[ He can't do it. Move out of the way he wants to, know that he should be capable of - his memory is allowing him to know that much - and he's aware: of the failure, the spiking anxiety and the wait for impact; of pain and metal pressing in like a knife into butter, so easily, the flood that will come with it.
-- It never comes. What does is that cracking sound, a crunching that sounds unlike what he can identify, but intense. His ears ring with adrenaline that makes him feel lightheaded, more dizzy in his haze; but no pain comes, nothing does, and Robby looks to follow where he thinks the person must've gone if not above him. No shadow cast, so, behind.
And that's what he sees them, them? a woman? -- with her blade buried into a creature so large, Robby can't almost believe it to be the crab that his brain can only point to. It's pinned in the most unfortunate way, an awe-inspiring display at both ends of the spectrum of fear and astonishment. More so, the longer that Robby's gaze lingers on the specimen.
He might be a bit tongue-tied, this time not quick to speak. His hands move against the sand, half his gaze staying on the scene as he tries to pick himself up, even if just to put weight on his forearms, bend his elbows to even see if he can get to comply. Slow, awkward --
and even more so, when you're not sure of what to think of a person who just single-stabbed an oversized crab to its death. ]
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-- It never comes. What does is that cracking sound, a crunching that sounds unlike what he can identify, but intense. His ears ring with adrenaline that makes him feel lightheaded, more dizzy in his haze; but no pain comes, nothing does, and Robby looks to follow where he thinks the person must've gone if not above him. No shadow cast, so, behind.
And that's what he sees them, them? a woman? -- with her blade buried into a creature so large, Robby can't almost believe it to be the crab that his brain can only point to. It's pinned in the most unfortunate way, an awe-inspiring display at both ends of the spectrum of fear and astonishment. More so, the longer that Robby's gaze lingers on the specimen.
He might be a bit tongue-tied, this time not quick to speak. His hands move against the sand, half his gaze staying on the scene as he tries to pick himself up, even if just to put weight on his forearms, bend his elbows to even see if he can get to comply. Slow, awkward --
and even more so, when you're not sure of what to think of a person who just single-stabbed an oversized crab to its death. ]