[The crows that aren't trying to put out the flames seem to see Rocket's eyes and head as a perfect target for pecking and he's forced to let go of the scarecrow to curl into a fetal position long enough to get his goggles over his eyes. That takes care of some of it, but not enough as they grab at his scarf and claw at his jumpsuit, looking to get enough of a hold on him to lift him up off the ground and keep him from covering the kid.]
All right, all right. I got it.
[He cringes through a crow grabbing one of his ears in its beak and tugging and wrenches his pistols out out of their holsters.] Bet these guys ain't immune to bullets.
[They are not, as it turns out, immune to bullets. And crows getting hit with armor-piercing rounds is not pretty. It's either converge entirely on Rocket or risk getting picked off one by one while they put out the flames and the amount of time it takes them to figure out means Chara gets pelted with some of the exploding bird remains- nothing to be done about that.
Rocket is now a hail of bullets surrounded by a cloud of birds, which is kind of dangerous as every now and then a stray bullet will whiz precariously close, saved only by the grace of Rocket having some idea of where Chara was before he got locked into an Alfred Hitchcock wet dream and every now and then blowing enough of a hole in the mass to adjust where Chara has moved. It's not an exact science, but neither is fighting a murder of crows with murder on their minds.]
cw: ludicrous bird gibs
All right, all right. I got it.
[He cringes through a crow grabbing one of his ears in its beak and tugging and wrenches his pistols out out of their holsters.] Bet these guys ain't immune to bullets.
[They are not, as it turns out, immune to bullets. And crows getting hit with armor-piercing rounds is not pretty. It's either converge entirely on Rocket or risk getting picked off one by one while they put out the flames and the amount of time it takes them to figure out means Chara gets pelted with some of the exploding bird remains- nothing to be done about that.
Rocket is now a hail of bullets surrounded by a cloud of birds, which is kind of dangerous as every now and then a stray bullet will whiz precariously close, saved only by the grace of Rocket having some idea of where Chara was before he got locked into an Alfred Hitchcock wet dream and every now and then blowing enough of a hole in the mass to adjust where Chara has moved. It's not an exact science, but neither is fighting a murder of crows with murder on their minds.]