[right][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/497601769497690113/497601891514187776/WIN_20181004_18_41_41_Pro.jpg?width=300&height=200[/img][/right] [right] ________________________ LOCATION: Beach INTERACTIONS:[@Aamaya],[@JazzyJuniper] TIME OF DAY: Evening HEALTH: Optimal (Minor Cuts and Bruises) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/right] ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ [h1][center][color=1b1464][b]Eric Horst[/b][/color][/center][/h1] ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Glad his awkward words had gone mostly unnoticed, and feeling able to move, at least a bit, Eric shakily stood to his feet, shrugging his own thicker trench coat off his person, which revealed several large gashes the piece of clothing had sustained, and presumably what had kept the man decently uninjured. His two shirts were plastered to his skin, and a hint of red flashed from a spot near his upper left shoulder. It stung, and he reached back to feel for any damage. His hand came back to his face to meet with a small smear of crimson. He allowed his coat to fall to the sand, and he hurriedly flung off unbuttoned the remains of his dress shirt, followed by the Tee he wore underneath. He felt his back again, finding the source of the blood. A decent sized cut had been made to his back. It didn't feel deep, but if he hadn't had his trench coat, it might had been far more then a simple slash. It didn't feel bad enough to waste time on, so instead of bothering the woman, who was already in the process of tending to another, marking her as some form of doctor, at least from her actions. He lifted his dress shirt from the ground, clenching it tightly within his hands, as he began the process of tearing it into fair sized chunks. The fabric tearing reminded him of the process of tearing meat apart with his teeth during dinner time, and it would later strike him, that he might never eat a normal, juicy steak, ever again. His hands were still shaking, and he fumbled several times with the knot, but he finally managed to tie the make-shift bandage around the wound, much like a bandoleer the military used for carrying extra ammunition or small explosives. The wrapping felt sturdy, if a bit crude, but he could fix that later, for now...Tossing his shoes to the side, watching the faint traces of water from within them spill out like a tea cup slammed down to hard, he pulled his socks off, watching them peel off his feet, and tossed them onto his trench coat. His jeans were soaked, but uncomfortable with taking them off, he left them on his legs, feeling the fabric make attempts to cling to his legs, to no avail. They were simply the wrong material to stick to flesh when wet. Brushing the seat of his pants off, the wannabe detective turned back to his clothing, and slowly lifted the trench coat from the sand, grains sticking to the surface of the surface. His gaze met it, and he found himself transfixed with the coat. The gash that cut through the upper left half of the simple long coat, had been one of the reasons he probably still had his arm. His memory on exactly how he had escaped the plane was hazy, a mist he couldn't see through, possibly due to the sheer panic, and hysteria he and the other passengers had gone through, but no matter the case, he might have lost function of his left arm completely if he hadn't been wearing the heavy article of clothing. The coat was a winter gift from his family a few years back, and he enjoyed the look so much, he almost never was seen without it. The coat was both a gift, and his trademark. He was that pissed, average looking bastard in the trench coat that people walked a wide circle around in public. He often had found himself laughing at such events when he was alone. He vaguely remembered one of security members asking if he was seriously planning on wearing it into the plane, and to their destination of all places. Eric had merely glared at the guard, allowing him to check the contents of the coat for any hidden weaponry of any kind, before allowing him to continue on his way. A few of the other passengers had stared at him oddly for keeping the trench coat on his person the entire flight, not that it had mattered much to him. It probably didn't matter now, they had probably been swallowed up by the sea by now, their bodies making decent meals for both predator and prey fish alike. Then he remembered how he had nearly been swallowed by the water himself, and that brought a close to his reminiscing. The sand deforming under his feet after every step, Eric trudged over to the woman and the man she was assisting. He was just in time to see her finish the cauterization process, and he couldn't help but be impressed. She was resourceful, and this pretty much proved she had some sort of medical background. The sun's heat was both their ally, and a possible enemy, as he took a quick glance at it, quint-ting as the rays of the slowly setting sun stared back, almost taunting them for the situation they now found themselves in. His eyes flicked back down to the man. He was older then him, by a good few years, but he seemed like a tough one. One of those former military types. The kind who looked down on people like him. He didn't plan on stooping to the level of his college peers however, and merely offered a hand. [b][color=440e62]"Need a hand?"[/color][/b] His tone was flat, neutral, but it was the thought that counted. At least in Eric's eyes. He wasn't expecting a thank you, or even anything friendly, but they were all in the same boat. What choice did they have but to try and work together? Not to mention, from the looks of him, the woman, and the other washed up survivor's he could see, they were in worse shape then he was. Far worse.