waiting to start {OPEN}

[Emmeline Tyler]

Dusk was Emmeline's favorite time of day, but it was hard to enjoy the setting sun when there were still people crying and dying further up the beach. The vast majority of the commotion had long since died down, but it was quite apparent that everyone--including herself--was still quite rattled from the afternoon's events. And why shouldn't they have been? They'd all just been through an ordeal that should only happen in movies, and they were all just a bunch of strangers. Sure, there were probably a few people who had been traveling together that had found each other and grouped together, but for the most part, Emmeline was guessing that no one really knew each other.

Having done all she could to help the wounded, Emmeline had taken to walking up the shore line, sneakers in hand and her jeans rolled up just below her knees. Stopping at a tide pool a little ways away from where the first bonfires were beginning to burn, Emma sat down on a rock, setting her shoes and journal beside her. Dipping her feet in the water, she watched a few small fish swim around in the shallow pool, idly wondering if she could catch one. Then again, what would she do with it if she did catch it? Eat it raw and alive?

Deciding to leave the fish alone, the girl decided to give herself a once-over and make sure she wasn't hurt. There was blood soaking her chiffon blouse, and the sleeve was torn, but she'd assumed that the blood had been from Paul, who had been sitting next to her when he'd been struck and killed by flying luggage. Unbuttoning the shirt, Emmeline pulled it off, now wearing only her tank top. That was blood-stained too, but she wasn't going to take it off until she was sure there wasn't anyone looking.

Bending down and dipping her blouse in the pleasantly warm water Emmeline swished it back and forth a few times, then raised the wet, balled-up blouse to her arm to rinse the blood off her skin. A sharp stinging caused her to breathe in sharply, suddenly painfully aware of a gash on her upper arm. She must have been too much in shock earlier to notice, but now that she was rubbing salt water on broken skin, she was quite harshly informed of her injury. Well that was unpleasant...

More careful now, Emma dabbed at the cut on her arm, biting her lip to keep from vocalizing the sting as she carefully washed the bits of sand and debris from her arm. It seemed as though it had stopped bleeding by now, which was probably a good thing considering that she didn't have anything on hand to bind it with, and it was an incredibly minor injury compared to some of the other victims of the crash, and she would have felt horrible taking clean bandage supplies away from them, when she could live without a bandage. Not really paying attention to anything around her, the auburn haired girl didn't hear someone else come up the beach behind her.

_{tag OPEN
lyrics "if we hold on together" t h e | l a n d | b e f o r e | t i m e
wearing jeans shirt tanktop sneakers
comments anyone (or multiple 'anyone's) is/are more than welcome to join. ; )}

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[Brandon 'Bee P' Parkin.]

Outfit: A lesson in unsophistication!

With it being dusk, Brandon had naturally been planing on hitting the hay, resetting his inner clock, and all the other ways to say 'go to bed'. But...he just was not the slightest bit tired. Since being in a plane crash, landing in the sea which could easily have swept him somewhere, trying to find a new set of clothes since ruining his own Brandon...Just couldn't sleep. The last thing that one needed at a time like this was sleep deprivation. Since Brandon was an insomniac he knew how hard it was to go an entire 24 hours without sleeping at all. And it was a experience that he would not go through by choice. But some nights he would just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, in total silence after trying for a good six hours to sleep. But that was all off this god awful island. Still, the view from the beach was nice.

As Brandon walked barefoot down the sand he wasn't really afraid of stepping on any bits of glass which might be lying around, since he doubted the wreckage would have reached this far out. The only thing that had kept him walking had been the thought of going back to the screaming of the fuselage. And the bodies. Brandon could not stand the bodies, which had made it hard looking for his clothes but he'd had to find some. He'd ripped his shirt so much, it would just bug him if he wore it two days in a row. So as he did a random cartwheel he sighed. This island was probably going to be the last place he'd ever be before he died. He would be here forever...or at least, that is what he assumed. Brandon couldn't tell and at the moment he didn't want to know. As he rubbed the big red mark on his forehead, he winced a little, the pain had not gone yet. Since banging his head, he had scanned his memory which was fine so he didn't have amnesia, which was good, but there was still something scratching at him...

