e·phem·er·al

    Her head felt like a giant bell that had been hit. Everything was ringing, the world still felt like it was shaking beneath her, eyes peeling open only so she could blink several times at the flash of light, the sky was too bright. Too blue, the ground beneath her was still shaking. The sound of waves reached her left ear, the other was blocked. Maybe she should’ve paid more attention to that first aid course she had taken a couple of years back, was it something to do with blood or her ear drum ? How long did it take to regain her hearing ? Should she sit up or stay laying down ? The questions circled around her mind like small birds whizzing past too fast for her to catch them. 

      She decided to lay still, staying still couldn’t kill her ( unless she was bleeding out somewhere. no pressure. ) there was a body near her ( Alive or dead ? ) she remembered the plane. There was no way she was alone, she wondered how long she had been unconscious for. Her voice was hoarse “Hello? Is there anyone there ?” There was no way she could lay like this any longer, her body shifted as she sat up, supporting herself on her right elbow. Clearing her throat she repeated her question louder this time, and prayed to whatever entity was looking down on her life to have mercy on her for once.

    After tending to most of the wounded he could find onshore, Marcus returned to the plane wreck to scavenge for more supplies. With the sun already halfway gone, the sky had turned a deep shade of orange. The color told him that he was running out of daylight fast, and that he should quicken his pace for the sake of the injured that had yet to receive medical care. As luck would have it, he found a small plastic container filled with bandages, cotton, povidine-iodine and a few painkillers. The supplies, which must have been the plane’s standard first aid equipment, were not much compared to the sheer number of people that needed them. Nonetheless, it was a welcome gift. 

    As he was about to return to camp, he heard a human speak. They asked a question once, but Marcus, in his belief that his exhausted mind had simply been playing tricks on him, did not answer it. The person repeated their question a second time. “I’m here,” he finally replied. Marcus tracked the source of the voice, and upon finding the bloodied body from which it came from, he crouched down beside it. “I’m Dr. Cavanaugh --” he started with a voice that meant to soothe, “-- a licensed Neurosurgeon.” It was textbook, introducing one’s self to a victim first with the intention of gaining their confidence and trust. In their particular situation, however, Marcus knew his words held little-to-no-weight since he didn’t have the luxury of giving her concrete proof of his credentials. Her survival, now, depended on how desperate she was to stay alive. “How are you feeling?” 

with pale green eyes wide and the southern belle’s face in a pallid shade of shock, mylori sat in the sand, covered in soot and blood that wasn’t hers. as the head ER nurse on her floor, the georgian had never lost a patient. now she was staring at what was a dead body…there was no saving the person, and mylori knew it, but she had to try. the blonde remained only clad in mutilated shorts and a black lacy bralette. she had used everything else to bandaid the wounds of others. as another approached, the girl turned, hot tears running down her cheeks. “—there was nothing more i could do…i-i..” her voice fell husky and her thick southern drawl even thicker than normal.

Marcus stopped short of the crying woman. For a flicker of a second, brown eyes met green and parted with them as he continued to assess the situation. As a neurosurgeon, Marcus had little-to-no deaths under his hands, which caused him be seeked by people near and far. The doctor had to be great at his job, of course. How else was he going to afford his penthouse at the Ritz and his fiancee with an insatiable taste for luxurious things? On the other hand, his years at the hospital had warranted him a nearly intimate acquaintance with death. He was so used to seeing people die that as Belle wept over the corpse, he looked at it calculatingly, mulling over how they could have died. It didn’t cross him that makeshift tourniquets on the cadaver were wrapped with a degree of precision characteristic of very experienced hands. “You work in the medical profession?”

“HEY—”  she could spot it from a mile away. the too familiar camouflage patches were quick to warrant the females attention; even if she had been stood several feet from the other, observing an unclaimed bag of its contents. as quick as her legs would carry her, teegan is quick to eagerly snatch up the combat jacket from the others feet. bright green hues examine the material for a name patch that upon finding, the bold letters reflect back at her spelling out ASHWOOD. tossing it up onto her shoulders, her slender frame practically drowned in the oversized item.

          She was shaken. By the crash and Jessica’s death. Nothing seemed to be going right. Dottie couldn’t keep a job. This was supposed to be a vacation with no stress, but well – it didn’t seem like it was going to start out that way. She was missing her stiletto and all of her expensive travelling supplies that she was already looking around for. “Has anyone seen my other shoe?” They had to be rescued soon. Dottie couldn’t handle being in a situation like this for very long.

         Marcus had been silent for quite some time. With his back hunched over, he was seated on a hard-shell luggage bag, the difficult-to-get-rid-of kind that withstood even a plane crash and an inferno that came soon after. If only humans were made with shells as tough as that... Dottie did not ask anyone in particular, thus leaving her question to thin air for several awkward seconds. As with a few others in proximity, Marcus chose to ignore her query since his throat felt too dry to talk and his body felt too taxed to worry about a missing shoe. Eventually, however, a trickle of guilt overtook him. It was strong enough to make him shout back. “Care to give specifics?”

Water again with another bby boy, but this time, one who’s made of MONEY MONEY MONEY™

Is that THEO JAMES scavenging for food onshore? Nah, it’s just MARCUS CAVANAUGH, the THIRTY-year-old PHYSICIAN from FIRST Class! Word has it, HE took the flight to Bali because HE WANTED TO VISIT HIS FIANCEE WHO WAS DOING HUMANITARIAN WORK IN INDONESIA. The flight attendants said they can be DEBONAIR, RETICENT, and PRAGMATIC. How long do you think would it take before they turn batshit crazy? (water, 19, gmt+8, she/her, none)

TW: CORPORAL PUNISHMENT