useofcuriosity | PSL Box

She counts with him, and then she's braced, waiting for him to reach for her seatbelt. Her feet are starting to go numb so she knows this is something he has to do, but that doesn't make her any less terrified.

He's careful as he undoes her belt, as careful as he can be anyway. If he could carry her to the ground, he would, but he doesn't exactly have any leverage himself. So he has to make due with undoing her seatbelt, and watching as she falls. Hoping she doesn't get more hurt.

She can't help it. When he unbuckles the seatbelt and she starts to fall, she lets out a short, quick scream as she slides away from him, and falls to the opposite side of the plane that's resting against the ground. There's a cry of pain, and then, weakly,

"I'm okay..."

He really, really hopes so. "Can you move? Don't try to get up yet, but can you move your legs or are they still numb?"

It takes a moment. "I can move. I probably sprained my ankle, but I'm okay."

Another moment. "Are you going to come down?"

Relief because the idea that she's mostly okay is well...a relief. He takes one breath, then another. Then another. "Yeah. Just...give me a minute." Another breath, then he'll do the same thing he had her do. It's a little more difficult without someone else to undo his seabelt.

"I'm here." Well, really she just wants to pass out from pain, but Stiles is up there and the drop flooded her body with adrenaline. It's making her feel vaguely sick. "I'll count with you, if you want."

"Yeah. Okay. Let's...do that." Closing his eyes, one hand on the belt release and the other arm ready to tuck and fall. "One, two..."

"Three." There's a phantom of pain in her voice. For all that it's a minor injury, sprains hurt like a bitch. "Four."

He can't imagine he's not going to sprain something, getting down from here. "Five. Six."

She listens carefully, takes note of her surroundings. There's no real way to make the fall easier for him. But they're both alive and together and that counts for something.

"Seven, eight."

"Nine. Ten." Belt unbuckled, and quickly down he goes. It's a little awkward, and he's pretty sure he'd done something painful and jolty to his arm. But they're both down and alive.

Within a second or two after he hits the ground, Lydia is there, wincing through her own pain to look him over, and once she's satisfied he's still breathing, she's unable to resist pressing her head to his shoulder and hugging him ridiculously hard.

Hell, he hugs her just as hard and just as close. "Someone needs to call for help." He's hoping they've already done that, honestly.

She's shaking, but then probably so has he. "If the phones are even working, wherever we are. I doubt we were too far from home...we were getting to the point where we were about to descend."

She looks down at their feet, but since the plane is on its side, there's no way to see out.

"Do you want to try and find a way out?"

He doesn't really want to, because they're both shaking and in pain and scared. But...maybe they have to. "Yeah. Yeah, lets try that."

It's not so much that she's leaning against him as they are leaning against each other. "All of this side's exits are flush against the ground. All of that side's exits are now the ceiling." She considers. "There might be emergency exits at the front or the back. There's definitely the cockpit windows."

And that's a good thing, since as soon as the adrenaline wears off, they're both going to crash in a totally different way. "Cockpit's probably the best bet."

She nods. "Let's go." She has to hobble, they're both in pain, and it's hard to ignore the cries of pain - and the corpses - of other passengers. Lydia's actually pretty single-minded about their goal, though. It's not that she doesn't want to stop and help people, it's that finding a way out first is the best way to help them in her eyes.

The pilot is, unfortunately dead. The co-pilot doesn't seem to be...anywhere, so Stiles is assuming that he got out. The window broken from the inside would seem to indicate this. "We can probably get out tht way..."

Lydia nods her agreement. "We need to help everyone who can get out too. And it's probably a bit of a drop down, too." But determinedly, albeit awkwardly, she heads back to the door to call down to the other living passengers to let them know there's a way out.

Suddenly, "Stiles! What happened to the cooler?"

Stiles winces, waiting for her to return. Tries to remember if he saw where the cooler landed. "I think it's waste by now. I don't think it's salvageable."

Lydia deflates a little, admitting, "You're probably right."

She heads for the door, sticking her head out to call out for others who might want to try the window. Then she looks back at him over her shoulder.

"We should stay and try and help the wounded."

Actually, she really wants to get the hell out of the plane, but they're doctors. They have an oath.

He nods. "We should try to get most of them out of the plane. The wounded."

"Okay."

She is so grateful for him right now. She doesn't know how to put it into words, but Lydia feels like if Stiles wasn't here, she'd probably be huddling in a corner unable to do anything but freak out. But right now, in this moment, she is motivated, and as long as he's on his feet, she can be on hers too.

She sticks her head through the door, calling on the able-bodied to start helping those wounded who they think they can realistically get out the window safely before dropping out of the cockpit to start helping.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

omg plurk come baaack

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject