"I didn't come up with it-" He shuts up, listening for whatever Lev heard. Unfamiliar noises aren't always dangerous; sometimes they're what the dangerous things are hunting. They're always worth checking to find out. It sounds like... something large but soft being dragged energetically across the deck? It's getting louder. Closer.

That's probably the right practical instinct for Wilson-wrangling, impulsive as he can be, but he still frowns and tenses up under the hand before he really realises he's doing it. Just the one hand, human-sized and shaped, attached to a guy. It's not a shadow hand about to drag him under the earth.

Before they can round the corner and enter the Promenade proper, a furious heap of floral-print summer clothing bigger than both of them looms out from behind the wall and launches itself at Wilson, who screams in an undignified squawky register and flails some sort of purple spiky weapon at it. Bahamanuel makes no move to attack Lev, already pulling away back whence it came, the spiky-haired little man mostly engulfed but visible as a flailing gloved left hand hitting it with the spiked implement.