closed

[heisenbitch]

Who: Jesse Pinkman & Ronan Lynch; Jesse Pinkman & Joseph Kavinsky; Jesse Pinkman & Noah Czerny; Jesse Pinkman & Andyr Prince. (Will set up more starters if anyone wants one!)
When: Post-Moira crash into the Midway Hub
Where: Around the camp set up
What: #justpostwhatthefuckthings
Note: Warnings for swearing and other stuff I'll edit in if necessary. If anyone wants to do post-crash things with Jesse, shoot me a PM and I'll toss up a starter for you!

☲ closed to ronan

[ One of the things Jesse managed to salvage of his own belongings from the Moira was the tent he'd received upon being promoted to Tiruncula rank a month or so ago. It's pitched shoddily among other crew members' tents pitched nearby, a slipshod effort on Jesse's part with how little he really knows about camping. Not that it matters, not that Jesse even cares. Hours have blurred on by since the ship went down, and Jesse has steadily descended from blind adrenalised terror into a state of shock-induced apathy; all the horrific things he's seen has anesthesised him into an eerily indifferent calmness.

Sitting crosslegged just outside his tent, there's a cigarette dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up from the lit end, while he's washing his hands in a dented camping saucepan of water that he'd managed to acquire. Barefoot and dressed in just his filthy jeans, his equally filthy blood-caked t-shirt is lying in a heap beside him. The water is cold, shocking against his skin; goosebumps rise across his arms and chest as he scrubs water up along his forearm, washing away dirt and dried blood as best he can with what little water he has available to him. He focuses on the task like he hasn't got a care in the world, like nothing horrific or traumatising has taken place.

Realising someone is approaching him, slowing down in front of him, Jesse glances up with a puff on his cigarette. It's Ronan. Smoke billows from around the cigarette pursed between his lips as Jesse peers up at Ronan with a look that's full of acknowledgement, yet unreactive; that same eerily indifferent calmness. Turning his attention back down to what he's doing, he remarks around his cigarette with a curt casualness that's entirely out of place with the whole situation: ]

'Sup?

☲ closed to kavinsky

[ On the very outskirts of the makeshift camp set up by all the crew, away from the bustle of crew members and the grim reminders of everything that led up to the ship crashing, Jesse loiters in near darkness, smoking one of his last cigarettes. The only light thrown on him comes from the camp itself, dim and indistinct; the tip of his cigarette glows red and bright in the murky shadows with each drag.

That shock-induced apathy hasn't really lifted. As he stands on the edge of the camp, he watches the camp from this safe distance with an impassive casualness. Disconnected from it all, like a spectator to a situation that he's watching on a screen rather than a part of. That's not to say there isn't an endless hum of trembling anxiety trapped beneath the surface, waiting to tear through his bubble of indifference; that's not to say that his hands aren't constantly sweaty, or that his heart isn't constantly racing. But he seems disconnected even from that.

He stands slouched on the spot, hand shoved in his pocket, other hand bringing his cigarette up for a drag and then dropping away to his side with a flick of ash. It's like he's standing on a street corner and not on the edge of a camp that's stranded on a planet on the edge of the universe. However, a noise nearby has Jesse snapping his head towards it, eyes suddenly alert and sharp. He exhales a plume of smoke, shoulders tensing up while he peers into the darkness. Another noise, like a twig snapping under someone's shoe. ]

...Hey, who the fuck's there, yo?

☲ closed to andyr

[ A few days have passed since the crash, in whatever way that "days" can be defined on this alien planet. Where Jesse, during the first couple of days, had been eerily apathetic in the face of so much trauma and terror, that shock has been slowly subsiding, giving way to a benumbed yet anxious helplessness rotting away inside of him. The only thing for it has been to keep busy, and god knows there's plenty to do. Not that Jesse is skilled in any of the areas needed most, but if Mr. White taught him anything outside of manufacturing meth and applying himself, it's taking inventory.

So, that's what he's been doing: throwing himself into the task when and where he's needed. Taking stock of the supplies salvaged by noting each item down on a clipboard, and moving said supplies to designated inventory areas. He's an exhausted wreck, having barely slept, barely eaten, but keeping busy keeps the churning storm of helpless panic all knotted up inside him contained.

