"Um, Bahorel..." Courfeyrac tugs on his friend's arm to get his attention. Bahorel's been jittery the whole trip, a fact that Courfeyrac had thought a drink or two might help settle down. It didn't. If anything, it made it worse, especially as it turned from a drink or two to many and Bahorel became less coherent but no less insistent that he didn't want to sit still and he didn't like plane rides. "If you want to get into the aisle, standing up first would probably be a good idea. Crawling over Combeferre is just going to make things awkward. I'm not sure you walking around right now is the best idea, though. At least, not on your own."

Courfeyrac looks over at Combeferre, sitting on Bahorel's other side. "Do you want to take him for a walk, or shall I?"

He likes the idea of moving around, actually. He's not usually one to feel claustrophobic, but there's a growing sense of unease as they slowly, slowly approach the continent that devoured their friends so easily. It's not a sensation he can pin down, and it's not there all the time, but it's there right now, and he doesn't like it.