[ Would that he were a boy scout, or indeed the recipient of any kind of official survival training. Maybe he would have constructed a better, more functional harness for Steve, or he could manufacture some kind of lever, or set a fire for more help or something. As it is, even though Quentin knows someone is coming down to the where he's bending sore-spined trying to haul Steve up, his whole body jerks at the touch on top of his head. Prepared for everything, as if.
[ One bloodied hand swipes at Billy's arm reflexively, wide and watery eyes snapping up to him from here he kneels. Quentin's gaze jerks down to the shadow of Steve below, back up to the newcomer. ]
You're--Billy. [ He's sure of it, because of some low rumblings about the man from Steve, because he can't imagine a single other person who would call Steve that with so little investment. That jerky gaze sweeps Billy's arms and chest and thighs, back up to his face. ] He's half-frozen. I'm trying to get him up, but I'm not built like that. Maybe with the two of us...
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[ One bloodied hand swipes at Billy's arm reflexively, wide and watery eyes snapping up to him from here he kneels. Quentin's gaze jerks down to the shadow of Steve below, back up to the newcomer. ]
You're--Billy. [ He's sure of it, because of some low rumblings about the man from Steve, because he can't imagine a single other person who would call Steve that with so little investment. That jerky gaze sweeps Billy's arms and chest and thighs, back up to his face. ] He's half-frozen. I'm trying to get him up, but I'm not built like that. Maybe with the two of us...