[Look, if Red thinks he's not going to be interested in tagging along while she goes gallivanting through trap-laden tombs, she's kidding herself. He's paused to haul the Transistor up onto a shoulder when Richie's chatter starts tipping kind of crude for his patience. (Dangerous territory, bud. Say what you want about him, but—)
Red's never needed help defending herself, though. Most of the time, she tends to beat him to it. And he can see the stiff in her shoulders that says she's losing her patience, too. (Tends to be a much swifter process for her.) While Boxer's still weighing the pros and cons of telling the guy to can it on the invasive questions before he feels the need to do it for him, she drives a heel decisively into Richie's asking-for-it foot.
That answers that. He smothers his smile not a bit and chooses to follow suit on the dignified silence. Instead, he catches up to Red as she finishes texting. Subtly puts himself between them like he's done it a thousand times before and takes her free hand in his as he reads the question off her screen. As if in reassurance, or thanks, or to make sure this scuffle stops at stomping. Probably not the place to pick a fight.]
Search me. This whole place's gone off to the Country. Let's see...
[His sense of direction is one of his more reliable skills, but this is uncharted territory in basically every way. On the plus side, the Transistor's been doing its best to acclimate to the new world it's wound up in, day by day. So while it's not as effective or as immediate as it tended to be in Cloudbank, every now and then—
As if to oblige him, a little white >come closer prompt renders into his attention. Somewhere deep in the distance, down one of several near-identical spooky corridors, blinking into existence in his field of view and into his hindbrain, like he'd just forgotten to notice it the first time around.
no subject
Red's never needed help defending herself, though. Most of the time, she tends to beat him to it. And he can see the stiff in her shoulders that says she's losing her patience, too. (Tends to be a much swifter process for her.) While Boxer's still weighing the pros and cons of telling the guy to can it on the invasive questions before he feels the need to do it for him, she drives a heel decisively into Richie's asking-for-it foot.
That answers that. He smothers his smile not a bit and chooses to follow suit on the dignified silence. Instead, he catches up to Red as she finishes texting. Subtly puts himself between them like he's done it a thousand times before and takes her free hand in his as he reads the question off her screen. As if in reassurance, or thanks, or to make sure this scuffle stops at stomping. Probably not the place to pick a fight.]
Search me. This whole place's gone off to the Country. Let's see...
[His sense of direction is one of his more reliable skills, but this is uncharted territory in basically every way. On the plus side, the Transistor's been doing its best to acclimate to the new world it's wound up in, day by day. So while it's not as effective or as immediate as it tended to be in Cloudbank, every now and then—
As if to oblige him, a little white >come closer prompt renders into his attention. Somewhere deep in the distance, down one of several near-identical spooky corridors, blinking into existence in his field of view and into his hindbrain, like he'd just forgotten to notice it the first time around.
Good a lead as any.]
Think there's something down that way.