"Okay, okay, I'm down," mutters Hisoka, involuntarily laying his cheek against the pine-needle mat. He thinks to ask Dean if he's got a back-up gun on him, but then he decides not to bother the man while he's fighting.
At least, that's what he tells himself. There is a fuzzy darkness surrounding the center of his vision, as though a tunnel were closing in. His eyes drift shut.
Re: [Hisoka-Dean-wolves]surfaceshineJune 19 2011, 03:36:01 UTC
Dean knows, even as the last wolf bears down on him, that he hasn't really got time for this. He has no solid basis for it - he only caught a bare glimpse of Hisoka, no time to realistically catalog injuries, just blood, blood, and more blood - but it makes him more impatient than he would normally be, doesn't let him fill the distance between the surviving threat and himself by taking the time to shoot the fallen wolves again to make sure they stay down.
No, he keeps his attention on the active threat, sighting down the engraved barrel of his favorite handgun, feet planted and knees aligned with shoulders, arm straight, fingers loose but firm; it's hard not to rush the shot, to wait until the slinking gait of the beast brings it within his comfort range, the sweet spot where his aim is surest.
The hunter knows where that is by rote, and he aims to make this short: Two shots, but he's intending for it to only take the one to put it down, aimed at the beast's head and then chest. He exhales, and fires.
"Okay, okay, I'm down," mutters Hisoka, involuntarily laying his cheek against the pine-needle mat. He thinks to ask Dean if he's got a back-up gun on him, but then he decides not to bother the man while he's fighting.
At least, that's what he tells himself. There is a fuzzy darkness surrounding the center of his vision, as though a tunnel were closing in. His eyes drift shut.
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No, he keeps his attention on the active threat, sighting down the engraved barrel of his favorite handgun, feet planted and knees aligned with shoulders, arm straight, fingers loose but firm; it's hard not to rush the shot, to wait until the slinking gait of the beast brings it within his comfort range, the sweet spot where his aim is surest.
The hunter knows where that is by rote, and he aims to make this short: Two shots, but he's intending for it to only take the one to put it down, aimed at the beast's head and then chest. He exhales, and fires.
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