Danse just stares at her, almost but not quite uncomprehending, as if the computer component of his brain has taken control and the program is hanging before either resuming or crashing to desktop. He's not well equipped to handle Deacon's typical refuge in audacity even at the best of times, which this is not.
"Jesus," he says finally, with teeth-gritted anger that still manages to be directed slightly more at himself than Deacon. Maybe he's the one imposing more weirdness on the situation than there should be. Maybe this is just more of him not knowing how to have fun like everyone else apparently comes pre-programmed with the ability to do. He's never certain, and never less so than right now, but he concludes that it probably would make things weirder to refuse than to just do it.
There is definitely none of the sensual slowness or care this time as there was when he zipped up the dress in the first place. He grips the back neckline of the dress to hold it in place, yanks the zipper down with a swift irritable movement, and stomps toward the exit without another word.
Asking that question was probably the nail in the coffin for Deacon, but Danse does help, albeit angrily, and Deacon shuffles back to the changing room to return to his normal form and clothing. He can't really bare to look at himself in the mirror as he bundles up all the items he's collected, shoving them all haphazardly into a bag he can sling over his back while sneaking back to the convoy.
He somehow does manage to catch up to Danse, but he keeps his distance, watching his body language tells him everything he needs to know. Still, he at least owes it to him to watch his back for any cyborg attacks as they leave.
His shoulders tense a little as he hears Deacon come up close behind him, but Danse doesn't speed his pace or try to escape him. He can be an adult about this. Sort of. Not really. Maybe.
For what it's worth, he hasn't discarded any of the clothing items Deacon picked out for him, and they're still visible in his arms.
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"Jesus," he says finally, with teeth-gritted anger that still manages to be directed slightly more at himself than Deacon. Maybe he's the one imposing more weirdness on the situation than there should be. Maybe this is just more of him not knowing how to have fun like everyone else apparently comes pre-programmed with the ability to do. He's never certain, and never less so than right now, but he concludes that it probably would make things weirder to refuse than to just do it.
There is definitely none of the sensual slowness or care this time as there was when he zipped up the dress in the first place. He grips the back neckline of the dress to hold it in place, yanks the zipper down with a swift irritable movement, and stomps toward the exit without another word.
no subject
He somehow does manage to catch up to Danse, but he keeps his distance, watching his body language tells him everything he needs to know. Still, he at least owes it to him to watch his back for any cyborg attacks as they leave.
no subject
For what it's worth, he hasn't discarded any of the clothing items Deacon picked out for him, and they're still visible in his arms.