[Flynn hops on one leg swearing, holding his ankle, which bleeds through the fabric of his jeans.]
Stupid bloody hunk of scrap!
[The display doesn't help one bit—in fact it does quite the opposite as his flesh is hewn to his pants, and he only manages to tear at the wounds moreso.
no subject
Stupid bloody hunk of scrap!
[The display doesn't help one bit—in fact it does quite the opposite as his flesh is hewn to his pants, and he only manages to tear at the wounds moreso.
He falls directly on his bleeding ass, yelping.]