[It's not his best landing. He tries to right himself on reflex and misjudges the distance in the impossible winds and hits the ground a little too hard before he can roll with the impact. And rolling to his feet afterward—doesn't work out the way it should. As soon as he moves too quickly to put too much pressure on his feet, he's slammed with a horrible spike of pain and a gripping bout of nausea that tells him that something is probably very much not right. His ankle collapses, and he hits the sand again before he can get a grip, braced on his hands and knees and blinking the dizziness out of his vision while he gets his bearings. Which is all well and good, if he had the time for it. But he's still close enough to the edge of the ocean for the storm and the rough surf to keep battering the shore at the edges. And the noise of it is enough to mask the approach of one very big and very red crab thing coming way too close at his back.]
closed to Rin.
[Mabel's a good kid, but there's only so much she can really do to help out in these circumstances. Some time later he's pulled together, if not at all rested in the very conspicuous absence of actual painkillers. Alive and alert, if not as mobile as he'd like to be. Definitely habitually paranoid enough to catch the sound of something moving outside the building he's holed up in and assume the worst of wherever they've been whisked away to. Sounds too heavy to be Mabel, which has him wary enough to force himself upright to intercept.
When Rin rounds the corner of the shelter she'll find herself staring down the barrel of a gun. For all its wielder is palefaced and braced against the doorjamb to keep upright, his aim is pretty damn steady, for the split second it takes for her face to register as friendly.]
[Taking advantage of his mostly-reclaimed mobility, it's time to get the lay of the land. This is no Gotham city, but this is a lot more his speed than the squat island buildings in Komo or the dusty old castle in Oska. It is, however, a hell of a lot more dead than any city he's rolled through. Rusted through and falling apart and silent. Still, he picks a likely looking direction and starts getting vertical for a bird's (if not a Robin's) eye view.
a. Given the eerie silence and stillness of the place, he's not too hard to miss as he picks his way over the rooftops, even from a distance. See something moving up there? Maybe you ought to investigate, if you're able.
b. If you can't, don't worry, he's on his way down. He swings down from a rooftop in a bout of stupidly springy vigilante parkour, landing on a ledge beside a likely-looking window for a little B&E. Problem is, the damn thing is rusted shut. Spotting a potential accomplice down on ground level, he whistles sharply for attention. Be a good sport, huh?
c. Or, later, night is falling and someone's set up some kind of camp for the stragglers to meet up. There's some sense in safety in numbers, even if it takes time for them all to regroup. He's set himself down by the fire with whatever monster fish rations they're serving up today (if you're younger than him, he might casually claim he isn't hungry if you want it.) Mostly, he's got his wrists resting on his knees while he looks thoughtfully at the very mechanical structures in the distance. The dissonance between this and the islands they'd been on before is almost staggering.
Mostly rhetorically—]
Not in Kansas anymore, huh Toto?
docks. also OTA.
[d. Figures that the first place to try and look for a way off an island would be the docks. Where there's a shipyard, there's usually a ship or two. Unfortunately this shipyard is pretty empty of boats. And pretty overrun with terrible red crab monsters. He's trying not to waste his depleting stores of ammunition if he can help it, which mostly means avoiding confrontation. So he does more dodging than dueling, when he opens the wrong warehouse door to find a hive of terrible monsters inside. Still, he manages to back himself into a corner by sheer bad luck once or twice, eyeing the unstable rafters like he's debating the wisdom of using them to get out of Dodge. An assist wouldn't go entirely amiss.]
[e. Once they find the warship, it's a matter of getting the damn thing operational. Jason's no mechanic, but he's got a working knowledge of a lot of things. Vehicles being one of them. And he's one of the apparently outnumbered portion of the crew that errs more on the technological side than the magical one. So he hangs around the salvage to be useful where he can. At some point he's got his head stuck under a particularly trashed console, fishing through the rusted out remains to see what can be saved. Some (smaller, still very much alive) alien crab seems to have made a home of it. He plucks the thing out of the bowels and tosses it out toward what should be the to be trashed pile of junk. Might have aimed a little high, though. Head's up.]
etc. [wildcard me! hit me up with whatever I missed, general warship repair stuff, new and exciting adventures with gross deep sea fish, huddling for warmth, etc. (why would you ever.) do what makes you happy or hassle me for a custom prompt here or on plurk or smth.]
Jason Todd, mostly open.
