[As soon as he fires, his perception becomes a blur. There’s no way of registering what’s happening, other than the lurch in his stomach as he goes swinging from one direction to the other — let go, it feels like, to go colliding into something in the most graceless way possible. Instinct has him holding onto the shotgun tightly, making certain its barrel is pointed away from his body, in case his luck is doubly bad enough for it to go off accidentally.
When he’s landed, his mind finally reorients itself, and Rufus sits up with pain shooting through his body. His elbow digs into Alec’s stomach, and he’s quick to realize that the other’s broken his fall, along with a pile of debris surrounding them. How he’s managed it without breaking a bone is another mystery altogether (and maybe the same can’t be said for Alec; he can’t tell.) but he wastes no time in trying to untangle himself so that he’s on his feet again, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a free hand.
He reassesses. The mama drake’s dazed from his shot (scales smoking? An oddity noted for later), and he needs to take advantage of it. He’s lost count of his shots — he's on nine, ten maybe — but it doesn’t matter now. What’s left in his shotgun is unloaded into the creature as soon as he can move close enough, a little haggardly, but raising the barrel to an easy target all the same.]
no subject
When he’s landed, his mind finally reorients itself, and Rufus sits up with pain shooting through his body. His elbow digs into Alec’s stomach, and he’s quick to realize that the other’s broken his fall, along with a pile of debris surrounding them. How he’s managed it without breaking a bone is another mystery altogether (and maybe the same can’t be said for Alec; he can’t tell.) but he wastes no time in trying to untangle himself so that he’s on his feet again, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a free hand.
He reassesses. The mama drake’s dazed from his shot (scales smoking? An oddity noted for later), and he needs to take advantage of it. He’s lost count of his shots — he's on nine, ten maybe — but it doesn’t matter now. What’s left in his shotgun is unloaded into the creature as soon as he can move close enough, a little haggardly, but raising the barrel to an easy target all the same.]