[ In five minutes from now, Alphinaud is going to think about how tired of blood he is, be it his own or anyone else's. Right now, though, after the taste of copper goes down his throat...
He feels less like dying as the seconds go by, yet his sense of taste is greatly offended. With little dignity to it, Alphinaud spits out what remains in his mouth, quickly wiping the back of his hand to his face—which only serves to smear more red, rather than rid himself of it. ]
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He feels less like dying as the seconds go by, yet his sense of taste is greatly offended. With little dignity to it, Alphinaud spits out what remains in his mouth, quickly wiping the back of his hand to his face—which only serves to smear more red, rather than rid himself of it. ]
Guh... Seven godsdamn hells.
[ He is so disgusted. ]