the one silver lining of this whole ordeal [garbage fire]

As the shock wears off, the pain sets in.

Syd and Benedict hobble away from the carnage, leaning against each other to take steps that aren’t in sync. Syd’s not upset at Benedict -- none of this is his fault -- but he does feel frustration bubble in his chest. He has to bite his lip from swearing as they shuffle away.

Thankfully, they disappear into the haze. The air is foul and rank, sure, but its pollution lets them slide away from the fight before… well, the worst.

Even with their legs visibly broken, they’re still alive. That’s the silver lining behind this shitty, shitty cloud: they could be dead instead!

(And they probably would be, if they didn’t leave when they did. He and Benedict aren’t exactly, like, Careers.)

The haze doesn’t clear as the Cornucopia disappears from view, though Syd can feel the waves of energy emanating from the tower diminish as they get further away. Good fucking riddance, Bloodbath, good fucking riddance, tributes, good fucking riddance…. all of the items they left behind.

Not to mention their allies, who are also absent. Syd didn’t catch a glimpse of the others after Benedict hauled him from the dirt, and now he’s wondering if they bit the dust. Did he hear cannons? Do the cannons even fire on Day One? For the life of him (ha), he can’t remember.

He doesn’t have the brain function to think about their absence. Like, if he weren’t in so much pain, he’d spiral, thinking: oh fuck, did he fail them? His one goal in this whole thing is to maybe save the life of one of these other kids.

He turns his head to look at Benedict, sort-of-not-subtly evaluating him. Can he help Benedict win? Or is he fucking hopeless? Then he feels awkward for eyeing the guy when they’re still struggling along, so he mumbles, “Uh, just looking around, you know, for the others.”

Feeling suddenly awkward for judging the guy, he looks down at his feet, and that’s when he spots… something.

Syd stops quickly, probably throwing Benedict off. ”Ah, sorry,” he says, pointing with the hand that isn’t helping him cling onto his ally. ”Look.”

Maybe their luck hasn’t run out entirely. In the dirt in front of them, a few items -- strays from the Bloodbath, maybe? -- are strewn about haphazardly. ”Let’s grab them… somehow,” he says, becoming aware mid-sentence that his leg’s fucking broken, and bending his other to grab something from the ground is going to be, uh, a challenge.

What a fucking disaster they are.


[Syd grabs brass knuckles, needle and thread (2 uses), struggles]