semiferals | EPISODE ONE

It was funny, well... not really. Not in the ‘haha, good joke!’ kind of way. No, it was just a thing to think about how hours before his biggest concern had been making sure he knew where his portable power banks were so his phone would definitely have the battery to text Hubert and Daniel after the flight as promised if the battery somehow drained despite being fully charged (what? he thought it was a valid concern). Or if he had remembered to put his passport in the correct pocket to make it easier on the other end of the flight, to have all his ducks in a row. Hell... Even making sure his snacks didn’t get entirely squashed under his books for the flight!

Then suddenly his biggest concern was trying to remember the emergency procedures he’d read again and again before the flight as chaos and panic took over. Not easy, considering he was an anxious passenger to begin with when a flight went smoothly.

Worse still was the struggle to make it to dry land after the fact. Llewellyn had never been more glad to feel sand under his fingers and creeping into his shoes as he dug his feet. Sure, he’d complain about that annoying sensation later, but right now he was just grateful to not be dinner for whatever predatory aquatic creatures dwelled in the waters in this part of the world.

He flopped down on the shore a short while later, waterlogged and trying to catch his breath as he wrung the bottom of his sweater out. More of an anxious, fussing motion considering he was soaked, and it did little to change that. The sun would probably dry him out sooner, anyway.

Llewellyn’s head swung one way and another, wide eyed as he looked for signs of life. There... there had to be other people... right? What about his neighbours on the plane? If he made it, then they might have too? Pushing himself back to his feet, stumbling a little as his shoes sank into the sand awkwardly, he started walking in the hopes that he might stumble upon another living soul.

He's blaming this on Granddad, Cassian decides, when he has the breath to think at all. On what grounds, he's not exactly sure, except that he wouldn't even be flying to New Zealand if in the misty legendary past Granddad hadn't moved from there to the States, where there was presumably more scope for his personal brand of whatever the fuck--

(So are these the relatives who were too smart to go chasing after Granddad, he'd asked, or the relatives so crazy even he ran away from them? and Rex had tilted his hand and shrugged, which he figured for a little of both.)

Rex--

Fuck.

Okay. First things first. Having dragged himself as far as the treeline, he peels off his sodden jacket and sits down to go through the pockets. He doesn't have everything he'll need, but what he does have seems mostly intact, which is a relief - there's waterproofing, and then there's prolonged immersion in the middle of the goddamn Pacific, but he's not thinking about that too hard right now, no.

To be fair, the fact that he has half a dozen water purification tabs zipped into his collar is probably also down to Granddad, ultimately. But still.

His phone, predictably, is toast. Cassian sticks it upright in the sand like its own tombstone, while he goes on with his inventory. The empty beach is surreally beautiful, like a painting in a psychiatrist's waiting room. He runs down checklists in his head, trying to concentrate on the information and not on the sense memory of pine needles underfoot and his dad's voice telling him--

It takes a lot of concentration, is the point. Enough that he doesn't pick up on someone approaching until they call out to him, at which point he stops thinking at all. He's on his feet, the phone in his hand because it's the only solid object in reach but the weight of it is better than nothing, the hard casing and the gritty places where the screen is cracked at the edges and it's the kid who was sitting in front of him on the plane, the guy with the glasses and the messy hair who'd been fussing with his own phone and Cassian breathes out, vision swimming a bit as he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Hey," he rasps, and collapses back into the sand.

Llewellyn had been relieved to see the signs of life ahead of him as he stumbled up the beach side, shoes still sinking awkwardly into sand with each step. He was pretty sure he’d seen the guy on the plane, sitting behind him. Maybe if he’d been a little less preoccupied with checking in on the twins before takeoff, he could have said hello, and might have learned what his name was.

Of course, he drew to an awkward halt when Cassian got up and held what appeared to be a cellphone like it was a weapon.

And well... Sure, it’s just a cellphone, but he backs up a few clumsy steps on instinct. Too used to threatening gestures and what usually came after them, Llewellyn’s instincts were firmly settled in the flight category rather than fight. He opened his mouth, intending to make an attempt at de-escalating the reaction when Cassian rasped out a greeting and fell back onto the sand.

Oh, no. “Uh... Hey—” He moved closer hesitantly, rather feeling like flopping onto the sand himself. The only thing that keeps him from doing that was the nerves still buzzing in a quiet panic over the whole situation. “Are you um— okay? Well, not okay. I don’t think that’s possible, I mean... With all this.” He might have been rambling (he was definitely rambling), but Cassian would have to forgive him.

“Just—are you injured or anything?” He finally came to a halt and gave in to gravity to drop onto the sand. Close enough to observe and see if he should be worried, but far enough to give him a chance at a head start if Cassian didn’t want company.

