Never a fighter, Carlisle prefers to hide from potential danger when it comes his way, and as for spooky monsters whose only defining characteristics are their illuminated teeth, their sharp claws, their wild hair, and their utter and unnatural lack of all other visible features, he puts those firmly in the potential danger category. He's taken to shutting himself in his room, in closets, in anywhere with a door, and in this case, that surprisingly seems to deter them, sending the abominations chasing after easier prey rather than bothering to break down the barrier.
It doesn't, however, deter other creatures as one comes busting right into his current hiding spot: one of the corridors near the library. He darts behind a bench, crouching behind it as though it'd protect him -- it doesn't, nor does it hide him very well, especially when he peers over it a few seconds later. In good news, the aforementioned creature is less of a monster than the toothy abominations and more of something else entirely; importantly, a part of that something else is decidedly human. She's hurt, battered and bleeding and bruised from an obvious spat with one of the beasts.
Carlisle's gut instinct tells him to help, no matter how monstrous a person may be; he stifles that feeling as logic and common sense dictate he keep hiding, however futile. Several seconds of internal debate later, and he's peering over the edge of the bench again, his brow tight with worry as his gloved fingers dig into the cushion on the back. This is a bad idea. This is a monumentally bad idea.
But... she's hurt, and he's a healer. He's also a mess and barely the man he once was, but he's still a healer, first and foremost. He has a duty to the living, and his goddess would be disappointed if he chose when to fulfill that duty when it was convenient rather than necessary. He clears his throat, hoping that her injuries will mean she's not aggressive, and peeks over the bench again.
III
It doesn't, however, deter other creatures as one comes busting right into his current hiding spot: one of the corridors near the library. He darts behind a bench, crouching behind it as though it'd protect him -- it doesn't, nor does it hide him very well, especially when he peers over it a few seconds later. In good news, the aforementioned creature is less of a monster than the toothy abominations and more of something else entirely; importantly, a part of that something else is decidedly human. She's hurt, battered and bleeding and bruised from an obvious spat with one of the beasts.
Carlisle's gut instinct tells him to help, no matter how monstrous a person may be; he stifles that feeling as logic and common sense dictate he keep hiding, however futile. Several seconds of internal debate later, and he's peering over the edge of the bench again, his brow tight with worry as his gloved fingers dig into the cushion on the back. This is a bad idea. This is a monumentally bad idea.
But... she's hurt, and he's a healer. He's also a mess and barely the man he once was, but he's still a healer, first and foremost. He has a duty to the living, and his goddess would be disappointed if he chose when to fulfill that duty when it was convenient rather than necessary. He clears his throat, hoping that her injuries will mean she's not aggressive, and peeks over the bench again.
"D- do you need help?"