[Wow, asking your patron for favors on his behalf. That’d kind of weirdly touching, actually. Not that he’s around to see it.
Around the back of the building, the vibes have yet to improve. Even with the code complete, his eyes stubbornly refuse to adjust through the darkness. The ghostly afterimage of the code persists past his efforts to blink past it. But worst is the prickle of paranoia still crawling its way up his spine. The feeling of eyes on his back.
Needless to say, he doesn’t like it. And then the shadows shift. Reaching strangely for his boots. He might not have even caught it if he wasn't feeling so keyed up all of a sudden. Habitual hyper-vigilance turned up to eleven. But he does—jerks back out of reach. The blackness...follows. Spills forward like spreading ink.
He gets moving.
He'd expected to have to navigate the rush of water escaping the building, but fortunately (fucking strangely,) he's saved the effort, because it funnels impossibly upward instead. Draining up into the sky like a weird-ass waterspout.
Instead, he follows the sound of coughing and skids around the corner of the doorway, splashing Adrian with yet-more floodwater in the process. No new bruises this time, but the controlled cuts he'd made earlier have been torn open. The pale rain-diluted pink that had been running down his arm has become a steady red, dripping steadily down from his fingertips. The hand that grabs for Adrian's shoulder to pull him through the threshold and into the street leaves stark smears behind. His cheeky attitude seems to have drained away with it, because his response is short and sharp.]
Move.
[Hi. Deep breaths. Good thing you're standing, bud, because they really don't have time to stop for cpr.]
don't discount his crimes, he worked hard on those!!!
Around the back of the building, the vibes have yet to improve. Even with the code complete, his eyes stubbornly refuse to adjust through the darkness. The ghostly afterimage of the code persists past his efforts to blink past it. But worst is the prickle of paranoia still crawling its way up his spine. The feeling of eyes on his back.
Needless to say, he doesn’t like it. And then the shadows shift. Reaching strangely for his boots. He might not have even caught it if he wasn't feeling so keyed up all of a sudden. Habitual hyper-vigilance turned up to eleven. But he does—jerks back out of reach. The blackness...follows. Spills forward like spreading ink.
He gets moving.
He'd expected to have to navigate the rush of water escaping the building, but fortunately (fucking strangely,) he's saved the effort, because it funnels impossibly upward instead. Draining up into the sky like a weird-ass waterspout.
Instead, he follows the sound of coughing and skids around the corner of the doorway, splashing Adrian with yet-more floodwater in the process. No new bruises this time, but the controlled cuts he'd made earlier have been torn open. The pale rain-diluted pink that had been running down his arm has become a steady red, dripping steadily down from his fingertips. The hand that grabs for Adrian's shoulder to pull him through the threshold and into the street leaves stark smears behind. His cheeky attitude seems to have drained away with it, because his response is short and sharp.]
Move.
[Hi. Deep breaths. Good thing you're standing, bud, because they really don't have time to stop for cpr.]