It took all of a millisecond for Donnie to realize they were hosed, and for instinct to kick in.
(If he made it out of this in one piece, and out of all of this to actually get home, he was going to have to thank Leo for those nights of ceaseless drills when he'd rather have had more time to be tinkering with tech.)
One hand went back to yank his bo staff free from its place on his back.
The other reached over and down as he twisted himself to grab Rich's - hand, wrist, anything, because now was the last time to get too picky.
He jabbed the staff against the side of the tunnel as they fell. The tunnel was big enough for people to maneuver in, there had to be something - he thought he saw something when they were ascending a few seconds ago -
And then there was a snap as he found a handle built into the side of the wall, wedging the end of his bo into it and catching them, and it took just a moment longer for the strain of what he was doing to finally start registering in his arms. How much did Rich even weigh? He probably didn't want to know, actually. Because trying to run the numbers in his head might or might not actually make him feel any better about this.
The Fugitoid had provided Donatello with a new and improved staff, when he'd replaced his shell. How improved...well, who knew? Improved enough not to snap under both of their weights, he sure as hell hoped.
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(If he made it out of this in one piece, and out of all of this to actually get home, he was going to have to thank Leo for those nights of ceaseless drills when he'd rather have had more time to be tinkering with tech.)
One hand went back to yank his bo staff free from its place on his back.
The other reached over and down as he twisted himself to grab Rich's - hand, wrist, anything, because now was the last time to get too picky.
He jabbed the staff against the side of the tunnel as they fell. The tunnel was big enough for people to maneuver in, there had to be something - he thought he saw something when they were ascending a few seconds ago -
And then there was a snap as he found a handle built into the side of the wall, wedging the end of his bo into it and catching them, and it took just a moment longer for the strain of what he was doing to finally start registering in his arms. How much did Rich even weigh? He probably didn't want to know, actually. Because trying to run the numbers in his head might or might not actually make him feel any better about this.
The Fugitoid had provided Donatello with a new and improved staff, when he'd replaced his shell. How improved...well, who knew? Improved enough not to snap under both of their weights, he sure as hell hoped.