They're now in a vast underground space with no visible end, as if a huge empty car park had a ceiling and floor of dirt and wood and wire. Here and there, ceiling and floor meet each other in a rubbly pile, and here and there, those piles are hollowed into dugouts. In those holes, booted feet and the tops of heads are barely visible in the low light. It's impossible to tell whether the men they belong to are dead or sleeping.
Charlie, who is now covered in nearly as much slime as David, laughs a little hysterically as he untangles himself, and then says: "Fuck."
He chokes up another round of blood. Furtive: "You okay, kid?"
"All good," he confirms, even though getting to his feet is slightly more of a production with one shoulder dislocated. Without waiting for instruction, he goes to the closest pillar of earth, braces himself against it at an angle, closes his eyes--
Yeah that ugly crunchy popping sound was David shoving his arm back into its socket.
He winces as he gives it an experimental lift and rotation. That's all, though--after that he has steady blue eyes on Charlie again, waiting for an explanation or plan of action. Whichever is more relevant.
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Charlie, who is now covered in nearly as much slime as David, laughs a little hysterically as he untangles himself, and then says: "Fuck."
He chokes up another round of blood. Furtive: "You okay, kid?"
no subject
Yeah that ugly crunchy popping sound was David shoving his arm back into its socket.
He winces as he gives it an experimental lift and rotation. That's all, though--after that he has steady blue eyes on Charlie again, waiting for an explanation or plan of action. Whichever is more relevant.