It's when the stocktaking hits a lull in productivity, while those in charge work out how to inventory new supplies recovered from the Moira, that Jesse, bitten with a desperate nicotine craving, heads through the makeshift camp to find a secluded spot. He hovers near the edge of a cluster of tents, cigarette pursed between his lips and lighter igniting the tip, and it's when he draws in a deep, grateful hit of cigarette smoke that his eyes land on a familiar face. Andyr, sitting alone. A face Jesse hasn't been able to forget. Unspeakable horrors he hasn't been able to forget. Jesse hangs back, loitering in the dim shadows, wondering if he ought to approach the guy at all. And then, eventually, he hesitantly starts towards Andyr. ]

Hey, man.

[ An equally hesitant greeting as he comes to a stop at a respectful distance from Andyr. ]

☲ closed to j

[ It's late, dark. Half the camp is asleep, or at least trying to sleep, in their cramped little tents and makeshift shelter fashioned out of salvageable materials from the Moira. Jesse isn't asleep, though. Sitting outside his tent, he's chewing on his fingernails anxiously in between taking drags of his cigarette, looking this way and that. Seeming to be looking out for someone. That someone being Daisy. He hasn't seen her and he doesn't know where she is, and he can't seem to contact her over the MID. He's worried. She knows where his tent is, though, having camped with him in it the first night of the crash. It's why he's sitting here waiting for her, looking out for her: maybe she'll show up.

As he takes another edgy drag of his almost-finished smoke, everything about him seeming restless and fidgety even though he's sitting still, he throws a glance the other way and spots J up ahead. Heading towards him, it would seem. ]

Comments

cw rape joke

[pillz]

[there's a needle of a flashlight beam in the dark, sweeping the ground, a split-second before it's suddenly shining directly into jesse's face. bright enough to blind him. footsteps come closer, but it's just the one set, two feet printing steps one after another on dark, alien turf. and underneath the noise of long strides--

— laughter, inevitably. and by now, maybe the sound of kavinsky's laughter is even familiar, low and raspy and racking, an oily sound despite how dry it is. like it badly needs moisturizer. his face emerges out of the harsh light a moment later, when he drops the flashlight a few inches, throws jesse a wave. he looks better than he had the last time they spoke, once upon a puke, not far from a ship's crashing.]

You could stick to well-lit areas, [he says.] Or carry a rape whistle.

[heisenbitch]

[ The painful glare of the flashlight flooding his vision has Jesse squinting with a flinching grimace. And then that laugh. Not that Jesse is familiar with the person that laugh belongs to, outside of what Ronan has told him and what Jesse witnessed when the Moira was crashing. Kavinsky is the first person that he associates with that laugh, however, and his guess is right when Kavinsky finally comes into view.

Even through Jesse's benumbed, shock-induced apathy, a stab of apprehension clutches at him. Scary, creepy ass fucking kid. Who also saved his ass. In the most insane, over-the-top way that Jesse still can't wrap his head around. In effort to play off his unease at this kid suddenly be around him, he retorts to that rape whistle remark: ]

Way you creeped up on me like that just then, probably whipping one of them out would just make you think I was being optimistic. [ He lifts his hand to his face, fingers and thumb pressing into his eyes in futile effort to staunch the strobing afterimage of the flashlight burned temporarily into his vision. ] Jesus. You little shit.

[pillz]

[a beat.]

That's totally fucking true. [kavinsky sounds delighted. his hollow, heavy-lidded eyes crinkle up, appreciative of this fine comedic offering. he swings his flashlight around again, briefly checking the terrain, before he angles the beam squarely at jesse's chest. just near enough jesse's face that he can make out the older man's funny grimace and track the changes. he doesn't know what ronan sees in him. no offense.

ronan just tends to seem to prefer them either golden or angry in the driver's seat. and kavinsky can think that without even knowing about adam parrish (he will never know about adam parrish. ever.) (it's a dubious curse.).] You look like shit. What's wrong with you?

[besides crash-landing on an alien planet after x months in deep space. or that's apparently an inadequate excuse.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse tentatively stops rubbing his blinded eyes and stretches them open wide with a blink as he peers around. The darkness all around him and the afterimage burned into his vision is starting to fade. So, Jesse throws Kavinsky a flat look as the kid seems to delight in his stupid response. Still attempting so hard to keep that unease crawling under his skin hidden. He squints when the flashlight is suddenly trained on him again, expecting to be blinded once more. Thankfully not this time.

