[From terrified to petrified, and now the boy flails and lashes out in hopeless desperation. It's a pitiable cycle of emotion to witness - and it's a cycle Diavolo knows inside and out. He barely looks at the struggling human, too preoccupied with taking frenetic glances every which way to catch sight of the danger before it catches him - and there is his mistake. The looseness of his grip and the bagginess of the hoodie work against him, and as Diavolo stares into the eyes of a passing mother who holds her child's trembling hand tight and close - the boy in his grasp wiggles and twists his head with sudden violence. Blunt teeth dig into the flesh of Diavolo's hand and he hisses in pain, his fingers twitching with the shock, but it only serves to make his hold tighter.
He pulls the boy along further now, not the gentle guide he'd initially intended, but a yank, all force and nerves. His other hand finds the collar of the boy's muddy t-shirt and he holds him there, too, not to choke or to frighten but to please keep him still in this growing disaster. It's an awkward angle - he has to hunch to keep comfortable, and it only makes scanning the surroundings harder.]
People are staring! [He accuses, his voice still low, his eyes still darting.] I am trying to get us out of here!
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He pulls the boy along further now, not the gentle guide he'd initially intended, but a yank, all force and nerves. His other hand finds the collar of the boy's muddy t-shirt and he holds him there, too, not to choke or to frighten but to please keep him still in this growing disaster. It's an awkward angle - he has to hunch to keep comfortable, and it only makes scanning the surroundings harder.]
People are staring! [He accuses, his voice still low, his eyes still darting.] I am trying to get us out of here!