"Hey, Liz... I don't think we're getting away with this..."
Two people sit, one leaning on a wall, holding a injured leg, the other, Liz, stood, holding her hand to the salt and pepper haired man clutching his leg. Liz, or Elizabeth as she prefers to be known, speaks up first. "Shall we run to the Country Gil? Maybe catch a train to there. Maybe look at the beaches and fields and meadows."
"Let's. And, uh, whatever you do, don't let go of me, okay?"
"You have my word."
"And away we g- ah, watch the leg! Alright, good. Let's go. Get to Highrise, move through there, and done."
"Good. And if we see anything?"
"Run like Hell itself is on you." "
Got it. Any more, orders Your Highness?"
"Well..."
"Don't even think about it."
"Aw, but Liz, end of the world!"
"No. We are no getting a group of people together to fight this. We're running."
"No fair."
"Suck it up. Almost at the bridge."
"Good."
"Good old place this is. Even in the apocalypse the bridge is still up."
"Of course. Ladies first."
"What a gentleman you are Gilbert."
"But of course I am. Damm, this hurts. Wonder how that dude who got impaled with that giant sword is doing now. Probably dead. Wonder how that other person he was with is doing."
"Who knows? Who cares? Let's ditch this place. Almost across."
"Finally. Who designed this bridge anyway?"
"Hm. Tennagan? No. Maybe Reisz?"
"Sarcasm is a thing Liz."
"I know."
"Then learn how to distinguish it from normal conversation."
"Dick."
"Thanks for the compliment Lizzy."
"Told you not to call me Lizzy."
"I thought we were dating."
"We are- were- whatever."
"Ah. Do I get a constellation prize?"
"I'll leave you for the Process, if you want?"
"Do I look like I have a deathwish?"
"Yes."
"Dick."
"Thanks." "No hard feelings?"
"None."
