"We're here." Bahorel calls back, as he and Courfeyrac tread water amidst the floating wreckage, coming into view from behind a few larger pieces of torn-up seating. He voice croaks as he does so, and he coughs, makes a face, and spits out some salt-water.
"Lets get to land!" He suggests, though he assumes they're all thinking it already, and swims along parallel to the others as they navigate past floating bits of plane and the more buoyant pieces of luggage. Hopeful, he keeps an eye out for his own backpack, but curses softly as they begin to clear the cluttered stretch of water without any sign of it. He suspects that there were not too many items within it that would've kept it afloat, anyway.
The shore is farther away than it looks. It takes a decent stretch of swimming, and numerous mouthfuls of brackish water) before he feels his feet hit the shallows. It is an unpleasant journey, but he is in optimal shape (his routines at the local gym have seen to that), and he slogs up onto the beach without undo effort. His body seems more tired from the adrenaline and shock of the crash than from any strain from the swim. He carefully checks himself over, looking for injuries, feeling for sore points. Judging by the response he gets back from his nerves, he's going to be a nice shade of dappled plum by this evening. On the positive side, he doesn't feel anything seriously wrong, nor are they any open wounds.
He turns to the others, "Are you two all right?" He looks them up and down, performing the same assessment he had just finished on himself. "Remember the rule about bleeding."
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-04-17 02:16 am (UTC)"Lets get to land!" He suggests, though he assumes they're all thinking it already, and swims along parallel to the others as they navigate past floating bits of plane and the more buoyant pieces of luggage. Hopeful, he keeps an eye out for his own backpack, but curses softly as they begin to clear the cluttered stretch of water without any sign of it. He suspects that there were not too many items within it that would've kept it afloat, anyway.
The shore is farther away than it looks. It takes a decent stretch of swimming, and numerous mouthfuls of brackish water) before he feels his feet hit the shallows. It is an unpleasant journey, but he is in optimal shape (his routines at the local gym have seen to that), and he slogs up onto the beach without undo effort. His body seems more tired from the adrenaline and shock of the crash than from any strain from the swim. He carefully checks himself over, looking for injuries, feeling for sore points. Judging by the response he gets back from his nerves, he's going to be a nice shade of dappled plum by this evening. On the positive side, he doesn't feel anything seriously wrong, nor are they any open wounds.
He turns to the others, "Are you two all right?" He looks them up and down, performing the same assessment he had just finished on himself. "Remember the rule about bleeding."