"Nah." He drops the phone again, scrubbing a hand over his face. Way to make it weird, Andor, good job, he definitely doesn't think you're a violent asshole now. Cassian draws a deep breath, getting his face under control before he looks up cautiously. "Sorry. You?"

“Good... That’s good!” Llewellyn responded, still glancing at Cassian a little more, almost as though he’s double checking himself. Just in case the guy wasn’t as alright as he seemed beyond the general exhaustion and shock. As for the apology...? He shrugged, rubbing his neck a little. “It’s okay, it’s all just... a lot, right?”

This was too much, and it honestly didn’t seem real for all he knew it had to be. “Oh— and I’m fine, I think.”

Which about sums it up, Cassian thinks, with a sudden bubble of hysteria in his throat. "Yeah." Another deep breath staves off the giggles. "Yeah. Fine except for the whole falling out of the sky thing, right?"

He manages a saner smile, leaning back on his elbows. "Sorry for freaking out at you. Didn't see you coming."

Llewellyn was quiet for a moment when Cassian started laughing, not really sure what was funny. Then it hits him, just slightly after the fact... It startled a laugh out of him, short and a bit broken by the weird bubbling anxiety in his chest. Uninjured or not, they’d fallen out of the sky! In a plane! “Mm... And don’t forget. Plummeting right into the ocean and having to swim to this island.” Was this place even on a map?

“It’s fine, I mean— I’d have freaked out a little too if someone walked up on me and I didn’t see them.” Maybe not in the same way, but the point stood. “I’m uh... Llewellyn Watts, who’re you?”

"Cassian." He lifts an arm in a half-hearted, haphazard approximation of a handshake, squinting against the bright sky. "I'll spell mine if you'll spell yours. --The sweater'll dry faster if you take it off, by the way."

It hits him a second later that this last might sound like a come-on. Well, fuck it. He flops over backward, one arm over his eyes, and mutters, "Not that it's any of my business."

Llewellyn kind of looked at the offered arm with a slight look of confusion, before realizing that it was a handshake. Right. He gave Cassian’s hand a light shake, definitely a handshake most would judge considering it’s not firm nor confident like most would say is proper. He’d blame it on the plane crash if asked, honestly. “Nice to meet you, Cassian.”

He paused, thinking on the matter of spelling their names with what might have been another small grin, “Mm... We could, but I’m not sure that I could remember uh— how many L’s my own name has at the moment.” He gestured at his head. It might have been an attempt at a joke, or he was just being honest about post-plane-crash brain fog.

Lucky for Cassian? Llewellyn doesn’t generally notice things that could be a come-on unless they’re pretty obvious. As it was, taking the sweater off to get it to dry faster was logical. It made sense. But... Nope. “You’re probably right?” He frowned a little at it, before shrugging. As uncomfortable as a wet sweater was, he’d feel more uncomfortable without it. “It’s fine, it’s like... not that bad, anyway.” Compared to everything else, right?

"Dry clothes are important in a survival situation," Cassian says, and then bites his tongue. Why did it have to come out in that know-it-all tone that makes people want to punch him? Is this a time to go making enemies?

He drops his arm, blinks at Llewellyn over it with the widest earnest-puppy eyes he can manage at the moment, and adds: "That's what my dad says." Not that this guy seems like the violent type - or even, like his cousin Bobby, the type to turn everything into a pissing contest - but 'overserious nerd' is always a better look than 'condescending asshole'.

Cassian was right in his guess, the last thing Llewellyn could ever be described as was violent. A little awkward, anxious, and prone to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time once in a while... But not violent. If anything, his brows rose a little at the comment about it being important in a survival situation.

Because surviving in his prior conditions was one thing, surviving here where he had no idea what to expect? That was something else, something that he was probably starting to panic about. So rather than be angry at the insistence, he instead had to find out more.

“I uh— didn’t know that.” Llewellyn responded, fussing with a sleeve again. “Did your dad say why?”

"Conserves body heat," Cassian says briefly, and levers himself back up to a sitting position, with a little huff of effort. "You see anybody else back there?"

He tries not to think about it too hard, even as he says it, because (the flight attendant who spoke to him in Spanish, the skinny-looking twins, that cute guy with the ponytail, the two little girls chattering excitedly across the aisle, all that ocean, God) that way lies panic. Instead he focuses on his own sodden sneakers, grounding himself in the moment.

The sandy, squelchy moment.

Conserving body heat... Yeah, that made sense. Cassian’s question got his full attention rather quickly though, because it was one that had been rolling around in his head since he made it to shore. Had anyone else made it? He and Cassian made two now, so... maybe some of the others had?

He hoped so, because the thoughts of the others not making it made him feel ill if his shift in expression were anything to go by. Rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, he shook his head a moment or two later. “No... Just you so far?”

