Grantaire falls to the ground of the alleyway, gasping and in shock. He doesn’t even know where the shot came from, who fired it, why….all he knows is the pain in his side is intense and the hand he’s clutching at it with is very, very wet. The only sound he makes is a pitiful, confused whimper.
It’s late in the evening, his friends are likely already gathered at the Musain. The last clear thought he has before the pain clouds his mind more effectively than any alcohol is: Well, this might end poorly.