[ the approaching footsteps didn't seem to register with the girl, but the voice absolutely does. she startles, eyes lifting to the stranger with a hunted sort of fear, and she scrambles around onto her ass so she can scoot back against the wreckage defensively. ]
I-, it wasn't my fault, [ she says, the first defense to mind - because as far as she's concerned, why would he be here if he didn't know what she's done? everyone has to know what she's done by now. ]
[ He's seen that look before, though it's difficult to place right in the moment. It's all parts wrecked, the kind of look you get when you're completely out of your element. It's the look that follows something that you can't change-- a look people miss in the favor of finding fault in someone. ]
I can call someone--
[ While urgent, the tone of his voice holds no obligations. He won't call any authorities without them being named as a request-- it doesn't seem like they'd do much to ease this girl's night anyway. ]
--or get you out of here, if you want.
[ He doesn't need to look back at the ruins of the house to know that nobody else will be crawling out of the rubble. The girl's face and only spoken words are enough confirmation that she's aware she's completely alone here. ]
[ it's a familiar look to this boy, and honestly, it's a somewhat familiar look for her to be wearing too. not quite so desperate, but then again, in desperate moments you don't think to proportion your desperation just in case the worst should happen. you just feel it, exude it with every part of you, with your tears and your begging. and it helps, usually. with mama, it always seemed to convince her of how bad carrie didn't want to be sin in the eyes of their lord (and even more than that, in the eyes of her own mother), and all of a sudden the harsh and hopeless scolding wouldn't seem quite so futile. like she was trapped underground and all of a sudden there was a ray of daylight, at least telling her she wasn't so far from the surface even if she didn't know how to reach it.
that light comes again now in the second half of his offer. and in turn, there's a change in carrie. a long look, like she's trying to figure out his angle. what he could possibly want from her, to offer her help like that. but then comes the siren, and by the sharp hunted look she shoots in that direction, you'd think it were coming down the street rather than some unseen distant location.
and then her eyes are back on this boy, on his offered help, and with a shuddering exhale she nods decisively. it's to the second offer, if that much isn't obvious by now as she hauls herself quickly to her feet, ready to follow him back to his bike. ]
[ He's sure of her answer as soon as he sees the life jolt to her face following the siren. It's the unmistakable urge to flee for survival, rising above all pride and reason. His own experiences don't call him to question what might be the trouble and if this girl is indeed the cause-- he's sprinting forward as soon as she rises, taking her arm as guidance as they cross the road. ]
Here, make sure to tuck your hair in under it. You won't be as easy to spot.
[ A black half-helmet is shoved into her hands: he assumes she will be able to take care of this part herself. Meanwhile, he hops on the bike, securing his own helmet as he makes sure it's steady, ready for a passenger to board. Feet still on the ground, Dylan turns his torso to offer the girl a hand up onto the bike.]
[ she wastes no time at all in taking the helmet, hesitating only a second to think before she holds it between her knees long enough to tilt her head upside-down and pile her hair on top of her head. then with her free hand, carrie quick pulls the helmet on over the messy damp heap, and a quick feel around her neck reveals only a few stray tufts of hair that escaped their dubious attempt at a disguise. adjusting the helmet with both hands, she turns to the boy and his bike now... right as he offers a hand.
carrie freezes, hands still on her helmet, eyes on the offered hand. all at once, her mind's reeling to the last boy who offered his hand - a very different sort of boy, cleaner and less of the rebel type, but he tried to help her too. and now he's dead. she can see it, see him lying there on the stage, his eyes were still open and everything -
but then the ever-persistent sirens break through, drag her back to the present. back to the reality of how badly she needs to not be here when someone shows up.
so she takes the offered hand, her own hand shaking more than a little, and hikes a leg up over the bike behind him despite that it hikes her night-dress up to her thighs. she can't help but think of how upset mama would be, but then carrie shoves that thought away too and wraps her arms around the boy's middle before she can change her mind. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I-, it wasn't my fault, [ she says, the first defense to mind - because as far as she's concerned, why would he be here if he didn't know what she's done? everyone has to know what she's done by now. ]
no subject
I can call someone--
[ While urgent, the tone of his voice holds no obligations. He won't call any authorities without them being named as a request-- it doesn't seem like they'd do much to ease this girl's night anyway. ]
--or get you out of here, if you want.
[ He doesn't need to look back at the ruins of the house to know that nobody else will be crawling out of the rubble. The girl's face and only spoken words are enough confirmation that she's aware she's completely alone here. ]
no subject
that light comes again now in the second half of his offer. and in turn, there's a change in carrie. a long look, like she's trying to figure out his angle. what he could possibly want from her, to offer her help like that. but then comes the siren, and by the sharp hunted look she shoots in that direction, you'd think it were coming down the street rather than some unseen distant location.
and then her eyes are back on this boy, on his offered help, and with a shuddering exhale she nods decisively. it's to the second offer, if that much isn't obvious by now as she hauls herself quickly to her feet, ready to follow him back to his bike. ]
no subject
Here, make sure to tuck your hair in under it. You won't be as easy to spot.
[ A black half-helmet is shoved into her hands: he assumes she will be able to take care of this part herself. Meanwhile, he hops on the bike, securing his own helmet as he makes sure it's steady, ready for a passenger to board. Feet still on the ground, Dylan turns his torso to offer the girl a hand up onto the bike.]
Come on, I'll help you.
hope you don't mind coming back to this
carrie freezes, hands still on her helmet, eyes on the offered hand. all at once, her mind's reeling to the last boy who offered his hand - a very different sort of boy, cleaner and less of the rebel type, but he tried to help her too. and now he's dead. she can see it, see him lying there on the stage, his eyes were still open and everything -
but then the ever-persistent sirens break through, drag her back to the present. back to the reality of how badly she needs to not be here when someone shows up.
so she takes the offered hand, her own hand shaking more than a little, and hikes a leg up over the bike behind him despite that it hikes her night-dress up to her thighs. she can't help but think of how upset mama would be, but then carrie shoves that thought away too and wraps her arms around the boy's middle before she can change her mind. ]