Re: promenade
The runner might have had something clever to say - how niceness didn't really matter anymore, and what did she know about safety? He might have dropped the bat. They might have sat down for tea together and chatted about her penchant for bringing the storm.
That doesn't happen. Instead, when the bat is ripped from his hands, when his first line of defense is disposed of with summary grace, power, and swiftness, he doesn't hesitate.
He turns on heel and runs, flat out, seeking the closest doorway down, and ducks into the stairwell.