[Carlisle's eyes land on Qubit's finger, and he turns to see just what it is that's more important than his little tirade. He's met with the gazes of no less than nine zombies, some of their pupils a milky white, others aglow with feral, furious energy. Not a single one of them is looking at him -- they all look past him, through him, their attention fully on Qubit.
One lets out a graveled roar, their voice ragged from their ruined vocal chords, and the others react without hesitation. Most are on the slower end, their legs stiff, their feet dragging along the ground as they shuffle toward the pair; at least three of them are much faster, their limbs still flexible enough to allow them to sprint.
And sprint they do, taking off toward Qubit with wild, ravenous ferocity. That's plenty to get Carlisle's priorities in order.]
Glyphs. Glyphs now.
[And with that, he takes off running, despite the fact they're not after him.]
no subject
One lets out a graveled roar, their voice ragged from their ruined vocal chords, and the others react without hesitation. Most are on the slower end, their legs stiff, their feet dragging along the ground as they shuffle toward the pair; at least three of them are much faster, their limbs still flexible enough to allow them to sprint.
And sprint they do, taking off toward Qubit with wild, ravenous ferocity. That's plenty to get Carlisle's priorities in order.]
Glyphs. Glyphs now.
[And with that, he takes off running, despite the fact they're not after him.]