"No, just, you know, stand there and try not to think psycho thoughts." Saturday takes a slow breath, settles her nerves. Then she closes her eyes, and opens them. And then she opens them again.

What Guts sees, if he sees anything, is her eyes beginning to glow faintly. Not with the kind of light you can see by, either. As soon as she gets a good look at him, she blanches.

The armor is black as rot, clinging like an oilslick to the sides of his soul. It's not a cloak on his back, she sees that now, it's a living shroud that ripple with the urge to suffocate and swallow.

Her upper lip curls. The beast hiding inside the armor sneers back.

She steps up to Guts, grabs a chunk of the cloak - feeling only cloth against her skin, seeing the pelt of a great beast clenched in her hand. She has a snout, or a paw, or neither of those things. Whatever - she's got its attention, which is exactly what she wanted.

A pale, mocking eye opens in the black fabric. She snarls, tugging the beast by the base of its astral tail, and hears it hissing back in the corner of her mind. The cloak yanks from her hand, and she braces her heels in the earth and hauls, determined to make her point as it tries to swarm away from her.

For Guts, this probably all looks and feels extremely weird.