( the one, minimal benefit of the amount of layers marc tends to wear are that even if the out layers aren't protective in the way that armor would be, they're thick, durable in a way reminiscent of workwear more than a traditional suit. while fern's dagger lands, while it does slice through layers of his clothes, either it doesn't succeed in piercing enough of the layers to draw blood or, perhaps, there's no blood to draw.
in either case, the mannequin doesn't hesitate. it's not so much an ability of marc's that it's absorbed in this case, not by any strict definition, but it is a key component of how marc fights: ignoring nearly any and all bodily harm in favour of gaining an advantage, be it psychological or otherwise. what does seem to make him (it) hesitate, however, is the awareness that they're gradually making their way towards the street, to where neon lights and people are more abundant. where marc, if placed in a similar position, might say something, might utter a noise of frustration, the mannequin stays silent, although his attention does seem to shift notably from fern to street and back again. it's not quite weighing its options, it's not smart enough for that, but there is a survival instinct to it, an idea of what serves it best.
where the punch had missed, fern's use of her dagger means she's close to him still, and this time, the mannequin doesn't swing, doesn't throw a punch. it drops its hand to grab a fistful of clothing, intending on yanking her closer to him. it means to throw her off balance, and to punctuate the movement with a swift, sharp headbutt. it doesn't particularly care where it lands, only that it does, and if it gives it even a second to breathe, metaphorically speaking, it'll utilise the moment to dart in the opposite direction to fern and the street, towards the closest backalley door — bar? pawn shop? late-night diner? who knows, who cares.
it will, however, pause — if ill-advisedly — for the barest of moments, casting fern a glance as if memorising her face. )
no subject
in either case, the mannequin doesn't hesitate. it's not so much an ability of marc's that it's absorbed in this case, not by any strict definition, but it is a key component of how marc fights: ignoring nearly any and all bodily harm in favour of gaining an advantage, be it psychological or otherwise. what does seem to make him (it) hesitate, however, is the awareness that they're gradually making their way towards the street, to where neon lights and people are more abundant. where marc, if placed in a similar position, might say something, might utter a noise of frustration, the mannequin stays silent, although his attention does seem to shift notably from fern to street and back again. it's not quite weighing its options, it's not smart enough for that, but there is a survival instinct to it, an idea of what serves it best.
where the punch had missed, fern's use of her dagger means she's close to him still, and this time, the mannequin doesn't swing, doesn't throw a punch. it drops its hand to grab a fistful of clothing, intending on yanking her closer to him. it means to throw her off balance, and to punctuate the movement with a swift, sharp headbutt. it doesn't particularly care where it lands, only that it does, and if it gives it even a second to breathe, metaphorically speaking, it'll utilise the moment to dart in the opposite direction to fern and the street, towards the closest backalley door — bar? pawn shop? late-night diner? who knows, who cares.
it will, however, pause — if ill-advisedly — for the barest of moments, casting fern a glance as if memorising her face. )