((Huh. I actually thought that gun was an automatic for some reason.))
Is it? I always had it in my head as a revolver, but now that you mention it, I seem to remember describing it otherwise before...hmm.
OHWELLHELLMAGICWHATCHAGONNADO.
((Sooooo should I act like I had a revolver all along, for the ease of interaction? I can roll with a revolver, really.))
John just kinda lies there, breathing in and out rather loudly. Then he sits and looks down at his stumps, then at his gun. There is a mix of emotions on his face, mostly positive ones - amazement with what just happened, joy of escaping painful death, ambition even, when his sight follows patterns engraved on a gun. He looks at his legs with less enthusiasm, but given how his sight is reaching into the pile of raw material in the building, he is probably sketching himself some simple prosthetics already. He wiggles his stumps a little, ensuring himself he still has knees. He smiles at that.
He opens his mouth and tries to say something, but starts coughing instead. When he stops and tries to talk again, he sounds different, hoarse, as if he'd smoke a pack a day since his school years. Probably should've kept his mouth shut during that fiery display he just had.
- I still got a few miles ahead of me before I'm changing my ride, - he taps himself on chest lightly when referring to "his ride".
- Stay sharp, they aren't all gone yet. Even though I doubt they are going to fuck with us... with me anymoreGo Crawl drink some gas. Pass empty gun to Xan. Then see if we have wooden blocks about foot long and metal straps capable of bending with human strength lying around.
If some mofos are still after us, get that rifle and start shooting.