[OOC: Plum did get the RNG for this, but she suggested Grif starting with Lenny on plurk so that's what we're doing!]
Grif is on his last legs. He supposes that's lucky, because it looks like some of the people on this ship have come out of the experience with entirely too many of those. He's limping by the time he reaches the Faceless's apparent throne room. He's been running almost the entire time they've been aboard, he's exhausted and the only thing propelling him now is adrenaline.
He doesn't want to deal with seeing reality bent and broken by transdimensional horrors right now. He doesn't want to deal with anything at all. Fuck this.
Grif comes out of the Faceless's memory with ears ringing and head pounding, and his eyes settle on two points of light in the murky chamber.
To his right, lying suspended on a pair of bony prongs sticking out of the wall, is Lenny's head.
"...Please tell me you're going to pick me up?"
Shit, he has a job to do, doesn't he? Fuck jobs. But Grif still grabs Lenny with a sweaty, blood-grimed hand.
Oaths really are bullshit.
"C'mon dudes," he says. There are fifty-five of them in there and they are all "dude" to him. He tucks it under his arm like a football.
The prongs that were holding Lenny jut forward as a phalanx creature peels itself out of the wall, leaving what looks like a bloody internal mess in its wake as Grif staggers back. Its sightless head remains trained on Lenny, and it opens its maw to screech.
Fuck.
Grif takes off in a circuit around the room, nearly bouncing off Legionnaires phalanxed and non as the beaked creature tries to close with him. Grif's fast, but he's tired. His nerves are basically shot. And as a bonus, Lenny's apparent guardian is after him on seven legs because honestly, why wouldn't it be?
He wants to say something biting to Lenny, something like "your buddy needs to fuck off!" but he's already panting and can't afford to.
Then he trips.
Lenny sails through the air and the beaked creature comes to a hault over Grif, watching it with an almost curious tilt of its eyeless head.
Someone has to grab that. Someone. Anyone. Grif sees a figure in brown armor.
"MONTANA! CATCH!"
The creature's four front claws are on either side of Grif's head. If this gets its attention back and it kills him, they can say he died saving fifty-five people. At least there are worse eulogies.
LENNY'S HEAD
Grif is on his last legs. He supposes that's lucky, because it looks like some of the people on this ship have come out of the experience with entirely too many of those. He's limping by the time he reaches the Faceless's apparent throne room. He's been running almost the entire time they've been aboard, he's exhausted and the only thing propelling him now is adrenaline.
He doesn't want to deal with seeing reality bent and broken by transdimensional horrors right now. He doesn't want to deal with anything at all. Fuck this.
Grif comes out of the Faceless's memory with ears ringing and head pounding, and his eyes settle on two points of light in the murky chamber.
To his right, lying suspended on a pair of bony prongs sticking out of the wall, is Lenny's head.
"...Please tell me you're going to pick me up?"
Shit, he has a job to do, doesn't he? Fuck jobs. But Grif still grabs Lenny with a sweaty, blood-grimed hand.
Oaths really are bullshit.
"C'mon dudes," he says. There are fifty-five of them in there and they are all "dude" to him. He tucks it under his arm like a football.
As soon as he does, something moves.
The prongs that were holding Lenny jut forward as a phalanx creature peels itself out of the wall, leaving what looks like a bloody internal mess in its wake as Grif staggers back. Its sightless head remains trained on Lenny, and it opens its maw to screech.
Fuck.
Grif takes off in a circuit around the room, nearly bouncing off Legionnaires phalanxed and non as the beaked creature tries to close with him. Grif's fast, but he's tired. His nerves are basically shot. And as a bonus, Lenny's apparent guardian is after him on seven legs because honestly, why wouldn't it be?
He wants to say something biting to Lenny, something like "your buddy needs to fuck off!" but he's already panting and can't afford to.
Then he trips.
Lenny sails through the air and the beaked creature comes to a hault over Grif, watching it with an almost curious tilt of its eyeless head.
Someone has to grab that. Someone. Anyone. Grif sees a figure in brown armor.
"MONTANA! CATCH!"
The creature's four front claws are on either side of Grif's head. If this gets its attention back and it kills him, they can say he died saving fifty-five people. At least there are worse eulogies.