Whatever he hits is soft, and that's about all he has time to think before there's fingers wrapping around his horn and hauling him up. It's not hard: he is a fairly small troll, even by redblood standards, and although even the ribbed edges of his horns don't allow for enough grip to take him off the ground, it's easy to jerk him to his feet.
He can't feel the grip on his horn as anything more than an irritant: only the red velvet at the base has real sensation, and their grip is firmly on the yellow-orange border. The sense of panic bubbling up in his chest has nothing to do with the discomfort of being man-handled, though, and more with the pulsing fear of why.
Their back is to the sun, and he lost his glasses, along with his lense and cloak, somewhere inside. Still.. when he squints, pale eyes reduced to slivers, he can make out the oversized swoop of their horns, and it triggers a flash of recognition. They gave him a picture, hadn't they? OA. This is OA.
Heavens above, he hopes he's right.
Sipara's saying something, her voice a hiss of static and rage, but he ignores it for now. "Hello," he says with a nervous laugh. His hands are up, grasping the air in front of him, but he can't bring himself to try and wrest them off of his horn: instead, he ducks his head, twists it gently to try and twist it free from their grip. "OA, right? It's, ahhh... good to see you?"
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He can't feel the grip on his horn as anything more than an irritant: only the red velvet at the base has real sensation, and their grip is firmly on the yellow-orange border. The sense of panic bubbling up in his chest has nothing to do with the discomfort of being man-handled, though, and more with the pulsing fear of why.
Their back is to the sun, and he lost his glasses, along with his lense and cloak, somewhere inside. Still.. when he squints, pale eyes reduced to slivers, he can make out the oversized swoop of their horns, and it triggers a flash of recognition. They gave him a picture, hadn't they? OA. This is OA.
Heavens above, he hopes he's right.
Sipara's saying something, her voice a hiss of static and rage, but he ignores it for now. "Hello," he says with a nervous laugh. His hands are up, grasping the air in front of him, but he can't bring himself to try and wrest them off of his horn: instead, he ducks his head, twists it gently to try and twist it free from their grip. "OA, right? It's, ahhh... good to see you?"