Lars knows the feeling well; he always assumes the worst of people, carrying that same fear on his shoulders wherever he goes. Maybe that's why when he sees Lauren flush shamefully and struggle to escape without success that Lars's expression falls a little, his shoulders slacking. He almost looks remorseful, or sympathetic—almost. It's a little gross just voyuering on what's basically his own personal flavor of hell. He saves face by slipping his expression into an eye-roll, giving an impatient, derrissive sigh.

He swims towards Lauren and his admirers pretty quickly, thanks to his long and powerful tail. He realizes he's throwing himself into the fray here, but he doesn't suffer as bad in the spotlight as Lauren does. And it's not altruism, really, so it's cool—it's just too annoying to watch.

"Hey," Lars cuts in, lifting his tail between Lauren and his nearest admirer in a slight curl. "He ain't interested." The women insistently giggle, and one of them softly touches Lars's tail. His face immediately flares up red, and he snaps his tail downwards. The abrupt movement gets them to stil, looking concerned. "Stop that! No, listen, he's not like that," Lars blurts thoughtlessly, even though he has no clue where he's going with it. So he follows it up in the way he thinks is the most sensitble.

"He, uhhh, like... you know, he only likes... dudes."

Aaaand, save. Lars is immediately having to suppress his laughter.