![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jens, despite all of his tactical genius, had managed to catch the corner of a bolter round from somewhere during the dust-up earlier. Haas had patched him up first before looking over everybody else's cuts and scrapes, and although the bandage showed white through the hole in his uniform and he'd be swinging his sword with his off hand for a while, the dose of pijnstell he'd been forced to take had left him more comfortable than any of the rest of them were for the moment. He didn't seem to appreciate this advantage much. Somehow his wound was Sander's fault; Sander was loudly disappointed that it hadn't been fatal; Brekt had gotten fed up with playing the net in their tennis game and had volunteered himself for guard duty, and Duiker was almost ready to go out and join him despite having only just found a way to lie down that didn't put weight on any of the collection of bruises he'd picked up during a hasty descent off a roof he'd been sniping from.
( bickering, cuddling, et cetera )
( bickering, cuddling, et cetera )
