fumitory: (Default)
ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴᴏʟᴏɢɪsᴛ ([personal profile] fumitory) wrote in [community profile] wasteyard 2019-05-21 07:36 pm (UTC)

( looking ahead once again, Ben sees the girl headed decidedly in the direction of — shelter. a door, open, with its frame still structured and trustworthy to look at. with the speed that they're sprinting, it isn't far, and the shadows behind them aren't moving much faster than they themselves are.

once he clears the threshold, his hand is palm-pressed to the door above the girl's head, and they push it shut together with a definitive slam. Ben pins it with his shoulder in preparation of a fight that has no promise of coming yet, but in reality, he looks like he might collapse. not strictly from a sudden run — it's the startling stress that drains every ounce of his patience for this gripping moment.
)

...I'll work on the aim. ( Ben's voice is low in a flatly-apologetic way. in the dim, he glances at the teenager, which gives him even less detail to see than when they'd been outside at a distance. ) Are you— all right? ( an automatic sort of question — one he knows, only once he's spoken it, is likely stupid to ask, even if he is tuned in for the answer. )

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