If Rich hadn't been snagged right in the middle of the process of falling to his death he might have complimented Donnie on being smart enough to use his staff to snag something instead of just his hand. More leverage.
Because Rich had been one hundred and ninety pounds last time he'd stepped on a scale and while he had probably lost a few by having his arm hacked off, that was still a lot for a tiny turtle-guy to hold onto -- something Donnie's shoulder would probably make very clear the moment Rich's full weight started tugging on it.
That was why Rich had to act quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was yank the poor kid down to his death with him and with how hard Donnie was holding onto his hand, a heroic self-sacrifice by letting go wouldn't have been easy.
Fortunately, the handle Donnie'd managed to grab onto was not so much a handle as actually a rung of a service ladder. Unfortunately, swinging towards it at the speed Rich swung toward it meant his side slammed into said ladder so hard he probably busted a rib.
Rich was certainly used to pain -- invulnerability on the scale he played on just meant it took tougher enemies to cause it, and he faced enemies like that regularly -- but it still was something of a surprise for something so minor to hurt that badly. Usually it took something like a punch from guys with titles like "The Mad Titan" to bust up his side that bad.
So for a second Rich saw white and it took half a second for the ringing in his ears to stop for him to even realize he was already talking. It was in English now -- since the telepathic earplugs had cut out -- and as was appropriate for cursing of that caliber, he had an incredibly strong Queens accent.
"Jesusfuckingmotherofall--"
But even while cursing and seeing white, he still managed to form the little gravimetric arm he'd learned how to make, and used it to grab onto the rungs of the ladder so he could support his own weight.
"--fuckme," the cursing finally stopped because he finally had a solid hold. "Okay, leggo! Leggo before you fall, I'm good!"
He'd even managed to get his foot on a rung of the ladder.
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Because Rich had been one hundred and ninety pounds last time he'd stepped on a scale and while he had probably lost a few by having his arm hacked off, that was still a lot for a tiny turtle-guy to hold onto -- something Donnie's shoulder would probably make very clear the moment Rich's full weight started tugging on it.
That was why Rich had to act quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was yank the poor kid down to his death with him and with how hard Donnie was holding onto his hand, a heroic self-sacrifice by letting go wouldn't have been easy.
Fortunately, the handle Donnie'd managed to grab onto was not so much a handle as actually a rung of a service ladder. Unfortunately, swinging towards it at the speed Rich swung toward it meant his side slammed into said ladder so hard he probably busted a rib.
Rich was certainly used to pain -- invulnerability on the scale he played on just meant it took tougher enemies to cause it, and he faced enemies like that regularly -- but it still was something of a surprise for something so minor to hurt that badly. Usually it took something like a punch from guys with titles like "The Mad Titan" to bust up his side that bad.
So for a second Rich saw white and it took half a second for the ringing in his ears to stop for him to even realize he was already talking. It was in English now -- since the telepathic earplugs had cut out -- and as was appropriate for cursing of that caliber, he had an incredibly strong Queens accent.
"Jesusfuckingmotherofall--"
But even while cursing and seeing white, he still managed to form the little gravimetric arm he'd learned how to make, and used it to grab onto the rungs of the ladder so he could support his own weight.
"--fuckme," the cursing finally stopped because he finally had a solid hold. "Okay, leggo! Leggo before you fall, I'm good!"
He'd even managed to get his foot on a rung of the ladder.