Foster started out at a flat run, leaving very little room for more than token acceleration, but as Zangetsu clears the way, Tyki clearing the rest of the way... what little room there is to speed up, he takes, leaning forward into his sprint, heavy claws curled into fists, long legs eating up the yards between him and each tier of the stadium in seconds.
He's not running scared. He's running mad.
He's mad that he's running. He's mad that he's being steered away from not only doing but even seeing, that he's being used not just by Zangetsu but Ginko, and for what? But he's exhilarated, too, to find himself being used so freely, so openly; that he's reduced to nothing but an animal. And it's thrilling in its own way, and physicality of it all. So he's angry, yes--
But he is nothing if not obedient.
And external anger, external hatred--for the world, for others, for circumstances both within his control and without--is a kind of motivator, too. Not as strong as self-hatred, not as true as blood, as massive as the endless, relentless pursuit of time, as the reality of death, as the gaping maw of roaring emptiness--
But it has spurs nonetheless, and when Foster comes to the souveneir stand between them and their escape--
That hatred, that anger gives him the incentive.
He barrels down on it at full equine speed, gathering himself with what power he has in his bony, wasted wreck of a body, and jumps.
He jumps the fucking table, and comes down on the other side--stumbling, crashing partway into the vendor on the other side, in a rain of grape soda and branded caps, but he clears the table and keeps his feet and keeps going, the sound of CY-Ren's song still in his ears.
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Foster started out at a flat run, leaving very little room for more than token acceleration, but as Zangetsu clears the way, Tyki clearing the rest of the way... what little room there is to speed up, he takes, leaning forward into his sprint, heavy claws curled into fists, long legs eating up the yards between him and each tier of the stadium in seconds.
He's not running scared. He's running mad.
He's mad that he's running. He's mad that he's being steered away from not only doing but even seeing, that he's being used not just by Zangetsu but Ginko, and for what? But he's exhilarated, too, to find himself being used so freely, so openly; that he's reduced to nothing but an animal. And it's thrilling in its own way, and physicality of it all. So he's angry, yes--
But he is nothing if not obedient.
And external anger, external hatred--for the world, for others, for circumstances both within his control and without--is a kind of motivator, too. Not as strong as self-hatred, not as true as blood, as massive as the endless, relentless pursuit of time, as the reality of death, as the gaping maw of roaring emptiness--
But it has spurs nonetheless, and when Foster comes to the souveneir stand between them and their escape--
That hatred, that anger gives him the incentive.
He barrels down on it at full equine speed, gathering himself with what power he has in his bony, wasted wreck of a body, and jumps.
He jumps the fucking table, and comes down on the other side--stumbling, crashing partway into the vendor on the other side, in a rain of grape soda and branded caps, but he clears the table and keeps his feet and keeps going, the sound of CY-Ren's song still in his ears.