There's such an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance going on here for Jesse: knowing this kid, according to what Ronan has told him, is a psycho, yet begrudgingly grateful that the kid saved his ass. So, he's looking Kavinsky like he's sizing him up, trying to work him out. That is, until the kid obnoxiously asks him that question: what's wrong with him? What's it matter to you, jerkwad? is the immediate thing that springs to Jesse's mind. But.

Instead, he's throwing a sarcastic glance around him, at where they are. ]

Jeez, I dunno. I mean… it's just a night like any other night, right? [ A mock nonchalant show of hands as he motions to their surroundings, to the camp, the destroyed ship. Pointedly very, "like I gotta point the obvious out to you, asswipe". ] Just, y'know. Hangin' out in E.T.'s creepy ass crib, a gazillion light-years from our home planet's asshole. [ Swinging that sarcastic look back on Kavinsky. ] I mean, no big, right?

[ Followed by a drag of his cigarette. ]

powerpose & intuition/infomoddyness, lmk if not ok i can adjust easily

[pillz]

No big, [kavinsky agrees, pleasantly. the beam of the flashlight falls further, sliding a vague patch of warmth down jesse's person, until it ends up roughly on his groin. kavinsky isn't looking down though. he's merely studying the older man, casually, looking almost bored. there is definitely something wrong with kavinsky, but it's hard to put your finger on it when he's merely standing there in the dark, clutching a light in front of the tents like a kid on a widdle adventure, failing utterly to be a monster.

and maybe it's still hard to put your finger on it when he steps nearer, his skinny fingers nipping out to take the cigarette out of jesse's mouth, momentarily exploiting the older man's blindness. he sets it to his own lips, taking a long drag. when he exhales, it's right into jesse's face, a smarting cloud of smoke and a familiar shade of warmth.]

You're pretty straight, [he observes. he turns the cigarette in his fingers, smiles beatifically, and ducks his head slightly to try and aim the cancer stick back into jesse's mouth. his fingers promise to be coarse and faintly salty against jesse's lips.] How fucking straight, is the question.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan comes bearing gifts. With a blanket serving as a makeshift sack slung over one shoulder, he sinks down next to Jesse and immediately begins to unpack the thing: one beer bottle for Jesse and another for Ronan, a pack of cigarettes, a bag of Funyuns, and a replica of the shirt Jesse was wearing when he was cradling Ronan's dying body in his arms (sans nightmare oil stains). He doesn't say anything while he does this, but once it's all on display, he sits back and pops open his beer bottle.]

We need a shower around here, don't we.

[And what he means by that is, I need to make a shower around here, don't I. He's eyeing the remaining blood on Jesse's arms and the pinkish water he's bathing in. This camp is a shitty place for non-dreamers.]

[heisenbitch]

[ Ronan seating himself down next to him isn't what Jesse expects, and he definitely doesn't expect Ronan to be ladened with gifts. Jesse peers at him, incredulous, a wet hand coming up slowly to take the cigarette from between his lips while Ronan reveals what's within the confines of the blanket. His eyes drift down to the goods now spread out in front of them like a wordless offering of presents, then lift back up to Ronan.

Just like that, through the haze of his shock-induced indifference, a weak and fragile and dying Ronan, death and nightmares leaking out of him like rot, belatedly erupts in Jesse's mind. He quickly looks down at the saucepan of dirtying water, returning the cigarette to his lips. ]

We're all gonna be bathing our own piss at this rate. [ Commented with the smoke dangling from his lips, water splashing while he rubs and washes his hand up along his other forearm. Unless Ronan can dream up things like showers, which Jesse does fleetingly wonder.

But then, he's casting a sidelong glance at Ronan. Just eyeing him with curious uncertainty. ]

[nightmarist]

Not me.

[Which should probably settle Jesse's doubts about that. Ronan's staring back at Jesse in his intense, unbroken way. If he's fragile in any sense, it's totally obscured in this moment.]

Not you, either. You also won't starve. Or run out of smokes. I thought you should know, in case you were pissing yourself over it.

[heisenbitch]

[ Such an intense stare that Jesse sees a different side to after what he'd watched Ronan go through. Why is Ronan doing this, though? As some kind of repayment? Jesse doesn't want repayment. It's not like he deserves it.

