Arcade huffs out a breath, more effort than sarcastic amusement - but there's maybe a hint of the latter in it, still. "No, I thought I'd try shaking its hand..."

It's a relief to drop the table, shoving it across unbroken floor easier than lifting and shuffling around. There's no clean break when it hits the door, though the creature makes a pained sound and the caught tentacle whips around dangerously as the doors close on it.

Arcade jumps back, surreptitiously checking his arms (well, the visibly human pair, at least) for any snags in his coat sleeves where it might've caught him. "Good enough. Let's get out of here."