[Sounds like it makes for horrific laundry days, godspeed marc.
He starts at a decent clip, taking the stairs two at a time. Until the sound of shouting echoes down toward them. And yeah, that's a good a cue as any to pick up the pace.
Once upon a time, it was Robin’s job to be quick and bright and annoying. Scatter and distract the rogues while the big guy swoops in and manages the big guns and mops up behind. Now, he weighs his options and makes the deliberate choice to let Marc overtake him. Hangs back half a step when he clocks him picking up speed. Lets him take the door, first.
There’s more light, up top, but barely. The emergency EXIT signs flickering weakly here above the doors to the stairwells, casting most of the the hall in dim lurid red and long dark shadows. Not far down the hall is a likely culprit on the subject of problems—the broad bent shape of a man dragging a woman out of her room and into the hall, shouting something about what he's owed. Holding her by the wrist with one hand. The other fisted into her hair.
Doesn't take a genius to start working this one out.
The guy stops to look up, and his eyes find the most apparent offender—Marc, all in white, backlit by red. Opens his mouth to say something—probably to tell Marc to mind his own damn business.
So he doesn't see what's coming until it's way too late. Whatever he was going to say, it's cut off pretty abruptly. He drops the woman entirely to stumble backward, cursing a blue streak. A long, waved blade suddenly embedded to the hilt in his shoulder, his hand spasming.
Sure answers the question of whether or not Jason was armed. It's a pretty good throw at this distance, in this light. (Or, y'know. Lack thereof.) Also apparent: he's a lot more agile than he looks at a glance. With the element of surprise still (barely) on their side, he darts forward. Kicks off the wall to gain altitude and plants both of his boots on the guy's chest to drop him onto his back. The resulting crack sounds like it hurts.
The woman, wisely, takes the opportunity to stumble back away from the scuffle. There’s still movement, though, clearly audible through the open door.]
no subject
He starts at a decent clip, taking the stairs two at a time. Until the sound of shouting echoes down toward them. And yeah, that's a good a cue as any to pick up the pace.
Once upon a time, it was Robin’s job to be quick and bright and annoying. Scatter and distract the rogues while the big guy swoops in and manages the big guns and mops up behind. Now, he weighs his options and makes the deliberate choice to let Marc overtake him. Hangs back half a step when he clocks him picking up speed. Lets him take the door, first.
There’s more light, up top, but barely. The emergency EXIT signs flickering weakly here above the doors to the stairwells, casting most of the the hall in dim lurid red and long dark shadows. Not far down the hall is a likely culprit on the subject of problems—the broad bent shape of a man dragging a woman out of her room and into the hall, shouting something about what he's owed. Holding her by the wrist with one hand. The other fisted into her hair.
Doesn't take a genius to start working this one out.
The guy stops to look up, and his eyes find the most apparent offender—Marc, all in white, backlit by red. Opens his mouth to say something—probably to tell Marc to mind his own damn business.
So he doesn't see what's coming until it's way too late. Whatever he was going to say, it's cut off pretty abruptly. He drops the woman entirely to stumble backward, cursing a blue streak. A long, waved blade suddenly embedded to the hilt in his shoulder, his hand spasming.
Sure answers the question of whether or not Jason was armed. It's a pretty good throw at this distance, in this light. (Or, y'know. Lack thereof.) Also apparent: he's a lot more agile than he looks at a glance. With the element of surprise still (barely) on their side, he darts forward. Kicks off the wall to gain altitude and plants both of his boots on the guy's chest to drop him onto his back. The resulting crack sounds like it hurts.
The woman, wisely, takes the opportunity to stumble back away from the scuffle. There’s still movement, though, clearly audible through the open door.]