[He remembers the dancing steps, and tries to keep them in mind while tracking the voice. It both does and doesn't help -- he's able to picture Inigo stepping and predict the distance he'd swing from, lifting his spear to meet the slashes with the arm of it, but...he's able to picture so, so clearly the arcing swings of a curved blade brought down with ferocity or as a followthrough on a twirl. It's more distracting than not to realize that the only light tinkling sound of bells is coming from him. There's no partner with a matching set with sure, practiced movements ensuring he knows she's near, she's still moving, and he won't be hurting her on accident.
He'll have plenty of time to get entrenched in these thoughts later, as the fever sets in. For now, Cat grits his teeth to try and bite them back and replace them with frustration over how his movements shouldn't be as sluggish as they are, even if he's out of practice with a weapon that's a comfortable weight for him, but goes beyond what one would expect of someone so small, or of a spear at all. His laugh is almost more of a cough, though that comes from his feelings rather than his poor lungs, for once. Probably not too much more of it being that way.]
Oho? You're not worried about hurting me now? Inigo! Aren't we friends?
[It would be easy to not believe it, used as a taunt the way it is. Cat doesn't fully believe it himself yet, though he genuinely appreciates Inigo more than he would expect.
He knocks the sword aside by catching it on the patchy, broken sign coming off the pole that once directed people to Toy Land, quickly jerking to correct his aim and lunge forward with the sharpened spikes of some wrought iron something meant to keep people out that now live at the spear's head.]
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He'll have plenty of time to get entrenched in these thoughts later, as the fever sets in. For now, Cat grits his teeth to try and bite them back and replace them with frustration over how his movements shouldn't be as sluggish as they are, even if he's out of practice with a weapon that's a comfortable weight for him, but goes beyond what one would expect of someone so small, or of a spear at all. His laugh is almost more of a cough, though that comes from his feelings rather than his poor lungs, for once. Probably not too much more of it being that way.]
Oho? You're not worried about hurting me now? Inigo! Aren't we friends?
[It would be easy to not believe it, used as a taunt the way it is. Cat doesn't fully believe it himself yet, though he genuinely appreciates Inigo more than he would expect.
He knocks the sword aside by catching it on the patchy, broken sign coming off the pole that once directed people to Toy Land, quickly jerking to correct his aim and lunge forward with the sharpened spikes of some wrought iron something meant to keep people out that now live at the spear's head.]