[that gets another pained yell out of him, the well placed nutshot making him reflexively puke up his stomach contents (pretty much just alcohol) on the floor next to vasiliy while his hands go to his crotch.]

That was... meant to be... on you... you asshole...

[god, at least getting shot would make his damn balls stop hurting.]

And-- last chance for what? Leaving? Get the fucking gun out my face, Tchaikovsky! But... you know. Not cannon balls. Heh.