haruo mentioned apathetically.
"I'm not asking you too." Akio muttered, dragging the sleeping Desert Punk to the fireside and laying back down himself. Haruo followed and soon they were all in a doze.
All but one, that is.
Alexia huddled under her sleeping bag, fidgetting with the COM link in her helmet. For a brief second, she swore that the RADAR had caught the signal of Seth's beacon, which was obviously ment for her. The screen had bleeped once with a tiny white dot, then fell barren once more. Wherever they were, her team was trying to contact her. Them.
She glanced briefly over at the last three to fall asleep and sighed. Sure, she had heard the commotion, but it wasn't in her interest to interfere in their relationships too much. Her job was simply to observe, and Seth's to record. Abner was the one who did all the dissecting.
Rather short too….crap….
Shoulda updated this thing sooner, but high school is kicking my ass. That, and I'd rather draw art than write it, but WTH?