This guy. His quick,crooked grin in his grime-smeared face like something catching under a streetlight.
He just walked into a burning building for you, so you'd better fucking move.
Question it later, just move.
Eliot wipes at his face, streaked with sweat and ash and tears, and makes a sound that could be a snort but ends up somewhere around a wheeze.
"Sounds like a terrible choice to me, man." There's a tension around his mouth that's trying really hard to be a grin as he shuffles his way back toward the guy from the alley and the open window and the burning shitheap he just stepped out of.
"But. Uh. Lucky for me, you make terrible choices. I don't exactly feel like jumping today. So." He swallows and jerks his head at the window. A sagging mouth belching smoke. He raises his brows, his lips twitch.
"Ready?"
He's not ready. There's no getting ready for this.
The smoke is thicker inside, more concentrated. Every movement aches, makes him feel like he's wound too tight to move inside, like he's a clockwork winding down. He's pretty sure he's going to quit smoking if he makes it out of this. He's pretty sure he's going to owe this guy for a good, long time, too. He just hopes he hasn't just gotten this poor, dumb bleeding-heart bastard killed.
Think about that later.
Right now, one step at a time. Literally. He picks his way through the flaming hull of a hallway over floorboards that jut ragged and black, chewed through by the blaze.
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He just walked into a burning building for you, so you'd better fucking move.
Question it later, just move.
Eliot wipes at his face, streaked with sweat and ash and tears, and makes a sound that could be a snort but ends up somewhere around a wheeze.
"Sounds like a terrible choice to me, man." There's a tension around his mouth that's trying really hard to be a grin as he shuffles his way back toward the guy from the alley and the open window and the burning shitheap he just stepped out of.
"But. Uh. Lucky for me, you make terrible choices. I don't exactly feel like jumping today. So." He swallows and jerks his head at the window. A sagging mouth belching smoke. He raises his brows, his lips twitch.
"Ready?"
He's not ready. There's no getting ready for this.
The smoke is thicker inside, more concentrated. Every movement aches, makes him feel like he's wound too tight to move inside, like he's a clockwork winding down. He's pretty sure he's going to quit smoking if he makes it out of this. He's pretty sure he's going to owe this guy for a good, long time, too. He just hopes he hasn't just gotten this poor, dumb bleeding-heart bastard killed.
Think about that later.
Right now, one step at a time. Literally. He picks his way through the flaming hull of a hallway over floorboards that jut ragged and black, chewed through by the blaze.