Grif makes some kind of discouraged noise as his arm is clamped, but that's not as bad as being yanked forwards, then backwards, and you'd best believe he has something to say about it. "Ow! Would you make up your--" Seems like she made up her mind on which direction to go after all; all of a sudden Grif is falling underneath the raptor's weight, landing hard enough for the air to be knocked from his lungs.
It's not so bad, really. The thing is heavy, sure, and it feels weird to have claws and teeth scrabbling all over him, but his armor seems to be doing fine against the assault. He's starting to think maybe luck is on his side this time. "Hah-- oh, shit!" And then he feels it, a weak point in his bodysuit being worn open by all those terrible teeth. Before he has time to properly flail around in a final panic, the weight holding him down is gone and she sounds like she's having a very bad time.
He sits up then, puzzled until he inspects the damaged area. It's slick and gooey, having had the hydrostatic gel layer punctured, and the tear is significant enough to have tricked his suit in to popping off a squirt of biofoam. Grif has never had the gel or biofoam in his mouth before, but he assumes the two enough are bad enough on their own. Mixed together, yeah, they're probably a taste-nightmare.
He rolls his shoulders and gingerly begins to push himself back up to his feet, which is when he realises being ragdolled by something the size of a pony fucking hurts regardless of who won the fight, but he doesn't feel bad enough to keep his mouth shut. Shame. "What, you're done? Not gonna be an asshole now? No, really, what happened to that tough super-predator thing, are we not doing that anymore?"
Grif finally rights himself with a little sway, looking way too pleased with himself as he stands there, hands on hips. "You sure you don't want to have another round?" He's defeated a fucking dinosaur, okay. He's, like, basically untouchable according to universal rules of badassery.
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Grif makes some kind of discouraged noise as his arm is clamped, but that's not as bad as being yanked forwards, then backwards, and you'd best believe he has something to say about it. "Ow! Would you make up your--" Seems like she made up her mind on which direction to go after all; all of a sudden Grif is falling underneath the raptor's weight, landing hard enough for the air to be knocked from his lungs.
It's not so bad, really. The thing is heavy, sure, and it feels weird to have claws and teeth scrabbling all over him, but his armor seems to be doing fine against the assault. He's starting to think maybe luck is on his side this time. "Hah-- oh, shit!" And then he feels it, a weak point in his bodysuit being worn open by all those terrible teeth. Before he has time to properly flail around in a final panic, the weight holding him down is gone and she sounds like she's having a very bad time.
He sits up then, puzzled until he inspects the damaged area. It's slick and gooey, having had the hydrostatic gel layer punctured, and the tear is significant enough to have tricked his suit in to popping off a squirt of biofoam. Grif has never had the gel or biofoam in his mouth before, but he assumes the two enough are bad enough on their own. Mixed together, yeah, they're probably a taste-nightmare.
He rolls his shoulders and gingerly begins to push himself back up to his feet, which is when he realises being ragdolled by something the size of a pony fucking hurts regardless of who won the fight, but he doesn't feel bad enough to keep his mouth shut. Shame. "What, you're done? Not gonna be an asshole now? No, really, what happened to that tough super-predator thing, are we not doing that anymore?"
Grif finally rights himself with a little sway, looking way too pleased with himself as he stands there, hands on hips. "You sure you don't want to have another round?" He's defeated a fucking dinosaur, okay. He's, like, basically untouchable according to universal rules of badassery.