[ No Trapper in sight, just an inappropriately dressed Quentin. He’s knelt down next to a vending machine, leaning a shoulder on it for balance while wrapping a bloody ankle with gauze from a popped open medkit. Mouth biting on his goggles to not make noise.
Rude Trapper… so rude.
He’ll spit them out and flash David a sardonic smile once there’s eye contact. All blue lips and pale skin. Lots of skin. ]
no subject
Rude Trapper… so rude.
He’ll spit them out and flash David a sardonic smile once there’s eye contact. All blue lips and pale skin. Lots of skin. ]
Over here. How’s it going? Don’t laugh.