milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

wilford warfstache

(no subject)

The door opens, and whoever is on the other side seems very angry.

"Of course it's your fault! You were driving. Gas pedal. Step on it next time!"

Wilford turns around as he steps through the door, and finds Billy completely unable to argue back. Fine. Good. Whatever. He doesn't want to argue with an idiot right now. Not after being pulled out of a news van on the freeway and thrown into the next lane.

He's not sure if the pain in his side is from hitting the pavement, or from the knife the other guy was carrying. The scrape on his jaw is definitely from the pavement though. Wilford grumbles all the way over to the fireplace, ignoring the way his dog starts jumping all over the place for attention the second he spots Wilford step through the door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Guppy doesn't look alarmed enough to jump over any tables, but he does come over to where Wilford limps himself to.

"You okay? Need any help?"

"Fine," Wilford says, taking a bit more breath to say it than he probably needs.

He's not fine. He's pretty sure he's been knifed, and the dark fabric of his shirt is just hiding most of the damage.

Buster doesn't seem to think he's fine either, by the way he's wriggling around and whining.

"You don't look fine." Guppy says. "You're breathless and holding your chest."

He glances at Buster. "And he knows you're not fine."

"What does he know? He's an idiot."

But when he pulls his hand away from his side, he's not really surprised at all to find blood on it.

Yep, okay. That's a thing, apparently.

"Okay, if that's a stab wound, we do not have time to argue." Guppy says, offering him a hand back up.

"It's not like he hit me with a machete."

He'd probably not have the energy to argue right now if it had been a machete. He'd probably still be on the pavement.

But if he's bleeding, he's going to start getting sticky and gross, so he does get up to keep from sticking to the chair, if nothing else.

"Give me a towel, would you?"

"Wilford, you need more than a towel, it needs assessing properly." Guppy says. "Are you going to come with me or do you need a wheelchair?"

Buster is reaching new levels of restlessness, which earns him a quick grab to the snout with Wilford's clean hand. "Knock it off. Stay here," he says, before letting go.

Buster whines one more time, but lays down nervously to watch what happens next.

Now that he knows he's probably (definitely) been knifed, Wilford finds himself quickly running out of the energy to argue. He waves his hand dismissively toward the infirmary, assuming he can get cleaned up back there as well as he could out here.

Guppy helps him up, so that he can lean if needed.

"If you're going to fall over, tell me before you collapse." he says, because Wilford is a big lump.

He's not that big. Not nearly as big as he used to be. But that's going to have to change real quick, because apparently being a scrawny little thing in a bright pink necktie makes one a prime subject for freeway carjackings.

"It takes more than a pocket knife to take me out," he says all the same, going with Guppy out of the bar and into the infirmary.

"Do you know how long the knife was?" Guppy asks.

"Pocket knife-size?"

He doesn't actually seem too bothered by any of this. Not as much as a normal person would be. He's just concerned about being gross and sticky, and would rather not be either of these things.

Which is why he doesn't go anywhere near one of the beds, and starts looking for a towel as soon as they're in the infirmary.

"Can you sit on the bed, please?" Guppy asks, getting him some gauze to press on it.

Wilford doesn't want to sit on the bed. He wants to get cleaned up and leave.

"It's fine," he insists again.

Before he takes the gauze, he pulls off his tie and tosses it on the counter so it doesn't get wrecked (his shirt is a lost cause, but he likes that tie).

He starts to unbutton his shirt, but stops when he notices the tire tread on his forearm. It's enough to actually forget about his side for a moment.

"Goddamn, he got me too."

He'd seen the truck, but had been unaware of actually being run over. There were other things to worry about at the moment.

"I need to scan you, to see if you're going to have a collapsed lung or any other problems." Guppy says. "You need to be sitting still, so sit, please."

Wilford doesn't understand the urgency. At all.

"I'm still breathing, aren't I?"

But he does sit down, if only to make it easier to unbutton his shirt and get to his side. The blade went in right between two ribs, but he seems more concerned with mopping the mess up than anything else about it.

Guppy runs the scanner over him before he can change his mind.

"Right, unless you're planning to do one of your reset deaths, you're probably better letting me treat you." he says. "At very least, you're going to need a chest drain. One of your lungs is leaking, so every breath you take is putting air in your chest. You're breathing now, but it's going to get harder and harder until you suffocate, or is completely reversible if you let me treat you."

Everything Guppy says gets a blank look from Wilford while he tries to process it and find the logic behind it. Nothing about follows anything he's ever dealt with.

"I've never once been treated for this."

He does not understand the urgency of this situation at all.

"How many collapsed lungs have you had?"

Wilford shrugs, and presses the gauze against his side again. He can already tell this one's gonna bug him for a while.

"About as many time as I go downtown," he guesses. He'd told Billy not to take that route. Just thinking about it makes him angry all over again.

"Dumb fucks probably don't even know what they stole. Just saw a heavy van with a giant engine."

"Did they run you over with it?"

"No, that was a truck in the next lane."

He looks at the tread on his arm again, considering whether or not he should try to clean it off.

"You're lucky you didn't break your neck." Guppy says. "I'm serious about the chest drain. Can't you feel your breathing getting worse with each breath?"

Wilford shrugs again. It's not pleasant, that's for sure.

"I'm fine. I'll walk it off."

He's also serious. He doesn't want anything else stuck in his chest today. The first thing was bad enough.

"I can't stop you, but you're likely to be dead in a couple hours if this isn't fixed." Guppy says.