For Pyth

[littletoogray]

Okay, something went horribly, horribly wrong back there.

Caz reaches the stairs a little distance behind Pyth: first she was caught by surprise, and then her brief and painful battle with the coffee table cost her several seconds of precious chasing time.

Comments

[mad_patron]

Little-known fact: Pyth has some practice running up stairs.

She knows enough to take the first one a touch slower than she could, because five is enough that if she really guns it going up the first few she'll have to stop and rest before she's safe in her room.

The analytical part of her-- and it's a large part-- is watching all the little signs of exertion, waiting for her switch to flip so she'll remember how it felt and maybe know her limits for next time. It's not a question of whether or not she'll Hulk out, at this point; it's a question of whether or not she'll get to 513 first.

[littletoogray]

...Well, shit. Caz has sort of forgotten about the Hulk part. (And if you think this sounds implausible, then you really don't know her at all.)

She also does not live on the twenty-eighth floor of anything, so she's taking the steps two at a time from the very beginning. Oh god. That's going to give her a stitch like a mothafu--

--yeah, right there. In her defence, she does manage to reach the landing of the fourth floor before she has to stop and double over, swearing breathlessly.

[mad_patron]

By this time Pyth is halfway down the hall, at 506; she feels her bones start to stretch, which is far and away grosser than it sounds, and pelts the last few meters with her key already held carefully in fingers that grow by the moment.

She skids to a halt in front of her door, breathing heavily. The first try at the lock she almost drops the key, and she has to stop and try again, moving carefully because to do otherwise would probably mean breaking something.

There.

When she closes the door behind her, she is excruciatingly gentle, and turns the lock with barely a flick of her fingers before walking across the room to curl up on the floor next to her bed.

[littletoogray]

With her sharpened senses, she may become aware that the following sound is climbing slowly and none too quietly up the final flight of stairs:

"Ow ow fucking ow I fucking hate stitches why why why the world is cruel emo emo fuck."

Now who in the world could that be.