Quatre should have expected something to happen; not everyone could deal with 'our brothers from behind the stars', after all, between those who didn't believe their 'we are not Cetra, we are like you, left behind by the Cetra, really!' and those who don't want more players to the already complex local political game. Quatre did expect something to happen.
This does not make the (heavy, armored) car any less flipped around on it's side and listing dangerously toward the edge of this bridge. (He can see slums in the gloom, far underneath.)
He throws Trowa a glance -- Trowa's braced over Quatre with arms and legs, close to the one window the car isn't laying on, and he could wriggle out, probably -- but Trowa doesn't move even to wipe the blood off his own forehead, eyes intense and watchful, listening to faint metallic screeches that sound a little too much like rivets slowly being sheared off.
Trowa moving to get out might tip the car into the void (onto those shacks far underneath), but it's going to happen regardless. Quatre's leg is probably broken. He's tangled in the seatbelt. He's not going anywhere anyway. He stares at Trowa, harder, don't be stupid damn it.
Another bolt shears off. Metallic supports break clean with little pings. The car starts to list onto its back. "Trowa!"
And then something heavy lands on Trowa's door, and then car rocks back, a little, and then it -- and then --
and then metal screeches on concrete as something drags it back onto solid ground, one-two-three-yank, one-two-three-yank, and all the adrenaline trickles out of Quatre.
Unless this is one of the monsters they heard about. Um. That would probably be bad.
The face that peers through Trowa's window might have intensely golden eyes, shining even through the dark glass, but it is so achingly familiar there is no question.
"Right. Brace yourselves, I'm putting the car right side up."
They do, and he does, and Quatre swallows a groan when his leg is jolted, but he doesn't even mind. He's already laughing as Trowa opens his door and comes out, and when Wufei opens his own door and leans in he grins.
"Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Chang."
The man leaning in has midback-length hair and is wearing a strange sleeveless turtleneck and heavy belt that don't seem his style at all, and his eyes glow in the shade like lamps, but he rakes Quatre with the exact same old assessing glance and then smirks the exact same old smirk.
"It's First Class Chang to you, Winner." And then, more quietly, even as he fishes a hunting knife from his boot and hacks through the seatbelt -- more real, "It's nice to see you."
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This does not make the (heavy, armored) car any less flipped around on it's side and listing dangerously toward the edge of this bridge. (He can see slums in the gloom, far underneath.)
He throws Trowa a glance -- Trowa's braced over Quatre with arms and legs, close to the one window the car isn't laying on, and he could wriggle out, probably -- but Trowa doesn't move even to wipe the blood off his own forehead, eyes intense and watchful, listening to faint metallic screeches that sound a little too much like rivets slowly being sheared off.
Trowa moving to get out might tip the car into the void (onto those shacks far underneath), but it's going to happen regardless. Quatre's leg is probably broken. He's tangled in the seatbelt. He's not going anywhere anyway. He stares at Trowa, harder, don't be stupid damn it.
Another bolt shears off. Metallic supports break clean with little pings. The car starts to list onto its back. "Trowa!"
And then something heavy lands on Trowa's door, and then car rocks back, a little, and then it -- and then --
and then metal screeches on concrete as something drags it back onto solid ground, one-two-three-yank, one-two-three-yank, and all the adrenaline trickles out of Quatre.
Unless this is one of the monsters they heard about. Um. That would probably be bad.
The face that peers through Trowa's window might have intensely golden eyes, shining even through the dark glass, but it is so achingly familiar there is no question.
"Right. Brace yourselves, I'm putting the car right side up."
They do, and he does, and Quatre swallows a groan when his leg is jolted, but he doesn't even mind. He's already laughing as Trowa opens his door and comes out, and when Wufei opens his own door and leans in he grins.
"Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Chang."
The man leaning in has midback-length hair and is wearing a strange sleeveless turtleneck and heavy belt that don't seem his style at all, and his eyes glow in the shade like lamps, but he rakes Quatre with the exact same old assessing glance and then smirks the exact same old smirk.
"It's First Class Chang to you, Winner." And then, more quietly, even as he fishes a hunting knife from his boot and hacks through the seatbelt -- more real, "It's nice to see you."