"Right. No bleeding. I'm not bleeding, I don't think. Everyone else not bleeding?" Courfeyrac checks himself over quickly, pleased to find that he feels relatively all right. He's sore, the stiffness of bruises that are too new to even show from their rough landing, and if he never tastes salt again it will be too soon, but he's alive and breathing and so are the others. That's the important thing. He even has his backpack with him, having grabbed it from underneath his seat in the mad exodus from the plane.
He reaches out to touch Combeferre's shoulder briefly, reassuring himself that the other man is really there and present, before turning back to the water. Raising his voice, he calls out a command to those straggling up onto the beach with them. "Get everyone out of the water! If you've got the strength, help those around you get onto shore."
He claps Bahorel on the shoulder and grins at Combeferre as he drops his bag on the beach and then heads back into the waves. His body may be shaking, but it's the same type of shakiness he remembers from 1832, a combination of adrenaline and determination that he can use if he applies himself to a task.
Once everyone who survived the crash is on land and not in danger of immediately dying, he can ask Combeferre if visions of dragon-creatures and blood and a sense of being a valued specimen in a jar mean anything to him. As well as whether or not Combeferre thinks they should stay with this group of people or, given what happened to Enjolras' small collection of survivors, if the other crash victims would be better off if the Amis took off on their own as soon as possible.
Because even though the sense of unease and observation has faded again, he doesn't trust this continent as far as he can throw it. And given that it's a continent and he's a rather waterlogged and bedraggled human, he's not throwing it very far.
no subject
He reaches out to touch Combeferre's shoulder briefly, reassuring himself that the other man is really there and present, before turning back to the water. Raising his voice, he calls out a command to those straggling up onto the beach with them. "Get everyone out of the water! If you've got the strength, help those around you get onto shore."
He claps Bahorel on the shoulder and grins at Combeferre as he drops his bag on the beach and then heads back into the waves. His body may be shaking, but it's the same type of shakiness he remembers from 1832, a combination of adrenaline and determination that he can use if he applies himself to a task.
Once everyone who survived the crash is on land and not in danger of immediately dying, he can ask Combeferre if visions of dragon-creatures and blood and a sense of being a valued specimen in a jar mean anything to him. As well as whether or not Combeferre thinks they should stay with this group of people or, given what happened to Enjolras' small collection of survivors, if the other crash victims would be better off if the Amis took off on their own as soon as possible.
Because even though the sense of unease and observation has faded again, he doesn't trust this continent as far as he can throw it. And given that it's a continent and he's a rather waterlogged and bedraggled human, he's not throwing it very far.