Acht clucked her affirmation. Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief--thank Arceus he wouldn't have to walk alone--but this relief was soon clouded with concern. He was walking with the two most abrasive members of the group (barring the cat), and he was the lowest on this pyramid. However, Ari didn't seem too keen on the idea of using him as bait, so that reassured the former show dog. But despite the caustic Archeops barely knowing Lancelot (save for his faux bravado and his faults), and clearly despising him, she still saw something morally wrong with using him as a lure. That was more than what he could say for Ibiza.
With a huff, Lancelot rose to his paws, stalking past the perplexed Glaceon. The sudden change in his usual submissive attitude stunned Ibiza, but he gave no external reaction. He followed with a brusque lash of his tail. Lancelot didn't bother stifling a growl at his precense. "The fuck's your problem?"
"You offered me as a meat shield," Lancelot spat, whirling around to meet his eyes. Ibiza remained stonefaced as he continued his rant, "that is the single most degrading act anyone could commit too. Even Ari, of whom abhors me, decided against that. What does that say about yourself?" Lancelot quivered with rage, swallowing the saliva that threatened to fall from his ensnarled lips. They could use him as a literal punching bag, but betrayal was one thing Lancelot would not tolerate. He didn't typically express fury in any form, but this injustice caused everything to bubble up within him until it boiled over. And Arceus, did it feel spectacular to let the sparks fly. Lancelot took advantage of this moment--the indignance making him feel indestructible, "you're a monster. So it's no suprise that you, the great and powerful Ibiza, would attack his own friend purely because he feels pity for himself." He shouldered past the tight-lipped Glaceon, taking his place beside Ari. "Let's go," hissed Lancelot.
"Ari," began Ibiza coolly, completely ignoring what had just transpired (which caused Lancelot to fume even more), "three floors above us is where I have sheltered." He craned his head skyward to emphasize. "That is the furthest I have been. My resources I have foraged will still be extended to you. I think that should be our first venture." Ibiza felt guilt rising, but he quashed it with the single thought that Lancelot, being in pursuit of the falsity of hope, was in the wrong and deserved to feel this way.