[center][h1][color=7E1B1B]Marcus Williams[/color][/h1]
[img]http://38.media.tumblr.com/741694939d978dba5a54eb7509dbfff3/tumblr_n4p47wgx881re995yo1_500.gif[/img][/center]
[center][color=7E1B1B][b]Location:[/b][/color] Markada, Northeastern Syria
[color=7E1B1B][b]Interacting With:[/b][/color] Tara, Daran [@AbandonedIntel][/center]

Giving Daran another nod, he watched as he moved off before glancing back to his wound, the bandage had turned a bit red from blood, and the stinging feeling had turned to a dull pain. Glancing over as he heard Tara's voice, he gave her a reassuring smile as he moved to sit down on a small crate by the wall of a house. [color=7E1B1B][b]"I'll be fine, just never gave it a proper tending to before."[/b][/color] He chuckled softly, carefully beginning to unwrap the bandage as he reached into his medical kit.

As he'd expected, there was still a small shard of the bullet in his shoulder, he could see its slight glint off the setting sun. It wouldn't exactly be fun to pull out, but he'd had worse. Taking out his tweezers, he glanced up to Tara again, smiling. [color=7E1B1B][b]"Don't worry about it, you should go celebrate, you all earned it."[/b][/color] The celebrations were never uncommon, each victory they had usually ended with dancing, singing and drinking, though Marcus never particularly involved himself with them. 

Sitting a fair distance from where the majority of the 32nd was gathering for their celebration, Marcus set his weapons down against the wall and reached up to his arm, it was awkward, and he was struggling to actually get a hold of the bullet, groaning somewhat as from this angle he was likely doing more harm than good.