He pauses in washing his arms to reach back up to his cigarette. He takes a deep drag before pulling it from his lips. Still with the utterly numb indifference deadening everything inside him, his response is dismissive: ]

There're other crew members who need those sorta things way more than I do.

[nightmarist]

[Ronan lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.]

I don't care about them and they'd put me in a cage if they knew my secret. If you don't want any more shit, then I won't bother you, but don't expect me to be giving it to anyone else. I'd prefer to live my life without some desperate mob trying to harvest my brain.

slams this in here as requested

[deadthing]

[It's a few days post-crash before Noah makes an appearance, somewhere on the outskirts of camp. He stands there looking around for a minute, apparently taking it all in, but if anyone notices and waves to him or calls out he doesn't respond. Then, quite suddenly, he cries out.

Just once. A cry of pain and surprise. His head jerks back, rocked by an invisible blow. The next one shuts him up. He stumbles as the unseen force keeps up its assault and eventually falls to the ground where he kicks and writhes and claws at the earth. The sounds he makes are... awful. Not screaming anymore, but wheezing. Whimpering. It hurts so much. His movements slow and become weaker. Eventually they stop altogether.]

so rude

[heisenbitch]

Noah!

[ Jesse breaks out into a run when he spots the kid. Jesus, he's been keeping an eye out for Noah the past few days, wondering where he'd gotten to, wondering with creeping dread if the ship crashing somehow severed Noah from the energy that made him as whole as a dead boy could be. But that doesn't matter now because, thank god, there he is.

Jesse calls out to him again, and again as he nears. Noah doesn't seem to hear him, though. Jesse slows in his tracks, confused at what Noah is looking around at - and comes to an abrupt stop when Noah lets out that scream. ]

Noah! [ Shouting out to him in alarm, in confusion. Horror creeps onto Jesse's face as Noah seems to be attacked by some unseen force. It's a haunting, sickening thing to watch, like Noah is trapped in some hallucinatory trance. Like Jesse is watching something he shouldn't be watching. The noises Noah is making; the agonised pain in those whimpers; the way he's crawling and clawing at the ground, trying to escape whatever unseen thing is inflicting itself on him.

The moment those screams go silent along with Noah lying as still as death, Jesse's feet launch himself into a run towards him. Those whimpers and screams are echoing through his head, and Jesse's eyes are burning with the threat of tears as he fast approaches the boy lying lifeless on the ground. ]

Noah. Noah—!

[deadthing]

[He's as dead as dead can be. But only for a moment. He's on the ground and then, with no transition, he's standing in front of Jesse looking utterly unaffected by the ordeal. Maybe a little confused as to how he got here, but that's it.]

Hey, man.

[...Is it just him or does Jesse seem upset? He rubs the back of his neck, half an unconscious mirror of Jesse's usual nervous gesture and half his own.] Everything okay?

[heisenbitch]

[ Jesse skids to a stop, shoes sliding and crunching into the stones and dry earth underfoot, the moment Noah just suddenly appears right in front of him. That horrified, bewildered look on Jesse's face is even more bewildered. What the fuck. What the fuck?!

It's a look frozen on Jesse's face that makes it obvious that he's just seen something awful. Frightening. Utterly out of this world, or the world they're currently stuck in, anyway. Tears are brimmed in his eyes, unshed, and his shoulders are tense like he's about to back right the hell away from Noah. He's speechless. ]

[deadthing]

[The thing about these gruesome flashbacks—the best and worst thing, really—is that he never remembers them. It's like he's sleepwalking. So while he can see that everything is obviously not okay, can feel the horror coming off Jesse in waves, he has nothing to connect it to.

The last thing he does remember is the crash... how long has it been since then? Could it be that Jesse was worried about him when he didn't turn up with the other survivors?]

I'm okay. I'm already dead, remember? I saw you guys get off the ship and then I just... went away for a while.

