[ the boy is no warrior, no street fighter, no killer with hits designed to hurt or kill or leave wounds untreatable on the inside. there's no finesse to his strikes, and maybe that's what saves him from more damage, from worse.
but it still has him leaning hard against a car tire, and even that doesn't last long when he eventually, inevitably slides to the asphalt in a shuddering heap. his mind tells him no permanent damage, no broken bones, but his breath still rattles and rasps in his throat, he can still see stars and flashes of too-bright pain behind his eyes.
it hurts, and he can hardly breath right for the blood, yet he hasn't raised a hand in offense, defense, or plea.
Re: a call
but it still has him leaning hard against a car tire, and even that doesn't last long when he eventually, inevitably slides to the asphalt in a shuddering heap. his mind tells him no permanent damage, no broken bones, but his breath still rattles and rasps in his throat, he can still see stars and flashes of too-bright pain behind his eyes.
it hurts, and he can hardly breath right for the blood, yet he hasn't raised a hand in offense, defense, or plea.
only the breathless and wavering- ]
Badou?