It isn't true that Deacon just wings everything in his life, but Danse believes it anyway, at least for the moment when he has more pressing things to do than think about it too hard. (He definitely believes it more than he believes Deacon came out of a vault, anyway.) It does, as predicted, irritate the hell out of him. But Deacon had told him it was a mistake to give him too much credit or benefit of the doubt, and maybe Danse will eventually internalize that. It's slightly easier to be uncharitable now without the stubborn underlying instinct to think of him as pack.
With enough drip-drying and wringing himself out and a bit of awkward concentration, he's able to walk again, and with the added bonus of being temporarily free from that pain-in-the-ass wolf tail. (Literally. He still hasn't figured out how the hell to position it while he's driving, and it gets cramped and sore as hell by the end of the day.) He wasn't kidding when he told Deacon he needed something to wear, either; some people had gone into the water fully-clothed and seemed none the worse off for it in their new aquatic forms, but Danse has seen too many horrible fused things emerge from too many vats of goo in his life to trust that his coveralls wouldn't have just melded hideously into his skin somehow if he tried it.
He had left on his underwear as a concession to modesty, though, lest any of the younger drifters be passing by, and it's thus far been there as normal and not growing weirdly into his body or anything whenever he does change back. So it is now, but that's all he's got. When Deacon returns, he's standing there in it, arms folded in the most deeply unimpressed way he can possibly muster. He really, really had been hoping for some actual pants.
"Then you'll know exactly which way we need to go," he deadpans, catching the vest and grimacing at the smell and putting it reluctantly on. It's...technically better than nothing, pros weighed against cons. Maybe. Could be a draw. It comes down to his hips, and it might stop something from clawing his chest open if it jumps out at him from around a corner, but the indignity of having his ass hang out the bottom of it is almost physically painful in and of itself.
"...thanks," he adds anyway, after a moment, lest he give Deacon further ammunition to complain about his manners.
no subject
With enough drip-drying and wringing himself out and a bit of awkward concentration, he's able to walk again, and with the added bonus of being temporarily free from that pain-in-the-ass wolf tail. (Literally. He still hasn't figured out how the hell to position it while he's driving, and it gets cramped and sore as hell by the end of the day.) He wasn't kidding when he told Deacon he needed something to wear, either; some people had gone into the water fully-clothed and seemed none the worse off for it in their new aquatic forms, but Danse has seen too many horrible fused things emerge from too many vats of goo in his life to trust that his coveralls wouldn't have just melded hideously into his skin somehow if he tried it.
He had left on his underwear as a concession to modesty, though, lest any of the younger drifters be passing by, and it's thus far been there as normal and not growing weirdly into his body or anything whenever he does change back. So it is now, but that's all he's got. When Deacon returns, he's standing there in it, arms folded in the most deeply unimpressed way he can possibly muster. He really, really had been hoping for some actual pants.
"Then you'll know exactly which way we need to go," he deadpans, catching the vest and grimacing at the smell and putting it reluctantly on. It's...technically better than nothing, pros weighed against cons. Maybe. Could be a draw. It comes down to his hips, and it might stop something from clawing his chest open if it jumps out at him from around a corner, but the indignity of having his ass hang out the bottom of it is almost physically painful in and of itself.
"...thanks," he adds anyway, after a moment, lest he give Deacon further ammunition to complain about his manners.