[He gets to his feet, still pressing his scarf to his throat, which seems like it's still bloody, but is no longer hemorrhaging. He's sort of wobbling as he gets back on his feet, and recognizes that he's very hurt, but he also takes the moment, in the middle of this to nod at Rupert, a gesture of thanks.
This is all madness. He doesn't - couldn't - tell another person to do whatever it takes to save her father, not without being a hypocrite, but this is madness. Byleth can't want this blood spilled for a prize he's sure will be false. Can she?
He tries to speak into his mic, but his words come out in a miserable rasp.]
Ei$ner, this is a test They won't - oh shit, I need to rest. . .
[This doesn't seem to be going so well. But he has another ace up his sleeve. He's going to do two things now. First of all, he's going to step backwards, in the direction of the switch behind him and Byleth, raising his hand over it. He looks and gives Rupert another significant look, and holds it there, not pressing down, but able to be pressed down at a moment should Byleth try to press the switch on the other side.
Second, from where he is, he turns and looks at at the man out in the crowd, and points to him with his other finger. And he'll try to speak again into the mic, although it seems to be extremely painful, and he gasps between verses, trying if he can to channel what he's saying towards this person rather than towards Winter Division.]
Your tricks . . . tired. Maybe you'll . . . also like fire. Better bring it to an end -
[He pauses for a second, breath heaving a bit, clearly not able to continue. . . but then he changes the direction of his hand to point at Frumpkin.]
Take it from my friend.
[With that, Frumpkin leaps into the spotlight, stares down at the Ramuda next to the stage, and begins screeching a cacophonous chorus of meows and yowls into his mini Little Frumpkin mic.]
no subject
This is all madness. He doesn't - couldn't - tell another person to do whatever it takes to save her father, not without being a hypocrite, but this is madness. Byleth can't want this blood spilled for a prize he's sure will be false. Can she?
He tries to speak into his mic, but his words come out in a miserable rasp.]
Ei$ner, this is a test
They won't - oh shit, I need to rest. . .
[This doesn't seem to be going so well. But he has another ace up his sleeve. He's going to do two things now. First of all, he's going to step backwards, in the direction of the switch behind him and Byleth, raising his hand over it. He looks and gives Rupert another significant look, and holds it there, not pressing down, but able to be pressed down at a moment should Byleth try to press the switch on the other side.
Second, from where he is, he turns and looks at at the man out in the crowd, and points to him with his other finger. And he'll try to speak again into the mic, although it seems to be extremely painful, and he gasps between verses, trying if he can to channel what he's saying towards this person rather than towards Winter Division.]
Your tricks . . . tired.
Maybe you'll . . . also like fire.
Better bring it to an end -
[He pauses for a second, breath heaving a bit, clearly not able to continue. . . but then he changes the direction of his hand to point at Frumpkin.]
Take it from my friend.
[With that, Frumpkin leaps into the spotlight, stares down at the Ramuda next to the stage, and begins screeching a cacophonous chorus of meows and yowls into his mini Little Frumpkin mic.]