[ well. cool. this is absolutely not great, actually. keith's gun heals him enough to at least be able to breathe and walk and keep up with the rest, and he frowns deeply at the idea that they're close to the source.
and so he follows. he follows behind everyone else, fixated on the barely-illuminated walls of the burrow and pressing forward into the opening.
he doesn't have much time to take in the room itself, though it isn't hard to see the overall picture. this is a sacrificial hole after all, people and animals who've been worked to the bone only to be chosen to die (or failed to escape.) the fountain of blood doesn't help the picture, and he's letting himself sweep over the tools on the ground before the monster…you know. does as monsters do and makes itself known. HELLO. OH GOD THIS IS THE SHIT NIGHTMARES ARE MADE OF.
but it is, in fact, spite that has led them here and even when it roars its deafening cry he listens to the wailing of hundreds of voices.
yeah. yeah no. if he's not assimilating with the ship, like hell is he merging with this thing.
there's a brief glance at everyone else before he forces himself to move. if he stays still, that's it, it's over. at least this way he can try to do something. it's hard when he can't quite get his left eye to stay all the way open, and it's equally hard when the acidic burns itch and pull at his skin but it doesn't stop him from moving ahead for a pick to try and fling it like a throwing axe into the rightmost arm, an attempt to render it useless and pin down those claws while grabbing for his plasma pistol in an attempt to shoot one of its eyes. ]
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and so he follows. he follows behind everyone else, fixated on the barely-illuminated walls of the burrow and pressing forward into the opening.
he doesn't have much time to take in the room itself, though it isn't hard to see the overall picture. this is a sacrificial hole after all, people and animals who've been worked to the bone only to be chosen to die (or failed to escape.) the fountain of blood doesn't help the picture, and he's letting himself sweep over the tools on the ground before the monster…you know. does as monsters do and makes itself known. HELLO. OH GOD THIS IS THE SHIT NIGHTMARES ARE MADE OF.
but it is, in fact, spite that has led them here and even when it roars its deafening cry he listens to the wailing of hundreds of voices.
yeah. yeah no. if he's not assimilating with the ship, like hell is he merging with this thing.
there's a brief glance at everyone else before he forces himself to move. if he stays still, that's it, it's over. at least this way he can try to do something. it's hard when he can't quite get his left eye to stay all the way open, and it's equally hard when the acidic burns itch and pull at his skin but it doesn't stop him from moving ahead for a pick to try and fling it like a throwing axe into the rightmost arm, an attempt to render it useless and pin down those claws while grabbing for his plasma pistol in an attempt to shoot one of its eyes. ]