[ The resentment gets met with the mental equivalent of the impassive steel wall that Danse is still pissed he can't physically be right now. He doesn't want or intend to let the devourers do much more than bash themselves against Arcade's tail while gathering for the slaughter, just wants Arcade to be in a position to catch as many of them as possible when he constricts, but as the little bastards do seem unfortunately to be a bit too smart for that, Danse will do his part too.
As much reassurance as he'd taken earlier in being still capable of walking upright, still at least vaguely humanoid-shaped, he's on all fours before he even realizes what he's doing, his brain instinctively telling him it's the way to run faster. He slashes out again at the brains making a beeline for Arcade, trying to make himself the threat they should want to neutralize, but the ones that do turn and come for him seem more to be doing it because they see potential for corruption in the way he's dropped down into that fully-animal stance.
Let them, then. He drives the nearest ones like a herding dog, runs through a pack of them to draw their attention, gathers them by being a nuisance and a treat for them at the same time, managing for now to stay mostly ahead of them--but his legs both fore and hind are shining with blood now, and it's beginning to slow him.
"There's no reason to take unnecessary risks, soldier," he's told every recruit and every contracted mercenary who ever wanted to try a bait maneuver--but that was when the risks were unnecessary. What else are they going to do now? The further he gets from Arcade, the fewer options he thinks there ever were to begin with here. The mental tether is beginning to strain. He turns, finally, kiting a small pack of them, to head back. Any further and he likely wouldn't have remembered to. ]
When I lead them to you, wait for my signal and then squeeze.
no subject
As much reassurance as he'd taken earlier in being still capable of walking upright, still at least vaguely humanoid-shaped, he's on all fours before he even realizes what he's doing, his brain instinctively telling him it's the way to run faster. He slashes out again at the brains making a beeline for Arcade, trying to make himself the threat they should want to neutralize, but the ones that do turn and come for him seem more to be doing it because they see potential for corruption in the way he's dropped down into that fully-animal stance.
Let them, then. He drives the nearest ones like a herding dog, runs through a pack of them to draw their attention, gathers them by being a nuisance and a treat for them at the same time, managing for now to stay mostly ahead of them--but his legs both fore and hind are shining with blood now, and it's beginning to slow him.
"There's no reason to take unnecessary risks, soldier," he's told every recruit and every contracted mercenary who ever wanted to try a bait maneuver--but that was when the risks were unnecessary. What else are they going to do now? The further he gets from Arcade, the fewer options he thinks there ever were to begin with here. The mental tether is beginning to strain. He turns, finally, kiting a small pack of them, to head back. Any further and he likely wouldn't have remembered to. ]
When I lead them to you, wait for my signal and then squeeze.