Holdin' out for a hero (renegadefighter) wrote in islamuerta, @ 2016-07-18 14:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: grufford rhydderch, character: mandy lewellen, character: rauri fitzpatrick, day: 07/17/16, thread: group, thread: open |
Characters: Griff and 1st Class/Delta One
Location: 4D and Delta One
Time: Immediately after crash.
Summary: Griff gets people talking (and hopefully moving)
Status: Open to all within earshot
Warnings: Blood and probably language
Griff unbuckled his seat belt with a sense of determined urgency. Being in a plane crash wasn’t on the top of anyone’s to do list and while Griff was rattled, he still has the clarity of mind to want to get the hell out there. Crashing was no fun, but being stuck in the fallen metal contraption seemed even worse right now. God only knew what else was about to happen; fire, explosions, sinking. The possibilities seemed endless.
There was water lapping in around his feet, and while said water was helping to keep the small flame that had ignited under control, Griff didn’t like leaving too much up to chance. From where he was he couldn’t tell what sort of body of water they’d landed in, but from the impact and a glance out of the left side of the plane, it had to be a lake or creek or even the edge of a dam. Either way, he didn’t much like the idea of being stuck in here if it decided to slip from the bank and sink further.
All that came to Griff before he even realized that there was pain in his body. A deep, constant throbbing on the right side of his head indicated a contusion, and after a gentle prod and a hand that came away bloody, Griff gathered that something must have flung free and hit him in the head on their decent.
He moved his head from side to side, blinked his eyes rapidly and then looked up and down. No delayed reaction, no violent retching; the world spun slightly obviously, but that was of little effect. The cut was certainly a bleeder but he was concussion free. What wasn’t so lucky was his left arm. He didn’t need to poke that to know he was in some trouble. He could see it clear enough; a shard of twisted metal was embedded deep in his bicep, sticking out like a knife stabbed into butter. It was bleeding profusely and it took all of Griff’s willpower not to instantly yank it out. Right now it was best to have the metal plugging up the hole it had created.
Free of the seat belt, Griff stood shakily to his feet, grabbing hold of the overhead locker to brace himself with his good right arm. His hand left a bloody print as he inched past the empty seat next to him and out into the aisle.
He was surrounded by the crash’s destruction; moaning people, scattered carry-on luggage and rubbish. A wine bottle rolled past his feet, splashing into the puddles on the right side of the plane. Air bags hung and swung from the ceiling, a mess of tangled tubes and yellow plastic that Griff swatted to the side.
Officially the first one up and moving – at least in first class – Griff sucked in a deep breath before turning his attention towards the other passengers.
“Is everyone ok?” he asked. His Welsh accent was always the strongest when he was nervous or stressed. It was a pretty pointless question – of course they weren’t ok – but he gathered that talking would help to break people out of the shock. Get them assessing themselves and thinking again and identifying any serious injuries they may have.