[The beauty of his Stands — as ignorant of their own nature as they are in this moment — is that they extend and expand upon his natural skills. His gift of precision, of focus; of split focus, especially, in times of crisis. That ability to go calm, to dissect the situation, to compartmentalize his fear and anger and confusion. Some of them take action. Some keep watch. Some (always Cinque and Tre, with their tiny feet halfway logged in the bad luck that is the forbidden number) struggle with emotion. It's Tre who's gone to look, chomping at the bit to fight something; Cinque who stays, who drifts close to Sayori and rests on top of her bow, fretfully patting her hair down.]
[It's Mista who smiles at her, a tiny quirk of his lips that's a far cry from his usual broad grin, but a pretty good mirror of her own expression.]
Yep. You got it.
[And with that — broken arm and all — he shifts his grip under her, gets his weight under him, and lifts her in a princess hold with a slight grunt of pain, nothing more.]
Hope you don't mind if I talk while we get moving— [Because she needs her wounds tended to. Because this place is going to close up around them again if he doesn't get the fuck out. Because those monsters are no joke, and he's well aware that if he hesitates or gets too angry, he's going to start generating them too.]
[But it's fine. He can walk and talk, supporting most of her weight with his good arm. Hell, he's hurt worse than this. So he moves towards the hallway with confidence, holding her secure against his chest.]
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[It's Mista who smiles at her, a tiny quirk of his lips that's a far cry from his usual broad grin, but a pretty good mirror of her own expression.]
Yep. You got it.
[And with that — broken arm and all — he shifts his grip under her, gets his weight under him, and lifts her in a princess hold with a slight grunt of pain, nothing more.]
Hope you don't mind if I talk while we get moving— [Because she needs her wounds tended to. Because this place is going to close up around them again if he doesn't get the fuck out. Because those monsters are no joke, and he's well aware that if he hesitates or gets too angry, he's going to start generating them too.]
[But it's fine. He can walk and talk, supporting most of her weight with his good arm. Hell, he's hurt worse than this. So he moves towards the hallway with confidence, holding her secure against his chest.]
You heard of a Paladin's Oath?