[deconstruct]

[ ah. awkward.

it's not every day someone watches you scream and crying and seizing in agony, unless you're Andyr Prince, and you're currently in House Hapsburg, and those people watching at typically doctors and lab techs. but they weren't in Hapsburg, and Jesse is far from any kind of doctor, and yet, he'd done far more to ease Andyr's pain that absolutely anyone in those labs have every so much as attempted. Sans Posie and Alva, he supposes, but one of those was strapped to another table and the other was typically miles away in Gloriana any time an operation was happening, only left to stitch together the aftermath.

it's been a long time since andyr's felt some kind of self-conscious about that, or felt awkward in the presence of anyone like that, knowing they're all typically aware of what happens and why, but coming to the Moira has changed everything in what Andyr understands about the world around him and how to interact with its people. For a long, quiet moment, he says nothing, just starts at the man. Eventually, he grunts out a word. ]

Hey.

[ eloquent, and he goes back to studying him. while it'd all been a blur of torturous hallucinations, clouded confusion, and desperate panic, he remembers the medbay, and jesse dragging him there. how he's hung around and done all he could to help, once alva took over the medical care. andyr thinks he remembers holding onto his hand at some point, and murmured conversation with hitched tempos, andyr concentration on keeping his voice steady as he'd listened to jesse ramble. a lot more than anyone had attempted to give him, really. ]

Sorry for the nightmare fuel. And slapping you. [ at least, he thinks he slapped him at some point. he might have just been feeling the urge to. the mind's never that reliable when you go fucking around with nervous systems. ]

[heisenbitch]

[ Through the silence of being stared at, Jesse wonders, as he lifts a hand to uneasily rub the back of his neck, if he ought to just leave the guy be. In fact, he's just about to turn and slink away, pretend he hadn't just interrupted him, when the guy finally answers. And apologises. ]

Oh. Nah, man. It's-It's cool. [ It really isn't cool; it's far from cool. It's an awkward as hell answer, too, the way Jesse says it. ]

I, um. Can see you're doin' better, at least. That's what matters, right?

[ Still awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck; a habit of his when he's anxious or uneasy. ]

[deconstruct]

[ yeah, this is awkward as absolute fuck, and if it were a conversation with any other random stranger, andyr would just get up and walk away, really. but jesse did do something for him that was beyond kind. just calling medbay for him would be what most would do, probably. bare minimum for a person to be satisfied with calling themselves a decent human being. jesse stapled his fucking skin closed. speaking of-- ]

I heal fast. The whole thing's only a scar now. [ he does think to show him for a second, because andyr is just one of those show and tell kids, but thinks better of it, considering the whole nightmare fuel thing. ]

Meant to tell you that earlier, but. You know.

[ he was too busy being in agony. ]

[heisenbitch]

[ A few months ago, Jesse would have squinted at Andyr in confused incredulity about healing fast. Hell, a few months ago, he would have freaked so bad at seeing Andyr's back ripping open that he would have legged it the other way in terror, most likely. Amazing what a few months of being trapped in space with nightmare after nightmare can do, because all Jesse does is raise his brows like, 'Ah... I see. Cool, I guess'. Perhaps that's also a muted response from everything that's happened, though. What the fuck can possibly surprise him after all of that.

A final squeezing rub at the back of his neck before his hand falls away to his side. ]

I'll, uh. I'll keep that in mind the next time I gotta save your ass.

[ A weak attempt at a wry joking smile. It fades almost immediately. Jesse looks down, reaching a hand into his pocket while scuffing a shoe against the ground to fill an awkward pause, and he pulls his cigarettes out. He opens the pack and, about to pull a smoke out, he pauses and glances up at Andyr. He hesitates, then holds the pack out in offer. ]

Wanna smoke?

[ Definitely not something he'd just offer. After what this guy has been through, though, he's deserves it. If he smokes. ]

[deconstruct]

[ andyr's humor happens to be on the wry side anyway, so the weak joke earns an amused snort, andyr lifting a brow at him ]

Don't worry about it. You caught me on a bad day - I don't usually need saving. [ well, he tries not to need saving. the entire issue with his home world was that he did and no one would, but that's on a scale of impossibility. andyr doesn't consider inevitability to be on the saving chart, and as far as the moira is concerned, he saves himself just fine more often than not.

while jesse nervously rummages, andyr's watching him with the kind of non-distracted stare he gives everyone, the typical courtesy of refraining from so openly examining a person entirely removed from him. tact isn't something he'd cared about in a very long time. a lot of things aren't, and the purpose of that churns in his head. jesse'd seen more of the reality of his life in those couple hours of rescue and surgery than most people on the ship know anything about, save for the two that came with him. he wonders how much of a freak show he must seem like. maybe he should just get up and leave to spare this guy the awkward attempts at polite conversation.

