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● You’d think he’s a bear. Poor eyesight, low visibility, or his camouflaging suite would make him difficult to see. You’d followed all the rules–make lots of noise, keep food in a bear-prove box. Yet here you were. Lovely.
● The sans-weapon approach would save you. After all, you knew they would only piss off a bear. No, no. Your best bet is to try and scare it away. Taking a deep breath, you’d puff up your chest, pulling off your jacket to spread it overhead like a cobra’s hood. “Rooooaaaarrr! Roooar! Raaaaaahhh!”
● He’d be confused, yet impressed. …What exactly were you doing? Did you truly think yourself frightening? There you were, a few feet away, stomping like a furious yautja hound, pawing at the dirt and giving feeble mock-roars.
You are essentially a desert rain frog… He knows what you’re trying to accomplish, it’s just…not happening.
● He’d probably laugh at you. Again: Desert Rain Frog. Knowing how serious you are would make him laugh until his sides ache. Don’t believe me? Here’s a visual:
This is You…
- Strengths: You’re cute…
- Weaknesses: EVERYTHING.
Versus What Actually Scares Him…
Originally posted by nikolaevna-annushka
- Strengths: Poison blood, Armored skin, Razor sharp teeth, Born killing machine, Stealthy, etc.
- Weaknesses: None
Level of Competition: -100%
● Thankfully, however, you’d be so adorable he’d want to take you home. Maybe he could keep you as a pet! Over time, you’d get to know one another and he’d fall in love with you.
Note: He’d probably have you be his servant (okay…slave…because Yautja have those). Still, that fire you’d shown in the beginning would always be there. Meaning? Prepare for some serious banter and squabbles. You’re not taking his crap. Of course, fighting is considered foreplay to Yautja…so he’d become very attracted to you.
BONUS:
A little scene…
“Wha–? Do you have a flipping boner right now?” you demanded. He gave a rumbling purr, utterly unashamed. “What is wrong with you!” With that, you snatched the weapon he’d wanted you to clean and fled the room. Honestly, he couldn’t just content himself with being an alien–he had to be a pervy alien.
Figures, you thought, glaring at the crystallized blood. Of course, he just had to hunt amber-blooded monsters. Little did you know that he’d intended to present his trophy to you.
…
Watching you leave, he cursed his newly-blooded nephew. Insufferable pup. The arrogant oaf had cracked the delicate skull–making his efforts all for naught.