@fingersless / cont.
She gives both of them a quick once-over to check if they’re bleeding-- call her overly cautious, but she knows more than most just how easy it is to clock yourself with your own knee when you’re scared and moving-- and then the flashlight beam travels slowly over the doors, the button console, the ceiling. She stares up there for a few seconds that feels like ten minutes. She doesn’t need to motion for silence; the anxious downturn of her mouth makes it clear what she’s thinking. Is someone up there? But no, no, there’s nothing. No shifting of weight, no footsteps, no jiggling handles. She lowers the beam and fixes it on the button console again.
“-- I don’t know,” she says, hushed and hesitant. She swallows and forces herself to speak a little louder. If anyone’s waiting for them on the outside, it’s not like whispering will trick them into thinking the elevator is empty, is it? “I mean, there’s-- the emergency call, button, thing, and they have. Like. Safety cables and stuff, so, in theory, we could just hang out until somebody comes. And if we’re between floors...”
“... I mean. I’m just saying. This is exactly what happened in Final Destination 2. But if you think we can get out of here okay, then yeah, that gets my vote.”