He glanced back at the shoreline, brows furrowing a little as though he were actually hoping he might spot something he’d missed before now. “We should look though, there might be others...?” His tone suggesting he hoped as much, but wasn’t exactly optimistic about what they’d find. He’d been let down a few times now in the ‘trying to find someone missing’ department, and a plane crash made for pretty bleak odds.

"Oi, fuckface."

Let it be known that she was relieved to see someone up and moving around and alive, but she'd never been the 'hugging and crying' type. Stranded on 'Lord of the Fucking Flies' Island wasn't gonna change that, no way.

With her jacket tied half-assedly around her waist, blood stained shirt and face, and her hair reacting somewhat biblically to the combination of salt water and humidity, she did not look her best.

But, fuck it, who did right now? Certainly not him either - the kid looked like he was about to puke. Or pass out, or maybe both. Though to be fair, from what she knew about him, that wasn't too out of the ordinary anyway.

Hurrying to catch up to Llewellyn, Magda gestured at him, before her hands went to her hair to try and get it under some vague semblance of control.

"You good?"

Llewellyn had been looking for more survivors, vaguely wishing sand was less like sand at the moment. He didn’t dislike beaches exactly; it was just being exhausted, and trying to walk on sand was not exactly fun for someone who had trouble walking on flat ground on a good day.

He was tired; he was hungry, ironically he was also pretty close to puking up whatever was left in his stomach, and he was pretty sure the whole adrenaline high was finally wearing down. So that was fun. When he heard a rather colourful nickname being thrown his way, he turned on his heel a little too fast and nearly toppled. Arms thrown out to regain balance with a wobble as he looked at the teen addressing him.

Oh, he remembered seeing her on the plane... Right, relief... Happy to see another living person. That was the proper reaction, maybe don’t freak out like had with Cassian.

“Uh— hey!” He was about to reply that he was ‘good’ for someone who’d been in a plane crash, when he noted the blood on her shirt and his eyes widened comically. “Are you bleeding??”

Eloquent.

Edited (PLANE CREASE B|) 2021-01-19 19:19 (UTC)

Glancing down at herself, she scowled a little, but didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact.

"Oh- yeah, got cut up a bit, nothin' life endin'." Once her hands were free, she looked behind him, and then out at the debris-littered ocean. Fucks sake, she had some shit in her bag that'd be real handy right about now.

"You seen anyone else? There's a girl back that way chilin' under a tree, but you're the first one I've found upright."

And, after a beat, before she forgot; "Wait- woss'your name again?"

“Okay uh— good. If you’re sure, that is. Not that we have an actual first aid kit.” He mumbled back, still a bit fixed on the blood with an agitated sort of concern. It’s not that he’s squeamish, Llewellyn wasn’t usually the squeamish sort (aside from like... brains in those overly gore focused horror films). It was more that he was used to watching out for injuries that needed patching up, especially when they weren’t his own.

Shaking his head a moment later, he then nodded when he realized he was supposed to be answering a question. “Yep, I met another survivor down the beach...” He paused before gesturing the way he’d come from, almost as though he’d forgotten which way he’d walked. “That way. We agreed to split up and see if we could find more people?”

And look at that, Magda counted as people. That was one more person for the list of ‘people who didn’t wind up dead in the ocean.’

The question on his name gets a small start, right... Right. Not a hard one, kid. “Oh, I’m Llewellyn? Llewellyn Watts.” He rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, before adding, “What’s your name?”

"Yep, so no point in lookin' at me like I've got a pole impaled through me. I won't keel over on you, so take a breath and try not to do the same to me yeah?"

Was she in pain? Yes, a bit. But generally speaking she wasn't half bad at pushing that aside where practicalities were concerned. She could be a baby about it and waste time, or she could get her shit together. No doubt the freaking out would happen eventually, but right then and there she was more concerned about your usual emergency bits and pieces; water, for one. Food, shelter, how many people they'd need to keep alive.

Speaking of, there were more people alive; that was good. Hopefully they weren't utterly screwed in the injury region either.

"Come on, we've still got searching to do." As he asked her name, Magda went to carry on walking, gesturing for him to follow her, answering him as she went. "Name's Magdalena, I go by Magda. If you call me anythin' other than that where I can hear you I'll deck ya so hard y'ears'll ring for a month."

And then, as if the mild threat of violence was merely a pleasantry; "Did you have anything to eat in your case? Like snacks or water or anythin'? I'm not the best swimmer but we'll be totally ass-fucked if we don't get somethin' to drink soon."

Hm... Breathing normally was probably a good, sensible idea. Unlike the vigorous nod and a moment of holding said breath simply because today was just a lot and sometimes you forgot to do normal things like that. It’s only for a moment, before she was talking to him again and... suggesting that they continue searching.

