[ 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. ]
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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. ]