[Maeve squeezes her eyes shut. Opens them. She studies Connor and remembers herself, too, the both of them wielding all of the stability of wounded prey.
He's right. Even if she wanted to argue, whatever compulsion still coursing through her blood would prevent her from it, anyway. She braces herself against the brick wall of the alleyway, breathing deeply but still standing: God knows if she'll get up again if she allows herself the luxury of a full stop.
She should be stronger than this-- caught her breath by now, unhindered by the pain. She'd changed those parameters herself. Something is definitely wrong.]
Which way? [There's blood on her cheek. Maeve scrubs it away with her palm, not taking the opportunity to note whether it's actually hers or not.] Don't suppose you know where the fuck we are, by the by, do you?
Down here and through the backstreets, but we'll need to get indoors as soon as possible. The main roads are already too dangerous, city exits will be blocked... and if they haven't already, they'll probably call for backup. Patrol all area in a radius of at least a few miles — I would.
(he stresses this because it's important; he has experience with it. not the exact situation by any means, but he'd be acting on their side of the coin. connor knows he'd have called the crash in, demanded that they sweep the entire area, neutralized the hostiles, and made sure to get some eyes in the sky. all neatly within a half-hour's timeframe.
connor's neck cranes to stare up, the narrowing of his eyes almost expectant. how much time do they really have before they're being washed with searchlights?)
As for where we are... I... I don't know. I can't remember and I should, but I'm— (breathing; he's never had to do that before and now he has to stop every few sentences to wait for his body to catch up.) There must be some mistake I made somewhere, something I missed. These drugs shouldn't have this effect on me...
(a glance back at her, brows drawn together in a frown.)
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busemox2018-08-28 09:47 am
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He's right. Even if she wanted to argue, whatever compulsion still coursing through her blood would prevent her from it, anyway. She braces herself against the brick wall of the alleyway, breathing deeply but still standing: God knows if she'll get up again if she allows herself the luxury of a full stop.
She should be stronger than this-- caught her breath by now, unhindered by the pain. She'd changed those parameters herself. Something is definitely wrong.]
Which way? [There's blood on her cheek. Maeve scrubs it away with her palm, not taking the opportunity to note whether it's actually hers or not.] Don't suppose you know where the fuck we are, by the by, do you?
[All the more they need to keep moving.]
no subject
(he stresses this because it's important; he has experience with it. not the exact situation by any means, but he'd be acting on their side of the coin. connor knows he'd have called the crash in, demanded that they sweep the entire area, neutralized the hostiles, and made sure to get some eyes in the sky. all neatly within a half-hour's timeframe.
connor's neck cranes to stare up, the narrowing of his eyes almost expectant. how much time do they really have before they're being washed with searchlights?)
As for where we are... I... I don't know. I can't remember and I should, but I'm— (breathing; he's never had to do that before and now he has to stop every few sentences to wait for his body to catch up.) There must be some mistake I made somewhere, something I missed. These drugs shouldn't have this effect on me...
(a glance back at her, brows drawn together in a frown.)
Sorry, Maeve.