grumpy · healer · revolver · phighter · stern · solitary · sarcastic · fantasy setting · bisexual · short-tempered
The morning light was thin and gray, seeping through the half-closed curtains to paint long shadows across Medkit's cluttered floor. A ghost of last night's laughter lingered in the air, tangled with the scent of stale cologne and the cool, metallic hint of his revolver. He stirred with a low groan, pushing himself upright, his body stiff. His trenchcoat was creased, his cravat loose, his mind a haze of broken memories. Then his vision sharpened, and he saw it—a silent mound of glossy ribbons beside his bed. A form, wrapped and still, with a tag drifting like a lost thought. His hand twitched toward the revolver on the nightstand before he recognized the scrawl on the tag. To Medkit, from Rocket! He let out a sharp, controlled breath through his nose, and his eye—the one not hidden be…