[ Gold almost drops his cane when he's grabbed, but he doesn't pull back or retreat. There is always the underlying self-assurance, that he can stop whatever happens here if he has to. But that he doesn't -- that's part of the rush, he knows, part of what makes his stomach drop. Something approaching risk that he still has control over. Somewhere between the feel of jumping and falling.
His fingers gingerly felt at a hand on him. He swallows hard.
Then that last hit -- strikes something it's probably not supposed to. He goes a little more rigid. ]
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His fingers gingerly felt at a hand on him. He swallows hard.
Then that last hit -- strikes something it's probably not supposed to. He goes a little more rigid. ]
Since I'm here.