The kid is starting to whine, but you do not give a single fuck what sort of raucous noise they want to rattle up: it's not like they can do shit. The sun is up, the air is hot, and your apartment is a thirty minute fucking walk, so fuck anyone that thinks you're about to start dawdling.
You change your mind when the kid starts yowling about drones. The first high pitch noise goes straight into one audiosponge and deep into your the fleshiest part of your pan, and you hiss, your ears immediately pinning back defensively. You'd cover them up, but your hand is currently occupied by the thrashing bag of cloth and bones you're holding up.
Not for long. The kid is fucking hitting you, little paws clenched into fists that're pummelling away at your side and your arm and anything in reach, and the first time one strikes a port and sends shockwaves of sparks crawling up your arm, you're fucking through. You shake them, hard, and then drop them on the ground for good measure.
no subject
You change your mind when the kid starts yowling about drones. The first high pitch noise goes straight into one audiosponge and deep into your the fleshiest part of your pan, and you hiss, your ears immediately pinning back defensively. You'd cover them up, but your hand is currently occupied by the thrashing bag of cloth and bones you're holding up.
Not for long. The kid is fucking hitting you, little paws clenched into fists that're pummelling away at your side and your arm and anything in reach, and the first time one strikes a port and sends shockwaves of sparks crawling up your arm, you're fucking through. You shake them, hard, and then drop them on the ground for good measure.