Cayde-6 is having a time. This is a familiarish kind of peril, it might almost be fun if he weren't unarmed and operating wounded. But, interdimensionally displaced beggars really can't be choosers. He's got three folding chairs on his tail and a damaged leg that's slowing him down, but the Light he's been trying to pull together since they started chasing him is starting to feel like it should.
He's been dealt a bad hand, but he's still got an ace in one sleeve.
When he gets driven around a corner toward a bigger cluster of chairs, Cayde hops aside to let their scrambling metal legs and momentum carry them past him. They slide, some crashing into the other chairs that are gathered in the middle of the hall underneath some guy who's - on the ceiling? That thought's gonna have to hold the phone a second.
Cayde condenses the Light into a familiar shape: a golden pistol of sunlight and flame, and fires several rapid, well-placed shots into the chair pack. The targets come undone in golden sparks, and an explosive chain reaction that clears the hall.
The gunslinger gives the weapon a little spin around his finger, more out of habit than anything, as it dissipates — wow that should not feel as draining as it does — and peers up at stickyboots overhead.
"There's more of them where those came from, must've been a whole auditorium or something," he says, robotic eyes already scanning back up the hall in case more come scrambling down. "Been dodging around 'em all day."
That's an exaggeration. Now that the coast seems clear for a second, his posture shifts back to favoring one of his knees. The robot looks like five miles of bad road, honestly, even his face is scraped and partially bent, and there are some nasty gouges along the side of his head.
i
He's been dealt a bad hand, but he's still got an ace in one sleeve.
When he gets driven around a corner toward a bigger cluster of chairs, Cayde hops aside to let their scrambling metal legs and momentum carry them past him. They slide, some crashing into the other chairs that are gathered in the middle of the hall underneath some guy who's - on the ceiling? That thought's gonna have to hold the phone a second.
Cayde condenses the Light into a familiar shape: a golden pistol of sunlight and flame, and fires several rapid, well-placed shots into the chair pack. The targets come undone in golden sparks, and an explosive chain reaction that clears the hall.
The gunslinger gives the weapon a little spin around his finger, more out of habit than anything, as it dissipates — wow that should not feel as draining as it does — and peers up at stickyboots overhead.
"There's more of them where those came from, must've been a whole auditorium or something," he says, robotic eyes already scanning back up the hall in case more come scrambling down. "Been dodging around 'em all day."
That's an exaggeration. Now that the coast seems clear for a second, his posture shifts back to favoring one of his knees. The robot looks like five miles of bad road, honestly, even his face is scraped and partially bent, and there are some nasty gouges along the side of his head.