[ Oh, boy. The house is in flames around them, the air too hot to breathe and full of choking fumes and thick smoke that already feels like it's clogging up her lungs, and he is panicking. He is freezing up. He is one hundred percent not all there. Edward Little is staring at her with the wide, blank eyes of a deer caught in headlights, terrified beyond all reason or motion; the freeze response of a prey animal nailing him to the floor. She's about to smack him on the chest and yell breathe when some more fragile part of the house collapses with a sound like the world ending, and he startles almost out of his skin.
He curls towards her like she's some bastion between him and the flames, his voice cracking with pure animal fear and she is absolutely not the right person for this job, but she's the only one he's got. ]
Hey–
[ He's turned toward her now, and she grabs his lapels, fingers fisting in thick woolen fabric. But that doesn't seem like enough for the way his voice breaks, for the rising flood of panic under his words, and she lets go of his coat to catch his face between her hands instead, forcing him to meet her eyes. There's nothing gentle about the touch; she's one breath away from just slapping him to see if it'll snap him out of it.
She pushes every bit of certainty and bravado she's got into her own voice, as much as she can when she's coughing through poison fumes and smoke. ]
Hey. Look at me, look right at me. I am going to get you out, okay?
...Okay.
[ That last is more under her breath to herself as she lets go of him, casts quick, unnerved glances around them. Easier said than done. The room is almost pure flame now; she can barely see where the shapes of the fireplace or furniture or doors are. Everything is chaos and impossible, baking heat, and if they don't get out of here soon it's going to be a roll of the dice on whether they suffocate or burn to death first, or if the ammunition at her belt and in his gun explodes and they bleed out while suffocating and burning to death.
But there – she sees flames licking along the outer edges of the door that leads to the hall, and that's good enough for her, as long as she can get him moving. One arm goes around his back, the other curves ahead of her to shield her face, and she drags both of them down, trying to get him to bend or crouch with her, to get lower than the smoke as she coaxes him toward the doorway. The floorboards feel fragile as blown glass under her boots; hey, another way to die. Maybe they'll fall through to the basement and break their necks.
She ignores it, keeping her voice as calm and as loud as she can. ]
This way. Keep low, okay? Just come with me. I got you.
no subject
[ Oh, boy. The house is in flames around them, the air too hot to breathe and full of choking fumes and thick smoke that already feels like it's clogging up her lungs, and he is panicking. He is freezing up. He is one hundred percent not all there. Edward Little is staring at her with the wide, blank eyes of a deer caught in headlights, terrified beyond all reason or motion; the freeze response of a prey animal nailing him to the floor. She's about to smack him on the chest and yell breathe when some more fragile part of the house collapses with a sound like the world ending, and he startles almost out of his skin.
He curls towards her like she's some bastion between him and the flames, his voice cracking with pure animal fear and she is absolutely not the right person for this job, but she's the only one he's got. ]
Hey–
[ He's turned toward her now, and she grabs his lapels, fingers fisting in thick woolen fabric. But that doesn't seem like enough for the way his voice breaks, for the rising flood of panic under his words, and she lets go of his coat to catch his face between her hands instead, forcing him to meet her eyes. There's nothing gentle about the touch; she's one breath away from just slapping him to see if it'll snap him out of it.
She pushes every bit of certainty and bravado she's got into her own voice, as much as she can when she's coughing through poison fumes and smoke. ]
Hey. Look at me, look right at me. I am going to get you out, okay?
...Okay.
[ That last is more under her breath to herself as she lets go of him, casts quick, unnerved glances around them. Easier said than done. The room is almost pure flame now; she can barely see where the shapes of the fireplace or furniture or doors are. Everything is chaos and impossible, baking heat, and if they don't get out of here soon it's going to be a roll of the dice on whether they suffocate or burn to death first, or if the ammunition at her belt and in his gun explodes and they bleed out while suffocating and burning to death.
But there – she sees flames licking along the outer edges of the door that leads to the hall, and that's good enough for her, as long as she can get him moving. One arm goes around his back, the other curves ahead of her to shield her face, and she drags both of them down, trying to get him to bend or crouch with her, to get lower than the smoke as she coaxes him toward the doorway. The floorboards feel fragile as blown glass under her boots; hey, another way to die. Maybe they'll fall through to the basement and break their necks.
She ignores it, keeping her voice as calm and as loud as she can. ]
This way. Keep low, okay? Just come with me. I got you.