[This is awful. Awful awful awful awful awful awful awful.
There's a feral sort of desperation as Lutha fights, a constant wide-eyed look of a frightened wild dog ready to bite, even as he snaps his pistol around to shoot a Fatui agent between the eyes, or to whip the knife out from his waist and drive it through someone's ribs before shoving them away to load his weapon. His grip shakes, and the rain that plasters his hair to his face and weighs down his clothing seems to hit him harder than any physical blows.
His mind screams to leave, to dry off, to survive. To catch in the rain means death, and even if this water falls harmlessly, he can still remember vividly what it SHOULD feel like...
To see the white-haired swordsman suddenly alive with energy instead of the soft, cryptic sort he'd been in Mondstadt is a welcome change for Lutha. While his Vision is practically useless under the press of the rain, he will still take time to shove his fist down against the ground, a spread of affect that reacts just enough against Tsuru's own Cyro attacks, sending the fighter off balance and giving the Touken a burst of strength at the same time. It will give Lutha enough time to reload... his hand needs to stop shaking, it needs to stop, he CAN'T drop more bullets --
And then Tsuru yells, another body practically on top of Lutha from his deaf side. Lutha barely lets out a mangled swear with a reach for his own blade before the Touken has jumped in, knocking the Fatui back in a tumble.
Rather than answer Tsuru's question, Lutha stumbles to the side, just enough to shoot at that agent Tsuru had knocked prone, nailing him in one of his knees. Keep him down. Give him some time.
Slowly, he'll nod, swallowing hard and looking more bone-deep shaken than truly surprised.]
time to give ur 1 prompt some attention
There's a feral sort of desperation as Lutha fights, a constant wide-eyed look of a frightened wild dog ready to bite, even as he snaps his pistol around to shoot a Fatui agent between the eyes, or to whip the knife out from his waist and drive it through someone's ribs before shoving them away to load his weapon. His grip shakes, and the rain that plasters his hair to his face and weighs down his clothing seems to hit him harder than any physical blows.
His mind screams to leave, to dry off, to survive. To catch in the rain means death, and even if this water falls harmlessly, he can still remember vividly what it SHOULD feel like...
To see the white-haired swordsman suddenly alive with energy instead of the soft, cryptic sort he'd been in Mondstadt is a welcome change for Lutha. While his Vision is practically useless under the press of the rain, he will still take time to shove his fist down against the ground, a spread of affect that reacts just enough against Tsuru's own Cyro attacks, sending the fighter off balance and giving the Touken a burst of strength at the same time. It will give Lutha enough time to reload... his hand needs to stop shaking, it needs to stop, he CAN'T drop more bullets --
And then Tsuru yells, another body practically on top of Lutha from his deaf side. Lutha barely lets out a mangled swear with a reach for his own blade before the Touken has jumped in, knocking the Fatui back in a tumble.
Rather than answer Tsuru's question, Lutha stumbles to the side, just enough to shoot at that agent Tsuru had knocked prone, nailing him in one of his knees. Keep him down. Give him some time.
Slowly, he'll nod, swallowing hard and looking more bone-deep shaken than truly surprised.]
I... thank you. I couldn't tell where he was.