Dick Grayson { Nightwing } (batbird) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-09-27 11:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | dc: comics: dick grayson |
WHO: Dick Grayson (narrative)
WHAT: Salmon Jerky and thoughts.
WHERE: Dead end tunnel by I and J
WHEN: Day 3.
WARNINGS: Hunger Games.
As things went, this wasn't the shitiest that could have happened to him. He was sure he'd been in worse situations, and keeping positive was the only way he'd get through this, just like he got through everything. Besides, he was relatively resilient, he could survive this. He'd survived the desert with only Midnighter as company, now that had been a trial, especially when the idiot Meta kept saying they should fight. A small huff of laughter followed the thought and the acrobat stretched out his arms, fingertips brushing the roof of his tunnel. Seemed like the scientists shared his ally's sentiment. The whole arena was designed to be a deathtrap, he was certain, be it by the surroundings or another subject, fatalities were definitely on the cards. Dick just had to make sure he avoided people. While he knew he was more than capable in a fight, he also knew that he would never willingly take a life. Though the same couldn't be said for the others locked in here. Best plan of action: remain unseen, he may not be as entertaining as the others, but he couldn't care less. After one night in the Cornucopia, he'd taken the first tunnel that sounded quiet enough to be devoid of other tributes. It had branched out in three directions and he had taken the left most path. While the passage hadn't taken him anywhere it was a defensible position, should anyone decide to come this way. He still had a quarter of his canteen of water, but knew he would need to venture out to replenish it in the morning. The second bottle he'd snagged from the Cornucopia had been just that, a bottle with barely a mouthful of water inside. He supposed if it came down to it, he could pee in there and have that as a standby refreshment? Lovely. Alfred would be scandalized. Another chuckle escaped him at the thought distracting him slightly from the sting as he checked the wound on his thigh. His makeshift dressing had kept dirt out and the band aids from the tin he'd found were holding the wound together relatively well. He didn't think there would be any problems, certainly he felt no sign of infection. A quick stock take of his salmon jerky supply told him he'd be fine for a couple of days. It was easy to ration himself, he hadn't been a fan of fish before and the jerky was doing nothing to sway him in it's favor. He'd be fine. He always was. |