but, he offers the smoke, and while andyr doesn't smoke, and has never tried to, the willingness to stick with present company has him shrugging, reaching out a hand. ]

Sure. [ this is going to be a terrible idea. just like shotgunning vodka was. ]

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

[It's late and J hadn't even considered about going to sleep. She's more than aware of her lack of 'practical' survival skills in this kind of surroundings so she didn't even bother putting any energy into waste by trying to set up a tent for herself. So after the crash she had mostly just wandered around the camps and near the wreckage, minding her own business and well.. frankly, getting wasted.

It had all started from just pouring a one mocking drink for the ship's memory but then one drink had turned into two, then three and so on. There was lot of mixed feelings about losing Moira and the recent events that had happened there, the whole husk thing and shooting, torturing and almost killing, people who had trusted her. It was real big mess and while alcohol didn't exactly help with erasing them it still brought this nice numbness and made things much easier to handle.

She's in the comfortable nearly lulling state of post drunkenness, where she can still feel warm tingling in tip of her toes and cheeks, when she spots no one else but Moira's very own junkie. Jesse Pink-something. Now, she didn't really care for the guy that much but her own lighter had gone out several hours ago and she's simply craving for a smoke.

So, with a light and swaying she approaches him, digging out her cigarette case while flashing him a charming smile.]

Hello, stranger in the night. Care to help lady out here?

[heisenbitch]

[ Ah, man. She looks wasted. Jesse watches J approach with that off-kilter sway to her step, that alcohol-hazy look in her pretty eyes and ruddy on her cheeks. He looks down, exhaling smoke and chewing anxiously on his lower lip, then looks back at J. When she's stopped by him, he peers up at her while fidgeting his cigarette restlessly between his fingers.

Damn that charming smile of hers, though. Even if Jesse seems way too distracted to appreciate it. Not that this is the time and place to appreciate such trivial things after everything has happened. Jesse wonders how much that charming veneer she's putting on right now is due to the alcohol numbing her senses, and how much that charming smile is a veneer to cover up the same devastation almost everyone is feeling in light of everything that's happened. ]

Uh. Depends. [ He sounds distraction more than hesitant as he considers her question. His eyes lower to the cigarette case. ] Why, need a light?

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

[It's a smile that she's carefully perfected and mastered that she can easily pull off no matter how drunk. A charming smile that is meant to bring the audience down on their knees and captivate their eyes and attention solely on her. J's always known what men liked.]

You must be a mind reader. [She let's out a light laughter and squats down in front of him, digging out one of her few remaining smokes. Fortunately, she has more packed away inside the new disc they've given but not even those are going to last long -- especially if she's keeping up her pace.]

Now, want to be my hero for the night and share some of that fire?

[heisenbitch]

[ With her crouched down in front of him now, Jesse fishes his lighter out of his pocket while watching her. He can smell the alcohol on her breath. It makes him ache for another beer. He'll have to speak to Ronan sometime, to ask him to dream him up a few new bottles. He purses his almost finished cigarette between his lips and leaves it there before bringing the lighter up and flicking it alight. He cups his hand around the flame while igniting the tip of her cigarette.

Jesse re-pockets his lighter. A drag on his smoke, and he plucks it from between his lips. ]

I don't got many smokes left, though, if that's gonna be your next question. I ain't sharing what I got left.

[ He's definitely not a mind reader. He just knows how smokers operate, being a chainsmoking one himself. ]

[gentlemenpreferblondes]

Thank you. [She hums and leans closer towards the flame with the cigarette between her lips. She gently inhales the cig until the end of it catches the fire, lighting it. Then she pulls back a little, barely a hair, while keeping the pleased smile on her lips.

Thanks to her stash inside of her pacdisc she doesn't exactly need mercy bits but his absolute refusal makes her want to press it. She's dealt with nicotine withdrawal already once during this journey, it hadn't been pleasant but nothing she couldn't handle. But he, on the other hand? If he's really even half of a junkie that he appears to be in her eyes it's going to be hell.]

Ah, so this is where your chivalry ends? Not going to help out a lady in distress?