((OOC: I know Aven has more CR with Mario but. Aven is sleeping rn. I'll manage to drag him back over eventually...have this guy in the meantime!!))
Federico is patrolling the ship in his own way—making his rounds as he does when he’s nervous. Or bored. Or lacking direction. He doesn’t have a lot of hobbies, okay? Let’s not dwell on it.
He’s currently hobbling along on a makeshift crutch, courtesy of Dr. Ratio. The doctor had been very clear: stay off the leg. Give it time to heal. But since Federico has the self-preservation instincts of a particularly stubborn Roomba, here he is—limping through the halls, on the lookout for malfunctioning droids, passengers trapped by wildlife, or—
A whole plumber slamming into his side.
Federico lets out a surprised grunt as his body makes a split-second decision between fall gracefully and detain the suspect. He wraps an arm around his assailant (victim???), overbalances on his bad leg, and goes down like a very dignified sack of sankta bricks. His elbow hits the ground first— sending prickling shock-waves up his arm but saving his head from impact—while his crutch clatters off somewhere uselessly.
"Signore Mario?"
Normally, catching a flying person wouldn’t be an issue for the executor, but these are clearly not normal circumstances. He blinks up at Mario, his usual deadpan expression now teetering dangerously close to mildly flabbergasted. His halo spins, slightly askew from the impact, like a loading symbol struggling to process what just happened.
Another blink. “…Have I done something to warrant such an attack, or is this a sort of greeting customary to your world?”
Fallguy!! Totally didn't spell Failguy at first nope-Gently places an angel in the way like a domino
Federico is patrolling the ship in his own way—making his rounds as he does when he’s nervous. Or bored. Or lacking direction. He doesn’t have a lot of hobbies, okay? Let’s not dwell on it.
He’s currently hobbling along on a makeshift crutch, courtesy of Dr. Ratio. The doctor had been very clear: stay off the leg. Give it time to heal. But since Federico has the self-preservation instincts of a particularly stubborn Roomba, here he is—limping through the halls, on the lookout for malfunctioning droids, passengers trapped by wildlife, or—
A whole plumber slamming into his side.
Federico lets out a surprised grunt as his body makes a split-second decision between fall gracefully and detain the suspect. He wraps an arm around his assailant (victim???), overbalances on his bad leg, and goes down like a very dignified sack of sankta bricks. His elbow hits the ground first— sending prickling shock-waves up his arm but saving his head from impact—while his crutch clatters off somewhere uselessly.
"Signore Mario?"
Normally, catching a flying person wouldn’t be an issue for the executor, but these are clearly not normal circumstances. He blinks up at Mario, his usual deadpan expression now teetering dangerously close to mildly flabbergasted. His halo spins, slightly askew from the impact, like a loading symbol struggling to process what just happened.
Another blink. “…Have I done something to warrant such an attack, or is this a sort of greeting customary to your world?”