[he hears her shout, but things are moving too fast for him to respond. With a yell that's half-terror, half-challenging roar as the Meta barrels down on him, he--instinctively, again--raises his mace to block the incoming attack, and it really does feel like Venice all over again, except ten times worse.
The clang and rattle of the two weapons meeting nearly rattles the teeth right out of his plastic head and he strains to push back and fend him off. This can't, won't end well; Amy's right, he's not a fighter and never has been.
Not while he was alive, anyway.
Because something like muscle memory is taking over, more than instinct, and it's like watching someone else fight as, with a grunt, he suddenly pushes back against the Meta and swings his mace down, bringing both it and the axe down to the ground. Then he's pulling the mace back to wield in front of him and backing up several paces into a defensive stance, blinking in vague confusion. His eyes focus on Amy again]
no subject
The clang and rattle of the two weapons meeting nearly rattles the teeth right out of his plastic head and he strains to push back and fend him off. This can't, won't end well; Amy's right, he's not a fighter and never has been.
Not while he was alive, anyway.
Because something like muscle memory is taking over, more than instinct, and it's like watching someone else fight as, with a grunt, he suddenly pushes back against the Meta and swings his mace down, bringing both it and the axe down to the ground. Then he's pulling the mace back to wield in front of him and backing up several paces into a defensive stance, blinking in vague confusion. His eyes focus on Amy again]
Amy--run!