[ The antlers are the least of what makes him look threatening, to Danse's wasteland-bred standards. Nobody trained by the Brotherhood of Steel is afraid of a radstag, even when Danse lacks the usual armor here that would keep those antlers from touching him. But everyone has a reason to fear a feral ghoul, and it wouldn't make much difference if Danse had his power armor here or not, because things that look like Jayce move too fast and claw too deep and summon others of their kind in droves before a soldier can even draw a weapon.
They can't usually talk, by that point, and they don't carry much, or have any rhyme or reason to what they do pick up--but the Brotherhood is not in the habit of drawing those subtle distinctions, and Danse reaches for his gun again out of pure reflex at the mere sight of Jayce's mutations, now that he actually takes everything in beyond the armful of scavenged parts. The man's understandably-angry tone doesn't even register. ]
What in God's name--
[ Not even ferals can survive with their organs actually exposed. The legs are the kind of thing that would happen back home if one of those wild hostile ghouls were thrown into a vat of virus-infected goo to meld with a deer. The strangely-colored scarring looks as if it would poison Danse with radiation sickness for getting anywhere near it. It's like a perfect storm of everything Danse's brain has been taught to empty a clip of ammunition into first and ask questions later. But he doesn't--barely. ]
no subject
They can't usually talk, by that point, and they don't carry much, or have any rhyme or reason to what they do pick up--but the Brotherhood is not in the habit of drawing those subtle distinctions, and Danse reaches for his gun again out of pure reflex at the mere sight of Jayce's mutations, now that he actually takes everything in beyond the armful of scavenged parts. The man's understandably-angry tone doesn't even register. ]
What in God's name--
[ Not even ferals can survive with their organs actually exposed. The legs are the kind of thing that would happen back home if one of those wild hostile ghouls were thrown into a vat of virus-infected goo to meld with a deer. The strangely-colored scarring looks as if it would poison Danse with radiation sickness for getting anywhere near it. It's like a perfect storm of everything Danse's brain has been taught to empty a clip of ammunition into first and ask questions later. But he doesn't--barely. ]
How are you alive?