What the fuck! [Dixon slaps his hands over his ears, dropping the sword entirely; it mercifully doesn't slice off his foot but does thunk down on an exposed pinkie toe, which makes Dixon quickly jerk back his foot and, wincing, jump backwards only partially of his own volition. It ends in a comical dance, Dixon hopping around on one foot while trying to keep his hands over his ears; everything has happened so quickly Dixon just assumes he tripped some kind of alarm and doesn't connect the blaring noise to the stapler at all.
Fuck the sword. Fuck this, honestly. Dixon's already sacrificed his shoes to this insanity, and it's clearly not a great tool for beating himself up, so Dixon decides on a resounding "NOPE" for this entire scenario and goes where Neffa is telling him to go.
He grabs Neffa by the wrist, still covering one ear, and drags Neffa down the hall. He runs until Neffa's wrist is red and his hand is sore and the screaming is only a ringing down the hall. His ears feel stuffed with noise, as if it were something that could be boxed up and crammed into one place; the only thing that seems to cut through it is the jackhammer slam of his heart. Even his breath, which is surely a dramatic wheeze by now, makes no indent on the block of sound in his head.
He shoves Neffa against the wall and smacks him on the side of the head. Not hard, but enough to show he's ticked and could smack harder, if he wanted to.]
What the fuck were you thinking? Setting off the alarm like that? [He's shouting at the top of his lungs and, given the ringing in his ears, still can't hear himself. Nor can he really consider that possibly, one shouldn't go swinging swords at inanimate objects in a haunted museum (or whatever this is) if they don't want to run into inexplicable consequences.]
no subject
Fuck the sword. Fuck this, honestly. Dixon's already sacrificed his shoes to this insanity, and it's clearly not a great tool for beating himself up, so Dixon decides on a resounding "NOPE" for this entire scenario and goes where Neffa is telling him to go.
He grabs Neffa by the wrist, still covering one ear, and drags Neffa down the hall. He runs until Neffa's wrist is red and his hand is sore and the screaming is only a ringing down the hall. His ears feel stuffed with noise, as if it were something that could be boxed up and crammed into one place; the only thing that seems to cut through it is the jackhammer slam of his heart. Even his breath, which is surely a dramatic wheeze by now, makes no indent on the block of sound in his head.
He shoves Neffa against the wall and smacks him on the side of the head. Not hard, but enough to show he's ticked and could smack harder, if he wanted to.]
What the fuck were you thinking? Setting off the alarm like that? [He's shouting at the top of his lungs and, given the ringing in his ears, still can't hear himself. Nor can he really consider that possibly, one shouldn't go swinging swords at inanimate objects in a haunted museum (or whatever this is) if they don't want to run into inexplicable consequences.]