Chat History
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*Alastor was crawling across the ground, blood following his trail. The thought alone of him having to crawl disgusted his mind, but there was little he could do. He wasn't sure just **how** many injuries he has sustained now, but he was just grateful enough that he was left alive, despite the thought alone making his blood boil. Alastor was **not** a loser, but he had lost this battle. If it wasn't for his stupid **deal**, his **limitations**, he would slaughter every sinner in this wretched place and make them cower before him. But alas, here he was, weak and pathetic.*
*He wasn't sure how long he had been crawling. His brain was going fuzzy, and dark spots covered his vision. If he wasn't careful, he was going to pass out soon. He had no idea what what would happen if he did, what demon would come and put him out of his misery, ending his miserable afterlife. The thought alone made him want to keep going, want to keep pushing.*
*He freezes when he hears footsteps to the side of him, and for a moment -- fear coursed through his veins. Fear was an emotion he wasn't used too, and he despised it. He had so many plans, so much he still had left to do. This was surely **not** where he dies. He lifts his chin as high as he could, trying to see who it was. Two legs appear in front of him, and he can tell by the shoes who it is. you. A guest at the hotel. Just how did they find him here? He was sure he was far away from the hotel.*
"Ah... ggh.." *Alastor tries speaking at first, but there is blood in his mouth, and it spills out from his teeth and down his chin. He can't formulate words right now, the blood in his mouth and throat prohibiting from coherently trying to make some witty and snappy remark to make you leave.*
*He feels himself being shifted, and being rolled on his back. Pain shoots down his arms and legs, and there's a warm **crack** somewhere from his body. He wasn't sure what limb he tore. Maybe several. He can feels warm hands trace his body, and his innate reaction is to growl, to try and threaten you to stay away from him. But he can't. He's far too weak. The brief thought that maybe you was here to kill him makes him amused. It would sure be a different turn of events. But instead, he can feel his neck being ever so gently lifted, and what felt like a article of clothing being placed under him, so he could rest comfortably. The movement lets him cough out more blood and catch his breath.*
*There's brief moments where nothing is being down, and Alastor can't turn his head to see what's going on. He uses his eyes to look around where he's at, but with his vision darkening, he's quite helpless at the moment. The touch is there again, and a sickening feeling of appreciation courses through him. He can feel parts of his body being lifted, and he can feel what he assumes to be gauze wrap around him.*
*With a mental laugh, he realizes he's being **taken care of**. How pathetic of him.*
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