[It's not his best landing. He tries to right himself on reflex and misjudges the distance in the impossible winds and hits the ground a little too hard before he can roll with the impact. And rolling to his feet afterward—doesn't work out the way it should. As soon as he moves too quickly to put too much pressure on his feet, he's slammed with a horrible spike of pain and a gripping bout of nausea that tells him that something is probably very much not right. His ankle collapses, and he hits the sand again before he can get a grip, braced on his hands and knees and blinking the dizziness out of his vision while he gets his bearings. Which is all well and good, if he had the time for it. But he's still close enough to the edge of the ocean for the storm and the rough surf to keep battering the shore at the edges. And the noise of it is enough to mask the approach of one very big and very red crab thing coming way too close at his back.]
closed to Rin.
[Mabel's a good kid, but there's only so much she can really do to help out in these circumstances. Some time later he's pulled together, if not at all rested in the very conspicuous absence of actual painkillers. Alive and alert, if not as mobile as he'd like to be. Definitely habitually paranoid enough to catch the sound of something moving outside the building he's holed up in and assume the worst of wherever they've been whisked away to. Sounds too heavy to be Mabel, which has him wary enough to force himself upright to intercept.
When Rin rounds the corner of the shelter she'll find herself staring down the barrel of a gun. For all its wielder is palefaced and braced against the doorjamb to keep upright, his aim is pretty damn steady, for the split second it takes for her face to register as friendly.]
residential areas/factory/anywhere there's buildings really. OTA.
[Taking advantage of his mostly-reclaimed mobility, it's time to get the lay of the land. This is no Gotham city, but this is a lot more his speed than the squat island buildings in Komo or the dusty old castle in Oska. It is, however, a hell of a lot more dead than any city he's rolled through. Rusted through and falling apart and silent. Still, he picks a likely looking direction and starts getting vertical for a bird's (if not a Robin's) eye view.
a. Given the eerie silence and stillness of the place, he's not too hard to miss as he picks his way over the rooftops, even from a distance. See something moving up there? Maybe you ought to investigate, if you're able.
b. If you can't, don't worry, he's on his way down. He swings down from a rooftop in a bout of stupidly springy vigilante parkour, landing on a ledge beside a likely-looking window for a little B&E. Problem is, the damn thing is rusted shut. Spotting a potential accomplice down on ground level, he whistles sharply for attention. Be a good sport, huh?
c. Or, later, night is falling and someone's set up some kind of camp for the stragglers to meet up. There's some sense in safety in numbers, even if it takes time for them all to regroup. He's set himself down by the fire with whatever monster fish rations they're serving up today (if you're younger than him, he might casually claim he isn't hungry if you want it.) Mostly, he's got his wrists resting on his knees while he looks thoughtfully at the very mechanical structures in the distance. The dissonance between this and the islands they'd been on before is almost staggering.
Mostly rhetorically—]
Not in Kansas anymore, huh Toto?
docks. also OTA.
[d. Figures that the first place to try and look for a way off an island would be the docks. Where there's a shipyard, there's usually a ship or two. Unfortunately this shipyard is pretty empty of boats. And pretty overrun with terrible red crab monsters. He's trying not to waste his depleting stores of ammunition if he can help it, which mostly means avoiding confrontation. So he does more dodging than dueling, when he opens the wrong warehouse door to find a hive of terrible monsters inside. Still, he manages to back himself into a corner by sheer bad luck once or twice, eyeing the unstable rafters like he's debating the wisdom of using them to get out of Dodge. An assist wouldn't go entirely amiss.]
[e. Once they find the warship, it's a matter of getting the damn thing operational. Jason's no mechanic, but he's got a working knowledge of a lot of things. Vehicles being one of them. And he's one of the apparently outnumbered portion of the crew that errs more on the technological side than the magical one. So he hangs around the salvage to be useful where he can. At some point he's got his head stuck under a particularly trashed console, fishing through the rusted out remains to see what can be saved. Some (smaller, still very much alive) alien crab seems to have made a home of it. He plucks the thing out of the bowels and tosses it out toward what should be the to be trashed pile of junk. Might have aimed a little high, though. Head's up.]
etc. [wildcard me! hit me up with whatever I missed, general warship repair stuff, new and exciting adventures with gross deep sea fish, huddling for warmth, etc. (why would you ever.) do what makes you happy or hassle me for a custom prompt here or on plurk or smth.]