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Viewing Single Post From: ... Because I Can't Make It On My Own
laZardo
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^This is not what a Laz looks like^
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One hundred and fifty hours worth of starvation rations and constant paranoia had done even less for his hand-eye-leg coordination than it did with his own fragile state of health. When suddenly pushed aside by a very threatening Teo Weinstock, there was absolutely no solace to be found in luck either. And perhaps the complete opposite sensation from the sweet music he had come to love as his only true friend.

The force of the push dislodged what even he had figured was a calcified grip with both arms on the sweet music only slightly. Bent, worn and torn from wear, tear and sweat from constant clinging and just being goddamn 40 years old, the old Carol Channing record sleeve had as much protection from its contents as - well - a wet paper bag. The circular sawblade pierced straight through it and shredded through the strange tubetop Cisco wore on his upper body into the flesh beneath, and from there into the layers of muscle and the blood vessels and capillaries that supplied them.

It didn't slice him in half or tear a gaping slit in his jugular, but the effect was something akin to drag a large-bore cheese grater across the left side of his chest.

If he wasn't treated soon - and he had lost his bag with first aid kit long ago, it was quite possible that the boy who had evaded death by others' hand would end up dead from betrayal by his own "sweet music." This irony was not a very pleasant thought. All things considered, it was actually a pretty pathetic way to go out. In fact it was probably almost as unpleasant a sensation as the smell of someone else's blood already permeating into his nostrils - that of what used to be Gracie Wainwright on the floor. But as far as thoughts went, it was the first one that actually motivated him to want to live, rather than merely survive against the inevitable.

The one obstacle at that point was putting those thoughts into action.

The only time he uttered any noise in reaction was the moment the circular blade actually went through - it was a yelp similar to that of a small, wounded animal. He found himself facing the wall, stunned practically silent not just with pain, but a revelation that was almost as big as ending up on an island and forced to do the bidding of the Grim Reaper.

"Well, they're gone now. We're both safe...I promise I won't let any harm come to you ever again."

Perhaps Josee Tremblay, who grabbed him and turned him around might have an idea how to bridge that gap. At least if she was prepared to face what was almost certain to be inevitable disappointment.

Unfucked: Cisco Vasquez (V4)
Proper Fucked: Harris Van Allen (The Program), Rashid Hassan (V4)
Fucked Soon: Carlos Lazaro and Eliza Patton
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... Because I Can't Make It On My Own · The Ranger Station