There are days that its good to be able to do what he can.
Other days it’s not. Fortunately for him today is one of
the former; because it saved his arm....mostly.
He’d only had time to harden the deepest parts of him,
namely the bones. So the muscle and skin has suffered.
A rather deep laceration, that thank fuck is on his right
arm. Because the beating the newb mechanic would have
gotten for hitting the release latch too soon and pinning
Bastian’s left arm between a turbine and it’s seat (subsequently
putting his dominant arm out of commission along with
ruining one of his tattoos)....would have been legendary.
For Baz not the fresh meat.
But lucky for him it’s his right. His tattoo is unscathed, and
lucky for the new mechanic he got away with a simple run
on sentence of obscenities, while trying to maneuver the
crane upwards again. Baz having to use his own over shirt
to wrap up the bloody mess while trying not to think about
the fact he could see metallic bits. Which means that yes,
yes the gaping wound sliced all the way down to bone.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He thinks, as he shuffles his way into the medical wing. His
natural resting murder face, even more chiseled into his
features. Gaze tracking a few of the nurses and doctors,
trying to figure out which one was in charge and which one
could stitch him up; so he could get back to work. He had a
quinjet to get back up in the air with a deadline that is
coming up fast. And patience? Yea not so much his strong
suit.
“Which one a’ya’s t’fastest at stitchin’?”
