Running was for losers, for wimps. There was only the chase, chasing after the ones who deserved to have their heads knocked in, their craniums shattered. Bakugou wasn't familiar with running in his body. He was used to his usual training drills, the quickness that will envelop him as he works on his agility. There are twists and turns, combinations to be made with his fire elementals and teleportation. He can move so fast but he's never really just chosen to run, run on all four paws and let the breeze skim her fingers against his long fur. In terms of going over his limit, the ragdoll has done this over a number of times. He doesn't take care of himself well. If it wasn't blacksmithing, it was his training. He was always pushing his boundaries, checking how far he could go until he exhausted himself enough that he just collapsed. Bakugou always had some kind of bandage somewhere, something to be patched up, because he wasn't the most careful type. He was reckless. His body moved before he could properly examine the dangers, overestimating his abilities.

Since awakening from his coma, Bakugou had a different outlook on life. He felt far more...alive because he was being more careful. He became more tactical, calculating his next moves and noting the energy he had left. He was remembering how well he knew his own body and limitations back in the original world and applying his lost knowledge to this universe, noting what a ragdoll should and shouldn't do.

He smells blood. Nose sniffing and twitching for the scent, following the odour like a bloodhound. It's easily to detect considering the way the smell intertwines with the cold air, sizzling along his flared nostrils. Automatically, mechanically, the Reaver begins to walk. His back is slightly hunched, predatory in stance when he moves through the undergrowth of lowgrowing vegetation, passing past bushes and stepping over earth-coloured roots. There in the distance his eyes catch onto the familiar alabaster patch of fur, a blur in the distance of who he can only assume to be Victor. The male was promoted to striker not too long, hadn't he? It must mean he's worth saving, at least in the eyes of Captain Pincher and some other members of The Typhoon. Blood, after all, was not exactly a good sign. Ears rotating about as if searching for any suspicious noises about the trees. No danger so it seems, the male trying desperately to run calculations in his head, piece any evidence together for why Victor may be on the ground. Sanguine eyes, darting back and forth, finally drop their gaze towards broken leaves.

Bakugou gently swipes at the leaves in front of him to be revealed the imprints of paws against the soil. From what he has observed, they look similar to the ones he assumed would be Victor's - caninelike and different to his own smaller paws. From the spaces between each stride, he was running. What for? He realises no one must have been chasing him but for some reason Victor had been running and had now fallen over, maybe idiotically hitting a tree or something. Did he ever say something about being a sled dog? Victor was the type of canine who he would assume to have ran for a living. The other male was a husky, after all, and had a lean build. The male's familiarity to the cold also struck him as something to note, or at least it was brought up enough times for Bakugou to remember. But while he is living within the thoughts of his head, he notices Victor begin to rise, appearing to struggle that the Reaver found himself walking towards him in a childish curiosity. "How'd y -"

His jaws shut immediately together when his own sanguine gaze looks as well to Victor's swollen leg. That doesn't look good. Bakugou's own bafflement led the Reaver to allow a passage of silence to persist between them, not recognising the wave of angsty emotions washing across Victor's face and his closed eyes. "Is it broken?" It was probably a stupid question but the ragdoll is no doctor. He would leave such knowledge to the black mambas, furrowing his brows as he thought of what to do. He could go grab Sil but he had no idea what was going on with the other male. Junji was also another option but he doesn't know if the winged feline had already fixed himself or whatever. The last he saw of him was the angel heaving himself toward the Typhoon, struggling to stay alive. But Bakugou also doesn't think trying to help the canine to the Barracuda Bay would be a good idea either. Although ragdolls were rather large cats, Victor was too big for him to let him lean on. "Ya really had to fuckin' injure yourself, huh?" A rhetorical question, born from the Reaver's frustrations of having to decide and be helpful.

But, of course, Bakugou's difficult personality doesn't stop him from trying to be of use. He was an antihero, mainly assisting others in the respect that they were useful. He doesn't like the idea of pirates going to waste. Even cannon fodder were more useful than corpses and injured bodies. "I'll go find a black mamba," he says after another moment, as if it took a lot of effort to finally come to the conclusion that he would become a messenger boy. He begins to turn to leave, waving his tail behind him when he stops and swivels quickly back around: "Don't try to move." He then leaves to find [member=1504]SIL ?[/member] or [member=1660]JUNJI[/member] - not minding who he happens to bump in first.