Re: [Portal: Holly & Noah]
The glass used in vehicle production was made so it wouldn't, like, shatter and pierce you. The rear window, the side ones, they were made to fall apart. Not into shards. Just into these little pebbles of glass. The windshield was just supposed to crack. It was cracked. Right now. Noah looked up, blood trickling down from a split on his cheekbone, bile drooling from his bottom lip, and saw a lightning bolt break sheeting through the windshield. The windows in the rest of the Jeep seemed to have blown outward, away from him, leaving some debris in the ditch and in the grass. Cold was rushing in, like water into an already-sinking ship, but Noah was freezing for a different reason altogether. Wherever Holly was was as cold as a crypt, and it was insinuating itself into him, making his teeth chatter. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline.
Noah didn't care about the windows. This far-off ringing was happening in the corner of his consciousness and it felt like he could only watch, sit back and just hold on, as Holly cut his lifeline. Noah shoved the Jeep into reverse and threw mud as he dragged himself out of the ditch in a squeal. The tires found the asphalt, latched on, and the Jeep was propelled forward again, wind whistling through it as loud as a whip-crack.—But, again, whatever. Noah knew the windows were him. The sudden uproar of alarms mingling with that mind-numbing buzz. He knew, if he kept screaming, mentally, he was going to do worse than that, so he worked to control his panic—and Holly's panic, as it wrestled inside of him, fighting to come out in a scream.
You have to get out of there. Listen to me. Focusing hard, Noah... tried to indicate where he was? It probably didn't work. Fine, okay. So, he searched. Through the morass of noise, unfiltered, he sought out Holly. It was like finding a candle in a snowstorm. Or maybe a candle in a house fire. Amid all the flames, there was only one he wanted. When he found him, his mind couldn't quite pin down where he was. He had a relative idea, but it was mixed up, like something turned on its head. And, fuck, did it give Noah a splitting headache. Noah pulled over before he fucking killed someone. His cheek was throbbing now and he put his palm over it as he closed his eyes and focused again. His mental voice was calmer this time. Coaxing, if tinny with fear. You need your helmet. That snow-ash stuff? Noah could feel it like a cloud in his lungs.