There are embers scattered over the stairs as he mounts them, crackling menacingly underfoot. He steps quickly. He has no idea what the soles of shoes are made of in the 50's or 60's, but it would be just his goddamn luck if it happened to be something that melts in contact with extreme heat. Each step upward hits him with another gust of hot air friction, the pressure increasing around his chest increment by aching increment.
This is a bad idea.
His respiratory system can't handle a whole lot of exertion on a good day. Don't people die from smoke inhalation.
Up, come on. Up. Up. Third story, third story. He grits his teeth. The air is hot and thick enough to sting his lungs with each rapid intake of breath. Ash clouds his eyes and sticks in his throat. His fingers have drawn into fists.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid to have even pulled a stunt like this that'll probably just end up getting them both killed.
The third floor's nearly disintegrated on one half, the floorboards blackened and burned away, but the other half is still stable. Stable enough.
He knows it's the guy on the fire escape the minute he sees him, a ragged dark slash barely visible from behind the sheeting flame. Fire escape. What an architectural joke.
Tim sucks in a breath to shout again but - god, fuck, what if that just startles him from his perch? It's not like it looks that stable of a place to hang from to begin with. And before he can reconsider, his lungs seize up and betray him, and he doubles up coughing.
ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
This is a bad idea.
His respiratory system can't handle a whole lot of exertion on a good day. Don't people die from smoke inhalation.
Up, come on. Up. Up. Third story, third story. He grits his teeth. The air is hot and thick enough to sting his lungs with each rapid intake of breath. Ash clouds his eyes and sticks in his throat. His fingers have drawn into fists.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid to have even pulled a stunt like this that'll probably just end up getting them both killed.
The third floor's nearly disintegrated on one half, the floorboards blackened and burned away, but the other half is still stable. Stable enough.
He knows it's the guy on the fire escape the minute he sees him, a ragged dark slash barely visible from behind the sheeting flame. Fire escape. What an architectural joke.
Tim sucks in a breath to shout again but - god, fuck, what if that just startles him from his perch? It's not like it looks that stable of a place to hang from to begin with. And before he can reconsider, his lungs seize up and betray him, and he doubles up coughing.