when: mid-afternoon where: the car (narrator: it was a plane). @kiskasokolov
For such a loyal group, Briar can’t find a single member of the others. Castaways, people call them, which isn’t really a term she understands but draws scoffs from some of the others. Maybe it’s an insult? She resolves to ask someone whenever she finds them, assuming the lot of them haven’t turned into a speck of dust on the wind. Climbing a tree is out - all of them are too far from anything important. But this?
“Hey, you can’t touch that,” someone tells her gruffly as she grabs one of the broken pieces of metal sticking out of the car. The plane, she corrects mentally, ignoring the person as she yanks herself up the side of the plane. “You’re going to fall,” they continue, but she ignores them, making her way up to the top of the broken plane piece until she’s settled on the top. It groans under her weight, but she ignores it. “I’ve been climbing trees since I was small,” she retorts.
It’s a great deal more difficult to maintain her balance on this hunk of metal than it is to stand on a tree branch. She grits her teeth though, arms out to maintain her balance as she shifts her gaze over the beach in search of someone familiar.
The wind is bracing, and she finds her feet slipping bit by bit as her dark hair flies into her face, but she yanks it out of the way as she spots a dark haired woman in the distance. Younger than her in looks, sure, but certainly older than her in most other ways. “Kiska!” she yells, waving one hand, windmilling as the wind gusts. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Someone shoots her a look. Disapproving, maybe, but her response is little more than “No, not you, who are you?” before she’s waving her arm again.
