[i]((Switching to past tense from here on out to establish consistency. Also wow Gil is a total ass I am so sorry))[/i]

There were times when Gil truly wished she'd developed some sort of exercise routine as a child, because then she wouldn't be staggering up the hill on these pitiful sticks she called legs. Functional muscle was something she was sorely lacking - then again, she was also lacking any sort of muscle to begin with, so the distinction was somewhat pointless, especially when each step was fire and agony and holy shit, she was ninety percent certain her lungs were starting to [i]shed[/i]. Like snakes, except twenty percent more traitorous. Also like snakes in that they didn't have arms. She had absolutely no idea when that idea had begun forming, and the longer she contemplated it, the more disturbing it became.

Shooting Wukong an oblique glance - the cheerful little bastard was scampering along gleefully, as if he relished each inch of this hellish ordeal - Gil pressed onward, the grotesque image of lungs with arms still lingering in her mind, where it would presumably remain until she finally keeled over and escaped this torment. "Just hurry the hell up, already," she grumbled, because death was a flighty whore. [i]Death waits for no man my [/i]ass. "Dragging it out, yeah, cool, I can roll with that."

Clouds of dust stirred with each scuffing step, and Gil gave a surprised, horribly strangled-sounding cough, squeezing her eyes shut. Slapping at the dust ineffectually, she somehow found the energy to speed up, still spluttering like a beached Wailord. Twigs crunched solidly underfoot - for the most part; there were the occasional loose clumps - and a dusty dirt path melded smoothly into sturdy gravel. Eyes thoroughly watering, harsh coughs scraping past her lips, trying to shake loose the stray dust desperately trying to pervade her lungs, Gil stumbled forward.

Opening her eyes would have probably been the first good idea she'd had that day, so it was only natural she kept them clamped shut. (Like hell was she spending the rest of the day with dry eyes, they were already bloodshot enough to begin with; that dust wanted to get in, it could bring the goddamn [i]Jaws of Life[/i].) 

Her foot swept forward for the next step, and a solid wall of [i]something[/i] crashed into her face. There was a sudden spurt of pain in her nose, and a distinct throb in her forehead as something suspiciously warm smacked against it, and then she was lying in an unceremonious heap on the ground, expression dazed and bewildered and more than a little bit alarmed. The gravel bit into her palms, and she was pretty sure she'd managed to bruise every possible inch of her tailbone, including the parts that hadn't hit the ground. 

"What the [i]hell[/i]," Gil bit out, a little more savagely than she'd intended, eyes snapping open, flitting about, trying to identify what - or [i]who[/i], because Gil wasn't exactly a genius, but she was pretty sure walls didn't wear clothes - had dropped her to the ground like she was an old piece of trash. (Well, she [i]was[/i], but that wasn't the point.)

Evidently, the dust hadn't needed the Jaws of Life. Whomever this sack of moldy dicks was had worked just fine.