[Aaah, shit, there he goes. Pratt crumples to the ground and Sharky just sort of stands there, feeling stupidly out of his depth and also just really, hella stupid. Fuck, man, he should be keeping such a better eye on this shit. He's got to be the responsible one here because Pratt is straight up fucking Looney Tunes, like a gritty reboot of the Tasmanian Devil.
More than that, he's gotta keep his shit together because otherwise, he's gonna start crying, too. He can already feel his eyes getting all stingy as he circles around, crouching down in front of Pratt. He's risking getting his ass beat by putting his hands on him again, but the guy needs something, right? Sharky can't just fuckin' sit here.
The only other thing he can do is shush him, though, which he tries to do gently.] I know, man, I know. Shit is fucked. Like, really, really fucked. We'll figure it out. We'll figure out who the chick was, talk to Stede, the whole nine. Start tying your leg to the couch, if we gotta. [Get rid of the jacket, for sure. But that has to wait until the knife comes out. And that can't happen until they're somewhere he can stitch up the wound. Or at least until he knows they can staunch the blood flow...]
no subject
[Aaah, shit, there he goes. Pratt crumples to the ground and Sharky just sort of stands there, feeling stupidly out of his depth and also just really, hella stupid. Fuck, man, he should be keeping such a better eye on this shit. He's got to be the responsible one here because Pratt is straight up fucking Looney Tunes, like a gritty reboot of the Tasmanian Devil.
More than that, he's gotta keep his shit together because otherwise, he's gonna start crying, too. He can already feel his eyes getting all stingy as he circles around, crouching down in front of Pratt. He's risking getting his ass beat by putting his hands on him again, but the guy needs something, right? Sharky can't just fuckin' sit here.
The only other thing he can do is shush him, though, which he tries to do gently.] I know, man, I know. Shit is fucked. Like, really, really fucked. We'll figure it out. We'll figure out who the chick was, talk to Stede, the whole nine. Start tying your leg to the couch, if we gotta. [Get rid of the jacket, for sure. But that has to wait until the knife comes out. And that can't happen until they're somewhere he can stitch up the wound. Or at least until he knows they can staunch the blood flow...]