On Brad's advice, Telly removed his shirt and wrapped it around his leg, self confident enough to show off his chest and gut. There was some flab there, but in his mind, he had enough muscle to compensate. And how he appeared was really secondary to surviving this day, and after he was confident of the knot around his leg, he followed Alice and Paul up the stairs, splintered table leg in hand and a grim smile on his face. Following Alice on a normal day, he might have taken a good look at her behind, and her chiseled body, and perhaps shared a knowing look with Paul, but it was really not the time. He had to admit she looked damn fine: He always had a thing for athletes, or at least people who kept themselves in shape. It also made it easier for Telly to be a tad bit narcissistic.<br/><br/>On the roof, Telly gazed around, seeing the same the others did. One of his nervous ticks was to bit his fingernails, tearing the excess nail right off, and spitting it out, though he was delicate enough not to hurt his fingers by stripping too much off. Now he was spitting keratin out of his mouth like a machinegunner, and biting his lip as well. It was a nervous, self-maiming marathon. "Shit," he muttered, the carnage in his line of vision simply exasperating. He turned his attention to his leg, which was thankfully not bleeding anymore, and to his luck he didn't witness the final beatdown with the golfclub.<br/><br/>Looking from Paul to Alice, he said "Well... How are we going to get out of here? We can... Try to wait them out, maybe. It... Uh, well, looks like when they have nobody to chase they get..." He trailed off, pointing to the pool of gore on the sidewalk where the fight had just ended.