[ Dylan whirls to face the source of the voice, clutching his flashlight and swinging it around to try and get a look at who spoke. Two glowing eyes stare back at him from the shadows, and the sweep of his flashlight illuminates an alarming amount of appendages.
Dylan freezes at the sight, then slowly reaches for the bat where he'd stowed it, sticking out of his backpack, but doesn't pull it out just yet. He swallows down the lump in his throat and tries to sound braver than he actually feels.]
Dylan Brock.
[ He'd already gotten into a few scrapes already, as evidenced by a few hastily-bandaged slash wounds on his arms. But by this point he was exhausted and wasn't sure he'd be able to handle another fight — especially not against... whatever this is.
At least he spoke English. If he can communicate, maybe he's friendly. Dylan's eyes are wide, darting around in the darkness to try and piece together what on earth he's looking at. ]
no subject
Dylan freezes at the sight, then slowly reaches for the bat where he'd stowed it, sticking out of his backpack, but doesn't pull it out just yet. He swallows down the lump in his throat and tries to sound braver than he actually feels.]
Dylan Brock.
At least he spoke English. If he can communicate, maybe he's friendly. Dylan's eyes are wide, darting around in the darkness to try and piece together what on earth he's looking at. ]
Who are you?