[He nods firmly — like that sign that hangs in the high school gym room, 'team work makes the dream work'. He's imagining it's something akin to this situation. Walking those four spaces, he finds himself on a little treasure chest. Despite the fact that it seems like it's only useful for the finder, he tenses at what may come —
Strange. What is lifted up and supplied from a pedestal isn't anything he's familiar with.]
... It's some kind of... robotic glove...
[Oh hey, look at that, Tony. One of your oldest gauntlets, barely functional. But functional. Not that Diarmuid would know; he's practically a child who found his father's gun in the closet. Please don't let him shoot his own face off. Maybe this was meant for you more than for the 13th century monk with the bum arm.]
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Strange. What is lifted up and supplied from a pedestal isn't anything he's familiar with.]
... It's some kind of... robotic glove...
[Oh hey, look at that, Tony. One of your oldest gauntlets, barely functional. But functional. Not that Diarmuid would know; he's practically a child who found his father's gun in the closet. Please don't let him shoot his own face off. Maybe this was meant for you more than for the 13th century monk with the bum arm.]