[ Those are even more fangs than Scott has, and he's supposed to be a fancy alpha. Between the crab furiously writhing (which is a particularly gross way to describe it) under his shirt, and the rows of sharp teeth bared in front of him, and all the strange smells - what is this kid? He doesn't smell like a wolf or a coyote or a jaguar or anything - Scott's eyes are starting to go red and he knows that this is the stupidest thing to be wolfing out over so he really needs to get a handle on the situation.
Shoving his palms against the ground, he forcefully hauls himself up into a sitting position, the crab sliding right out from under his shirt as he does so, the tiny scratches it leaves disappearing immediately, unseen. ]
Here. I'll get it.
[ At which point, now with some leverage back in his life, he reaches out to start shooing the other crabs away from their assault on the redhead. (He's got red eyes too, another alpha?) ]
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Shoving his palms against the ground, he forcefully hauls himself up into a sitting position, the crab sliding right out from under his shirt as he does so, the tiny scratches it leaves disappearing immediately, unseen. ]
Here. I'll get it.
[ At which point, now with some leverage back in his life, he reaches out to start shooing the other crabs away from their assault on the redhead. (He's got red eyes too, another alpha?) ]