Again, a sensible idea.

And given the rather quick threat of decking him, he wasn’t about to point out that splitting up to cover more ground and meet up again on a certain part of the beach later was the original plan. He does, however, start walking after her clumsily... just beyond arm’s reach.

What? Llewellyn knew that sometimes he said things and it pissed people off. For all he knew, he could accidentally say Magdalena now that it was in his head and that would be it. Even responding came out overly thoughtful and slow, like he was making the attempt to make sure he called her Magda. “Uh— Magda, then. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think anything about our situation could be called nice, right?”

The teen glanced at the ocean a moment later, his bag. Definitely something he’d been hoping to find washed up on shore. “Yeah, I had a lot of snacks? You know, just in case—” Just in case what? Their plane crashed into the ocean and they suddenly needed food on a deserted island? “In case I got hungry.” He finished lamely, though not untruthfully. He got hungry a lot, and it was something of a problem.

"I dunno, it could be worse," she said with a shrug, "could've crashed into a frozen tundra, or directly into an active volcano. Sure, we could still dehydrate in the heat or go nuts and eat each other and then dehydrate, but at least the scenery's pretty."

Because hey, she always wanted to live next to the ocean. The universe generally went out of it's way to make her life difficult, but fuck it. She'd take what she could here.

When Llewellyn confirmed that he had had food in his case - a lot of it, specifically - she looked at him; first to look for a lie, and then to shoot him a grin, before she closed the gap between them long enough to give him a playful push - not rough or hard enough to hurt, for once!

"Yes! Okay, what'd it look like? Please say it was bright screamin' orange or some shit like that, at least then it'll be easy to see."

The expression that crossed his face as she ticked off the list of things that could have been worse, equated to: ‘Wow, thanks. I hate it.’ She wasn’t wrong, sure, but putting the mental image of them starving to the point of cannibalism, then dying anyway? Not. Helpful. Magda.

He was anxious on a good day, and this… Was not helping that. Llewellyn liked to be prepared for things, upsets in his planned day were not something he liked and this was all one very large upset in the grand plan. He had people who needed him, after all.

Llewellyn doesn’t really voice all this, he doesn’t have a chance. The playful push (blessedly not hard considering the rest of the day), actually managed to almost send him sprawling. The kid was not stable on his feet, and the sand didn’t help, so Magda was treated to a repeat of earlier as he tried to keep his balance. At some point, the teen was very sure he would fail to do so and he would face plant in the sand.

It was just a matter of time.

But hey, she was excited about food and if she could help him find the bag, then they could both get a snack with plenty left to share with the other survivors for the day at least. “Uh.... Well, it wasn’t orange, no. It was green plaid?” So... kind of loud, in its own way.

She caught that look - really, how could she not? - but hey, she was hardly expecting a good reaction. At this point any reaction was good enough for her. Even if the kid was a bit weird, a bit weedy, she was sure as shit that she'd rather have him as company than be stuck here alone. Fuck that noise. So they had different senses of humour; whatever, she could deal.

When it seems that even her attempt to be gentle almost went horribly awry, Magda rolled her eyes, but still looped her arm around his, casual as anything as they walked. Because hey, at least then he wouldn't actually face-plant into the sand. About to comment on his tango with gravity, Llewellyn beat her to the punch when he corrected her assumption.

"Green plaid." She repeated, as if mulling the mental image over - as if any opinion she had on his choice of suitcase would mean literally anything at all, "Eh, better than polka dots. Fuck polka dots. And at least it'll be easier to see, in theory anyway."

Was Magda slightly intimidating? Yes, kind of. But a lot of people were, and not in the way he was used to. So aside from being a bit surprised when she took his arm, who was he to complain if she kept him a little more stable? Her unvoiced description of him was really quite accurate, he was usually losing the battle with gravity.

... And you know what? A plane crash was the ultimate ‘defeat against gravity,’ he was kind of done with those for the day.

The repeat of his description gets a small tilt of his head, “Yup, green plaid.” Llewellyn responded to confirm, wondering if there was something wrong with green plaid. He liked green, and he really liked plaid pattern! It had been a birthday present from the twins after his old bag had gotten torn, so he might have been a little more attached to it than one generally got over a bag. He couldn’t help but wonder what was up with polka dots though, her language on the subject was pretty strong!

No, it wasn’t, Llewellyn needed to learn to swear or something. Maybe it was because he was always minding what he said around his younger brothers, or maybe he just found it more fun to say the most random combinations of words. It was probably both.

Glancing at the water, almost as if hoping for a stroke of luck and it just... be there on the beachside, he finally responded. “If it’s washed up, it should be? I... don’t know if it’ll be easier to see if it’s still in the water.”

EPISODE ONE

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