[ For a second (or more, considering) Arcade thinks he's being attacked by some enterprising monster out well past sunrise. He starts up with a jolt, from where he's been half-hiding behind the truck's front row of seats, the empty space behind them not exactly accommodating - but dark and quiet, at least. Two of his hands - the new ones, covered completely in those white and gold-to-brown scales grab the seat backs while he reaches for his pistol in the front with another.
...And then stops, abruptly, as he watches the maybe-not-a-monster-after-all scrabble desperately for purchase across the front of the truck. ]
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...And then stops, abruptly, as he watches the maybe-not-a-monster-after-all scrabble desperately for purchase across the front of the truck. ]
Uh... Do you need a hand?