[ Steve's standing near the back, he'd been watching the fight from a fair distance on the lower floor. The music's too much on his head after a day of the sound throbbing at his temples. Last round, though. They made it this far, he ought to stick it out for the others.
It's quick. Lights out, the crowd's mood shifts in an instant. Not part of the show. He remembers one summer when he was at the pictures, it was cool in there, and then the sound just stopped -
His whole body's on fire and cold, floating for hours and days HEY HEY GET UP
Someone's shaking him. His skin's on fire and when he looks down at his chest he expects to find a massive hole there. He touches the place on his shirt, perfectly intact, and can't reconcile that physical information with what his mind is screaming.
The hand shaking his shoulder asks if he can get up. He nods, dumbly. His own hand is touching the back of his head and comes back with blood on his fingers. Someone moans, rubble shifts. Part of the upper balcony had broken apart in the blast. The hand at his shoulder leads him to the debris, asking him a question that he answers automatically. They need to lift the balcony.
He's sure his hands are going to go right through until the exact moment he makes contact. His lungs burn, the back of his neck wet and sticky.
One, two, three, LIFT. The rubble shifts. They try again. His hands catch the dim light, the shine of metal reflected back. A body dashes forward to pull the moaning body out from underneath. The piece of balcony drops back to the floor, dust and powder rushing past them as it hits the ground with a solid thud. He coughs, a rough, dry sound, and limps toward the shouts of HERE, OVER HERE - ]
i. @ Regal Street Gaming Parlor
It's quick. Lights out, the crowd's mood shifts in an instant. Not part of the show. He remembers one summer when he was at the pictures, it was cool in there, and then the sound just stopped -
His whole body's on fire and cold, floating for hours and days HEY HEY GET UP
Someone's shaking him. His skin's on fire and when he looks down at his chest he expects to find a massive hole there. He touches the place on his shirt, perfectly intact, and can't reconcile that physical information with what his mind is screaming.
The hand shaking his shoulder asks if he can get up. He nods, dumbly. His own hand is touching the back of his head and comes back with blood on his fingers. Someone moans, rubble shifts. Part of the upper balcony had broken apart in the blast. The hand at his shoulder leads him to the debris, asking him a question that he answers automatically. They need to lift the balcony.
He's sure his hands are going to go right through until the exact moment he makes contact. His lungs burn, the back of his neck wet and sticky.
One, two, three, LIFT. The rubble shifts. They try again. His hands catch the dim light, the shine of metal reflected back. A body dashes forward to pull the moaning body out from underneath. The piece of balcony drops back to the floor, dust and powder rushing past them as it hits the ground with a solid thud. He coughs, a rough, dry sound, and limps toward the shouts of HERE, OVER HERE - ]