Mylo | M: Quill, Dallas, Vas

Mylo had been doing a pretty damn fine job of keeping his pain under lockdown, jaw tight, even, controlled breathing; but the second Vas pressed harder against his side, white hot pain seared through him. His teeth clenched, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and his nose wrinkled as his fingers curled into his pants. "I call bullshit on that so called bit, there Vas." He rasped, voice strained but laced with dry, half hearted amusement despite the way his ribs screamed in protest, "Now would ya quit poking at me."

Mylo let out a slow and shallow exhale, keeping his breaths measured. It wasn't the first time he'd ended up with a broken rib, but like with anything else, it didn't make it hurt any less. If he had to describe it he'd probably relate it to a knife, twisting deep beneath his skin; a sharp unrelenting object that flared with every twist and movement he made. And Vas had only aggrivated the injury, it had shifted from a dull ache to raw and searing that sent a sickening wave of pressure through his chest, like something was grinding where it shouldn't be.

Mylo just happened to glance in Dally's direction and softly cursed under his breath. "One of these days, that boy is gonna have an actually serious injury, and refuse to come in here." He grumbled before shutting his eyes for a brief moment and let out a sigh, "So what're we working with and how long until I can put a shirt back on."