[ When the creature stops bucking, when it finally stills at long last, Peter slides off the thing in a half-controlled fall. He still lands heavily, staggering and falling back against the Bulette's plating, pressing his hand against his side again.
Ice. Lots of ice. All the ice in Antarctica.
He reaches up to drag a trembling hand through his hair, but he notices just in time that his hand is covered in dark blood and bits of viscera. He shakes it off halfheartedly, flicking off the globs of meat to the ground. ]
'M fine.
[ The unsteadiness of his voice is probably just the adrenaline crash. ]
That, um.
[ His gaze flicks over to the dead monster he's leaning against, half-cocooned in the webbing. ]
no subject
Ice. Lots of ice. All the ice in Antarctica.
He reaches up to drag a trembling hand through his hair, but he notices just in time that his hand is covered in dark blood and bits of viscera. He shakes it off halfheartedly, flicking off the globs of meat to the ground. ]
'M fine.
[ The unsteadiness of his voice is probably just the adrenaline crash. ]
That, um.
[ His gaze flicks over to the dead monster he's leaning against, half-cocooned in the webbing. ]
Good work.