Chloe in a car, apparently not terribly worse for the wear is a sight for sore eyes. He almost makes a joke of it-- and then there's the crack of gunfire as he swings about to catch sight of Nate climbing to a bloody window ledge, feet scrambling at the wall. Two limping strides down the road and the angle opens up enough that the man with the gun aimed toward Drake is clear enough.
So Charlie levels the Walther, fires, and that's that.
"Oi!" He doesn't bother with holstering the gun as he calls to Nate. "Quit messing about!"
"Seriously." Chloe chides, reaching over to pop the door open for Charlie, foot still stuck on the gas pedal. "Haven't got all day to toy about with these clowns."
He needs less time than that to find a foothold firm enough to let him jump to the nearest lamppost, which he then proceeds to slide down. Nate had spotted Charlie limping, so he slows his sprint toward them to a trot once he's level with him.
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So Charlie levels the Walther, fires, and that's that.
"Oi!" He doesn't bother with holstering the gun as he calls to Nate. "Quit messing about!"
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He needs less time than that to find a foothold firm enough to let him jump to the nearest lamppost, which he then proceeds to slide down. Nate had spotted Charlie limping, so he slows his sprint toward them to a trot once he's level with him.
"Need a hand?"