Day Four: Morning

[Orion]

"Ahhh! Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Fuck it!"

Koola's sense of adrenaline had finally worn off as the rain lightly descended from the sky again. The full brunt of the pain delivered to his thigh ran rampant through his mind. He so desperately wanted to cover the wound with his hands, to rub the bloody area tenderly to alleviate the suffering, but touch it would send a further shock through it. No plan he came up with would end the torment, and by the way his leg hung on by a few precarious tendons made it illogical to walk. So he merely sat there, bitching and complaining while his ignorant father was lost in thought.

"Dammit!" the prince continued. "What the hell am I gonna do now?! Sure, you don't have an arm, but I don't have a fucking leg! How am I supposed to walk without a fucking leg?!"

Cold suddenly blinked his eyes in succession, being pulled out of his introspection by his son's consistent wailing. He looked at his child with a countenance of disgust.

"Oh, quit complaining!" the emperor snapped. "You're lucky that shotgun caught you in the thigh and not the head! Besides, now you know what I've been dealing with these past few days. Maybe you'll be a bit more sympathetic towards me in the future."

"I don't hear any fucking sympathy from you!"

"Oh, for crying out loud." Cold snatched up the shock rifle and jammed it into the wound of his son. "Just grit your teeth, will you? You're losing a lot of blood." Without another word, the elder changeling squoze the trigger, sending a searing electrical jolt through Koola's raw stub. The prince roared in agony, and in a few moments, the king removed the barrel of the gun. For those few seconds of intense physical anguish, the blown apart thigh was cauterised, no longer leaking blood.

"There. Isn't that better?" Cold remarked at his handiwork.

Koola's respiration rate had increased, his hands were balled tightly, his face was bathed in a cold sweat. "Yes, much better," he growled through bared teeth.

The horned dictator was a master of empathy; he knew his son wasn't happy. There was one thing he could do to take his mind from his disability.

"Remember that fight we were just in?"

"Remember it?! How old do you think I am? That shotgun didn't blow away the memory part of my brain!"

"Come on, it was cool, wasn't it?" Cold persuaded. "It's what you've been bitching about this entire time we've been here! Remember?" Cold did a whiny impersonation of Koola's voice. "'Oh, there's no one to kill! I'm bored!' Remember? Then you get what you want, and you're still not happy."

The prince looked at the ground for a moment, then looked up with a grin. "Remember that part when I saved your life? You like, 'help!' And that black haired kid was about to shoot you, and then I was like, 'take this!' and I shot him! And he ran away!" Koola nodded his head in enthusiasm. "Yeah, that was wicked. Oh, and when you said your tough guy phrase? I got goosebumps."

"When?" Cold asked, but well aware of what incident his son referred to.

"When that kid said, 'It's just business.' And then you said, 'you're right. You're fired.' And then I shot him! So cool."

Satisfied that his offspring's erratic mood swings had stabilised, Cold moved to the next productive area of discussion. "We better get moving. We're sitting ducks if we stay here."

"Is that a crack about my leg?"

Cold chuckled. "You don't know when to stop, do you?" He spotted the shotgun laying next to Koola. "Are you taking that with you?"

"Yep," he replied. "I need better defense now." Finally finished with complaining, Koola devised a way to mobilise. Pushing his tail against the ground, he brought himself to his only working foot. Grabbing the shotgun, he slammed its barrel into the ground, propping himself with it like a crutch. Koola started moving forward, using his remaining leg and shotgun like a set of crutches, and his tail akin to a working limb. Cold couldn't help but smirk at the amusing sight.

"Very inventive," the Icer father commented. They moved for the horizon, the gentle raindrops soothing their heated bodies.

"Oh, and you transformed," Koola recalled. "That was cool. Have you been hiding that from me, or did you just learn it then?"

OOC: If it's cool with Cold (no pun intended), I'd like to take the shotgun. Mostly as walking equipment.