Anakin almost hadn't heard the cry to help, his lack of sleep, his terror for his wife, his anger at the Jedi Council, his confusion over everything Palpatine had told him, and then being here, with a new smattering of scales over his forehead, cheeks, jawline, down his neck and heavily down his right arm, tin horns of his face and neck he recognized from childhood tales of the Sun Dragon which itched and burned, sharp teeth that made him catch his lips and tongue, his left hand terminated in claws, and most shocking to him - little flames of fire flying out of his mouth when he was most annoyed at everything, was firmly too much for him to handle. Despite not being sure when he'd last eaten, he'd bolted from the shelter when he'd scorched a tabletop and found himself drawn to a speeder-looking object. It didn't start, the sidecar attached was barely hanging on, and all the tires were flat. Anakin had immediately gotten to work, burying himself in it, finding it soothing as he always had.
The first cry for assistance only caught the edge of his hearing, the 'Please?' almost annoyed him for breaking his concentration, it was the 'Anyone?' that shook him to his senses, both his natural sense of compassion taking over and him recognizing the voice. He shot up, banging his head on the body of the motorcycle, ripped a scale off his skin, and let loose a string on impressive swears as he wiped the blood away, adding it to the smeers of dirt, oil, and grime on his face as well as his thoroughly drenched appreance - none of which he seemed even to notice, much less mind.
Angerily, he swiped at the bird with his clawed hand, caught one, which caused it to scream in pain and rage, and when it retaliated by diving at the wound on his forehead, Anakin went to yell at it and instead bathed it in fire. Oops - but handy. They fled, and he pulled the door open, panting a little.
"Chancellor?" Let's ignore the blood trickling down his face; he is. It's fine. He's also fair more of a dirty mess than Palpatine has ever seen him, matching the dirty, stained clothing he'd worn when they had first met
for the drama: Anakin *doesn't* know Palpatine is Sidious, he was on the way there!
The first cry for assistance only caught the edge of his hearing, the 'Please?' almost annoyed him for breaking his concentration, it was the 'Anyone?' that shook him to his senses, both his natural sense of compassion taking over and him recognizing the voice. He shot up, banging his head on the body of the motorcycle, ripped a scale off his skin, and let loose a string on impressive swears as he wiped the blood away, adding it to the smeers of dirt, oil, and grime on his face as well as his thoroughly drenched appreance - none of which he seemed even to notice, much less mind.
Angerily, he swiped at the bird with his clawed hand, caught one, which caused it to scream in pain and rage, and when it retaliated by diving at the wound on his forehead, Anakin went to yell at it and instead bathed it in fire. Oops - but handy. They fled, and he pulled the door open, panting a little.
"Chancellor?" Let's ignore the blood trickling down his face; he is. It's fine. He's also fair more of a dirty mess than Palpatine has ever seen him, matching the dirty, stained clothing he'd worn when they had first met