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[color=lightblue][h1]Donnie[/h1][/color]

Word Count: [b]719[/b]

EXP: (1/60) + 1 = [b]2/50[/b]

[@Lugubrious]
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Donnie’s eyes went wide as he caught a glimpse of Pichai’s grotesque form for the first time. It was huge, imposing, and apparently, it was invincible to mundane weapons judging by what happened to Nero when he tried to slice at it. He needed to move quickly. Wondering at the architectural impossibility of this place could come later. He figured it was a magical construct anyway.

He took Ms. Fortune’s advice, ducking behind a dusty old table, fear forming a pit in his stomach as the preta’s single red eye shone its baleful light across the room.

Donnie was a big man compared to some of the others here. Azerothian humans had taken a completely different evolutionary path than humans of most other worlds represented in the World of Light. He hadn’t evolved from apes. He was technically an Old-God-corrupted, Titan-built machine. To be more specific, he was a distant descendant of the offspring of Titan-forged Vrykul--a species of eight-foot-tall Viking-like warriors--afflicted with the Curse of Flesh, cast out from their families due to their deformed and weak physiology.

This meant that Donnie, like most male Azerothian humans, was actually rather [i]jacked[/i], and his armor made it even harder to fit a low profile. He wasn’t a rogue either. He had cat-like agility and reflexes, sure, but stealth was not his forte in the slightest.

As a result, to say that Donnie was having a hard time was an understatement. As Pichai’s red gaze passed by the couch, he spotted a table to his right, temporarily out of Pichai’s cone of vision.

He booked it, the metal and leather armor making slight squeaking and clanking noises as he did so. He was sure he only had a few seconds at most before Pichai tried to grab him as he did to Nero, so he had to work quickly. He grabbed the entire pre-made ritual kit from his satchel and began to set up the food offering like a man possessed.

He worked quickly, but ambitiously. A smarter plan of action might have been to set down one element at a time before retreating into hiding. Evidently caring little that the project was meant to satiate it, the Preta released an almost metallic screeching noise and reached down with its giant fingers to seize the monk.

Donnie reacted on autopilot. The monk rolled out of the way, narrowly dodging Pichai’s grasping hand. Unfortunately, Pichai’s pre-emptive attack caused Donnie to knock against the table and spill some of the ingredients for the ritual, including about a third of the food.

Thinking fast, he began to pick them up and tried a more desperate gambit. This thing was clearly a monster and Pichai was an asshole, but this might work?

“OI, PICHAI!” he yelled, “DO YOU ALWAYS ATTACK PEOPLE WHO ARE TRYING TO SET UP FOOD OFFERINGS FOR YOU?! GIVE ME FIVE SECONDS AND YOU’LL BE CHOWING DOWN ON THE BEST FOOD I COULD MAKE!”

The Preta attacked again while Donnie was still speaking, this time with a massive slam meant to crush him where he stood. Having drawn the specter’s attention and being unable to ease back into hiding, he could no longer finish the ceremony. A portion of salad lay on the floor, and the incense sticks had been flung farther. 

Nope, that didn’t work. In fact, it had made the situation even worse for Donnie. Still, there were two-thirds of the salad left, and since Donnie had drawn its attention, he couldn’t be the one to finish it, not without going back into hiding. 

So, why not be a distraction?

“Fine then, if you won’t listen to reason, catch me if you can, fiend!”

With that, Donnie ran for it. He had a lot of stamina, a lot of agility, and could run pretty damn fast. Whenever Pichai tried to grab or strike him, a quick roll, flip, cartwheel, or dodge would be all it took to avoid those hands. And he could keep this up for a [i]while.[/i]

While it was clear that Donnie’s diplomacy gambit--which itself hadn’t been a bad strategy, given that Pichai was once human--had failed massively, the others would probably tell he was trying to make the best of it, and the offering was free for anyone to pick up where he left off.