@walcure

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗( purely aesthetic appreciation of looks )

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗💗( how close a friend they consider them )

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💗💗💗💗💗( hoping for a romantic relationship )

❝ i never believed angels existed– until i met you, mon petit chou. ❞

          ❝ long enough to know to avoid minor inconveniences. ❞  

                         the rouge resisted the urge to hiss out the last word in a vain hope the doctor would get the hint that the last thing he wanted right now was to be interrogated. lying was not a good idea, he was well aware of that very fact, but telling the truth was weakness && he would be damned if he were to show it now.

          ❝ ... very well. ❞

                          his jaw clenched, hands coming to adjust his cuff, his control was dwindling-- so he focused on his pain ( a lie-- pride ) && accepted whatever help the doctor would be willing to give him. it was cruel, he knew, && foolish, lashing out at the man that had been designated to help him (  -- help all of them ), he was merely following his role but years of fending for one self, being independent and untrustworthy of no-one was a terrible habit to try && break.

          ❝ oui, i am, and i would apprecaite it if you did your job, docteur. ❞

                         the final word was punctuated-- almost as if he were reminding the man just exactly what he was brought to this forsaken company to do. perhaps it had been ill-advised, sassing who was likely the only man on base who was able to aid the spy, but his patience had worn thin. it had been a missed sniper’s shot that brought him to the lair of the medic, the bullet that had currently been lodged in his side having been fired && entering his abdomen a mere second before the end of the match had been sounded.

          ❝ now i would much rather avoid a trip to respawn and potentially save what very little is left of my suit, s'il vous plaît, because i am sure you do not want me here as much as i do not wish to be here. ❞  

                         the quip was forced, a groan interrupting whatever he was going to say next as his body was moved, side flaring with the fire of pain that he had long since become accustomed to. his breaths came forced && rapid, his urge to fight the pain overwhelming his urge to slap the woman before him whilst he had the chance. a foolish move, perhaps, but it would have been one that would have brought him a great deal of satisfaction. his unoccupied arm, however, remained by his side.

          ❝ take care of me ? is that the term you use for torture ? maim ? punish ? you do not really think that i will remain any less harmed than i am now when your colleagues are finished ‘taking care’ of me ? ❞

Oooo boy Nonnie you’re in for a TREAT