[ She's watching him, for obvious reasons — because she's worried, first and foremost, but it's also incredibly relieving to watch the lines of his face relax, his shoulder muscles losing the tension from moments ago. Blue eyes careful and searching for any sort of sudden changes that might occur, positive or negative, though she's careful not to move otherwise. It's peaceful right now, but she knows it's a fragile one.
— Though when the his lips quirk up, against all odds, it manages to diffuse some of her tension too. Relax her back, her arms, expression on her face softening to something that isn't quite a smile, but something close. It's a change from her usual spectrum ( especially, as of late ) of negative-neutral, the edges of it ... friendlier, despite the circumstances. All in all — an improvement. Her desperation working out to something more positive, even without their half-smiles ( an attempt was made, as unsuccessful as it looks like ); he's calmer, now.
And she would've been content to keep it that way, let the silence stretch for as long as it was necessary. The silence makes the thud from Jason's head making contact with the door sound louder than it was, snaps her attention back to reality; a good thing, considering she still can't be letting her guard down.
But right about then, all hell breaks loose.
Because once the silence shatters with a bang, the weight against her shoulder is gone. She's toppling over, one hand moving in an attempt to catch herself — but her other hand still has her fingers laced with his, and her movement is limited not just with the lack of limbs but in angle. Which means Lucina's shoulders hit before anything else, expression twisting up on impact; her adrenaline spikes, barely giving a glance upward ( she knows what they are, as much as she hopes otherwise ) before she's untangling her hand from Jason's, reaching for the ski bag —
By the time she manages to scramble away from the edge of the door, Falchion in hand and unsheathed, the dread kicks her in the gut. The infected — 4 of them, gods why — seem keen to attack, an animalistic growl ripping their throats— ] Get back!
[ He won't listen, but she tries anyway ( a familiar repertoire, in some ways ), her voice raised back as if they're on a battle field. She's running up to make up for the small lost distance, the flat side of her blade aiming for one of the attacker's heads. ]
dignity's for losers probably
— Though when the his lips quirk up, against all odds, it manages to diffuse some of her tension too. Relax her back, her arms, expression on her face softening to something that isn't quite a smile, but something close. It's a change from her usual spectrum ( especially, as of late ) of negative-neutral, the edges of it ... friendlier, despite the circumstances. All in all — an improvement. Her desperation working out to something more positive, even without their half-smiles ( an attempt was made, as unsuccessful as it looks like ); he's calmer, now.
And she would've been content to keep it that way, let the silence stretch for as long as it was necessary. The silence makes the thud from Jason's head making contact with the door sound louder than it was, snaps her attention back to reality; a good thing, considering she still can't be letting her guard down.
But right about then, all hell breaks loose.
Because once the silence shatters with a bang, the weight against her shoulder is gone. She's toppling over, one hand moving in an attempt to catch herself — but her other hand still has her fingers laced with his, and her movement is limited not just with the lack of limbs but in angle. Which means Lucina's shoulders hit before anything else, expression twisting up on impact; her adrenaline spikes, barely giving a glance upward ( she knows what they are, as much as she hopes otherwise ) before she's untangling her hand from Jason's, reaching for the ski bag —
By the time she manages to scramble away from the edge of the door, Falchion in hand and unsheathed, the dread kicks her in the gut. The infected — 4 of them, gods why — seem keen to attack, an animalistic growl ripping their throats— ] Get back!
[ He won't listen, but she tries anyway ( a familiar repertoire, in some ways ), her voice raised back as if they're on a battle field. She's running up to make up for the small lost distance, the flat side of her blade aiming for one of the attacker's heads. ]