#stranded starter

location: low ground settlement

- cora + open !! 

despite practically sharing the same space with anyone living on the south beach, cora still did what she could to keep her distance away from everyone. even sectioning off her home with rocks, anything she could find that wouldn't be easily blown away from a storm. most people wouldn't know her by name, just a face. she wasn't one to make friends. she rather just be isolated it's how she likes it, it is what she's used to. sitting outside her home; wanting to use the free time that she had at the moment to just relax. she let out a content filled sigh closing her eyes as the gentle breeze cooled her face. hearing someone approaching her she opened her eyes, crossing her legs as she looked at the person approaching her personal space. "look if you don't have anything to trade, i appreciate it if you just go away." 

“Look at this fresh air. You don’t get this type of thing on the low grounds.” Ignoring the fact everything on this island is fresh air, Mallory holds her rock up as though it’s a person. Sunlight glints off the metallic paint she gave it for a face and then she lowers it with a sigh. “Okay, to the river! There’s one somewhere around here...” She can feel it, but the location of it? A little more difficult to pinpoint. It’s a vague tug in the gut. 

Her hike is a little spur of the moment. No supplies, short of Henry and a half empty canteen, and Mallory half hopes she finds something to make it worthwhile. The sounds of footsteps on the stone path behind her has her whirling around, but short of the tall grass falling into place behind her and the swaying wind, there’s nothing there.

Mallory snorts. “If you’re trying to play a trick on me, you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t get scared easily. Come out, kitty, kitty, I’ve got to reach the peak before long.”

The sun was high in the sky, buzzing with heat in June’s ears, mingling with the sound of the sea crashing into the shore. June had abandoned their work boots long ago, planting them further up the shore with their windbreaker and shirt, leaving June in only their sports bra and their rolled-up jeans. They puffed out a breath of exertion as they grabbed the edges of the sheet of canvas half buried in the sand and pulled with all the strength they could muster.

Daniel’s Dream was in pieces, the balloon itself ripped to shreds and burned by the lightning that had struck it out of the sky. June had spent nearly ten whole minutes staring at it sadly when they’d finally found it, all the hard work their dad had done, eviscerated in moments. The basket of the vessel bobbed sadly in the water a few yards out, still attached to the balloon by the badly frayed rope, but too heavy for June to pull in by themself. June had considered leaving to try and find help, but couldn’t bring themselves to abandon the vessel that had carried them so far.

As June’s strength waned, so did their grip, and with a yelp, the wet canvas slipped from their grip, sending June tumbling backwards into the sand. “Ow,” they groaned sadly, flopping back onto the beach and allowing themselves another moment of wallowing. This sucked. That was okay to admit. But they needed to come at this from a new angle. Sitting up—and ignoring the complaints from their bruised and battered body—June crawled towards the tarp and found an opening in which they could get underneath the balloon. Maybe if they could find what it was caught on it would be easier to get it fully out of the water. They crawled towards the water, wading in underneath the heavy fabric and holding it up with one hand while searching blindly in the water with the other until- wait. June paused. Was that the sound of footsteps on the beach, or were they imagining things?

“Hello?” June called, their voice echoing in the makeshift canvas cave. They tried to find their way out from underneath the balloon, but the exit had seemingly disappeared. “Hold on. I’m just- I’m kind of stuck. Is someone out there?” They pawed at the top of the tarp like a cat trapped underneath a comforter.

Death was the only possibility. Despite what people might assume James considered himself an optimist, if only because he knew expecting the worst was the same as asking for it. When problems arose he imagined the best outcome and strived for it-- often achieving something at least close to what he had envisioned. But there was optimism and then there was idealism, the impractical and impossible. To fall from such a height would kill most people with the rocks and waves below presumably killing whoever survived. So when he awoke to the sounds of waves he thought that must be what was happening, but his cheek was pressed firmly against sand and a breeze blew through his curls. 

He could walk-- like a baby deer sure, his feet sinking in the loose sand but he managed to make his way to a visage he saw in the distance. At first he thought it was a limestone stack, but as he got closer he realized it was a ship. James walked right up to it, pressing his hand against it. His hand felt along the splintered wood and rough barnacles, left thinking only why? His hand still pressed against the ship, he looked over his shoulder just in time to see a figure approaching. 

James turned, rolling his shoulders back to look more presentable. Though his clothes and shoes were soaked and now that he thought about it he probably had seaweed and shells in his hair. Maybe even a crab or two. God what was going on? But he wasn’t ready to admit how lost he was, how vulnerable he was. So instead he called to the figure, his voice hoarse, “what is the name of this ship?” He cleared his throat, then spoke again, though his voice was softer. “Does it even have a name?”