It swipes out and Lancelot reels back a little, trying to avoid claws and the horrible acidic burn of its slime.

"Come on," he growls, and drips of the stuff are starting to make it difficult to step safely. He nearly treads in a blob of it and stumbles back just as the creature's hand swipes out, reels again and flails out with the bin.

This fight, he thinks absently, is quite possibly the strangest fight he has been in. If he survives the day he'll just have to hope it doesn't earn him some ludicrous nickname.