[Tossing is an accurate verb for it; she's hurtling faster than she would be running otherwise, thanks to the benefit of Trevor's added force, and as she gets to their vampire's side she has to actively remind herself that no matter how contrary to her natural instincts it might be, what she needs to focus on right now isn't the chaos all around them, but Alucard. Trevor will already be moving to protect her, she knows. Trevor will never let anything hurt them.
Which means that she has to put notions of fear out of her head, and focus on what matters instead. Alucard, in the basement of a monstrosity the same way she once was. Alucard, who needs her now like she'd needed him then.
He's a mess, and the wound to his thigh is an immediate problem from how close it's gotten to the artery. Carmilla's morningstar has left his trousers in tatters, which is actually almost a blessing because it makes it that much easier for her to assess the state of the wound.
(He wouldn't want her to touch his blood, she remembers grimly. They may not have that luxury, this time.)
He's a mess, he's unconscious and concussed and torn all to shreds, but he's still breathing. He's still breathing, and her own breath escapes her all in a rush, relief and horror and fright all mixed into one.]
Trevor, I don't know if we should move him...
[It's a question that's really meant to ask several different ones. Where is he, are they safe, what's happened. Do they even have the chance to bother trying to treat him here, or is the grim reality of the situation that they need to go whether they like it or not.]
no subject
Which means that she has to put notions of fear out of her head, and focus on what matters instead. Alucard, in the basement of a monstrosity the same way she once was. Alucard, who needs her now like she'd needed him then.
He's a mess, and the wound to his thigh is an immediate problem from how close it's gotten to the artery. Carmilla's morningstar has left his trousers in tatters, which is actually almost a blessing because it makes it that much easier for her to assess the state of the wound.
(He wouldn't want her to touch his blood, she remembers grimly. They may not have that luxury, this time.)
He's a mess, he's unconscious and concussed and torn all to shreds, but he's still breathing. He's still breathing, and her own breath escapes her all in a rush, relief and horror and fright all mixed into one.]
Trevor, I don't know if we should move him...
[It's a question that's really meant to ask several different ones. Where is he, are they safe, what's happened. Do they even have the chance to bother trying to treat him here, or is the grim reality of the situation that they need to go whether they like it or not.]