As he hummed Con Te Partiro, that's right he listened to opera some times, he couldn't help but notice a figure sitting in the sand not a few steps away. Brandon also noticed the figure was dabbing herself with a wet blouse. He sure hoped that was water from the plane on the blouse. Otherwise that'd sting a bit. Thinking that he might as well go lend his assistance in the woman was hurt, he walked up behind her. But as he opened his mouth to talk, he thought that he didn't want to really scare this female, in case they were scared easily of something. So quieter than he normally spoke, he said "Excuse me, but that's not seawater is it? If it is then I've got a bottle of water from the plane". Brandon wasn't very good when it came to talking to people, which was why he'd decided that he would avoid talking much if he could. But if somebody was injured and needed help then he really didn't see any alternative. "Do you mind if I join you? My Name's Brandon." he said as he offered the female a handshake.

(OOC: Sorry the length didn't match yours, I'm just kinda out of muse at the minute. Again, Sorry.)

[Emmeline Tyler]

Emmeline almost got used to the sting of the salt water on her gash after a bit; it was almost like when you put rubbing alcohol or some other cleanser on broken skin...It hurt like hell at first, but then you either got used to it, or tried to ignore it, or didn't mind it for whatever reason after a while, knowing that in the long run, cleaning the wound would be good for you. And she did know that salt could be used as a cleaner for wounds. Not typically used in hospitals because there were other, stronger and better chemicals used now-a-days, but salt and salt water could be used to clean cuts. It supposedly also helped prevent infections because it dried the wound out, though Emma had of course never actually been one to pour salt on open wounds in the past just to see if that worked. But now, with limited resources and more people injured worse than herself, it seemed as though testing out the theory couldn't go too horribly wrong.

A quiet 'excuse me' mildly startled her, and she looked up a little quickly to see who it was. She didn't particularly recognize the man standing in the sand--of course not, she didn't know anyone else on the flight except Paul--but she thought she'd seen him on the beach earlier (also highly probable considering that they both happened to be survivors of a plane crash). He continued on to ask if it was sea water she was using, and offered a bottle of fresh water if she was. He then asked if she'd mind him joining her, and introduced himself as Brandon, extending a hand towards her.

"I'm Emmeline." She replied with a little smile of greeting, shaking his outstretched hand. If there was one thing she didn't do, it was shake hands like a girl. Having both a father and teasingly protective older brother teaching her how to present herself when she was younger, they had both been very insistent that she shake hands 'properly' not 'like a dead fish the way some chicks do.' Not that she had a vice grip of death or anything, just a decently firm handshake like...well, at least according to Riff, like a normal person who wasn't some dame trying to make everyone feel sorry for her or fall head-over-heels for her. "Or Emma, or anything you'd like, really..." Emmeline added, since most of her friends and family tended to just give her various nicknames. Emma, Emmy, and Em (or Ems) seemed to be the most common, though she did have one friend from the music department in college that had called her Linny since they'd met...

She shook her head in response to his query if she minded him sitting, "No, not at all; pull up a rock and make yourself comfortable." She commented politely, almost a little jestingly, trying not to be droll and depressing because of the afternoon's events. "And yeah, its seawater...I didn't really realize I wasn't in mint condition until now...Thanks for the offer, but keep it, you might get thirsty later and you definitely can't drink the ocean...Actually, the salt hurt like hell at first but its not really bad anymore...It's supposedly cleansing, technically..."

The teenager brushed a strand of auburn goldenish-brownish hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, looking over at her new companion. He looked about her age, and wasn't horrible looking. Not Marlon Brando (but hey, who is?), but definitely more than decent. He had a rather painful-looking welt on his head, though: "What about you, are you alright?" She asked in concern, wanting to make sure he was ok.

_{tag Brandon
lyrics "if we hold on together" t h e | l a n d | b e f o r e | t i m e
wearing jeans shirt tanktop sneakers
comments don't be sorry! I tend to get really muse-full when my roommate's yelling on the phone with her boyfriend and I have no where else to go.
ps, Brandon has good taste in music... Con Te Partiro is beautiful...
pps, before you (or anyone else) ask, yes, the roommate is--once again--yelling at her boyfriend. hence the long, mostly pointless, post.}

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