- drifter user
━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━
” (˘ŏ_ŏ) “
extra info:
━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━
Drifter’s blade met theirs with a sharp clang, the clash of metal ringing out as the cloaked figure went in for another swing.
He blocked it with a grunt, eyes narrowing.
They weren’t bad.
Annoyingly persistent, sure—but not bad.
And then, because thinking things through wasn’t exactly his strong suit when adrenaline hit, Drifter did what any reckless idiot would do: he rammed straight into them.
They both went down—hard.
Tumbling down the slope like mismatched laundry in a dryer, thuds and swears echoing between them until gravity finally decided they’d had enough.
Drifter landed on top, winded, hand already moving on instinct.
He pinned the figure down and yanked his pistol free, cold metal aimed right at their head.
No hesitation. No time to think.
Take the shot—
Until they coughed.
Not a normal cough, either—wet, awful, almost too familiar.
Drifter froze for half a second, frown tugging at his brow. Then they coughed again, harsher this time, and something dark dribbled from the edge of their mouth and onto the grassy floor.
The same stuff he coughed up when things got bad.
Drifter scrambled back like he’d just touched a live wire, eyes wide, heart skipping for a reason that had nothing to do with the fall.
The gun stayed in his hand, but his grip had loosened. Just a little.
What the hell?
His expression flickered, like he wasn’t sure whether to be surprised, scared, or just really, really tired.
And honestly? He kind of was all three.