Alex wasn't nearly as comfortable inside the crashed transport as Poe was; matter'o fact, Alex wasn't comfortable at all being inside a crashed transport. Add to this that he had no idea how he'd gotten on said transport and you had an all around unhappy guy. The sound of crying and pain fill the vessel, though a good number of people had gotten themselves out either on their own or with help from another passenger.
Smoke was finally starting to clear the cabin area, though the smell of burnt wiring, mixed with the metallic scent of blood, nearly overwhelming his senses. He wiped blood from an already healing gash in his forehead, wincing. His next step was getting free of the buckle strapping him in and he fought with it a moment before locating the button and staggering free of the seat. He shifts his weight, moving to take a step around debris and the body of a person that had apparently been a few seats away from him, when his leg nearly gives out and pain jars his senses alive.
Chaos reigned around him, but he forced himself to look down and focus on the shrapnel that was imbedded wholly in his right thigh, passing from one side and clear through to the other. His nostril flared wide and he exhales through his teeth, hissing sharply to keep from screaming or otherwise panicking. He needed to get that out of his leg, but more importantly, he needed to get the fuck off the transport before he was unfortunate enough to have it explode around him. So, face pale and teeth clenched, he hobbled around the debris at his feet, using seats and other broken parts to balance and rest his weight against to ease the strain on his right thigh.
He makes it to the opening, where the side of the ship has been blown away leaving a jagged and risky exit, and spies Poe a short distance off. He doesn't hesitate, not caring that he doesn't know the man, and calls out.
"Hey! Do you mind giving me a hand..." The androgynous young man was quite the sight, silhouetted by the wreckage, his waist length blond hair in tangles and filthy with blood and God knew what else. There was dried blood on his forehead, but no wound that could really be seen, but there was worse.
Sure, he had shrapnel sticking out of his leg, but you see, it wasn't nearly that easy. Alex had specific healing traits as a lycanthrope, and that meant he healed at a ridiculous speed under most circumstances. This wasn't always a great thing, though, and when Poe gets closer he just might realize that the wound going through his leg, jeans shredded around it, isn't bleeding.
In fact... It appears that Alex's leg had already begun to heal around the shrapnel while it was still imbedded in his leg.
Alex Marsters // OC wereleopard :: H'lo, Poe!
Smoke was finally starting to clear the cabin area, though the smell of burnt wiring, mixed with the metallic scent of blood, nearly overwhelming his senses. He wiped blood from an already healing gash in his forehead, wincing. His next step was getting free of the buckle strapping him in and he fought with it a moment before locating the button and staggering free of the seat. He shifts his weight, moving to take a step around debris and the body of a person that had apparently been a few seats away from him, when his leg nearly gives out and pain jars his senses alive.
Chaos reigned around him, but he forced himself to look down and focus on the shrapnel that was imbedded wholly in his right thigh, passing from one side and clear through to the other. His nostril flared wide and he exhales through his teeth, hissing sharply to keep from screaming or otherwise panicking. He needed to get that out of his leg, but more importantly, he needed to get the fuck off the transport before he was unfortunate enough to have it explode around him. So, face pale and teeth clenched, he hobbled around the debris at his feet, using seats and other broken parts to balance and rest his weight against to ease the strain on his right thigh.
He makes it to the opening, where the side of the ship has been blown away leaving a jagged and risky exit, and spies Poe a short distance off. He doesn't hesitate, not caring that he doesn't know the man, and calls out.
"Hey! Do you mind giving me a hand..." The androgynous young man was quite the sight, silhouetted by the wreckage, his waist length blond hair in tangles and filthy with blood and God knew what else. There was dried blood on his forehead, but no wound that could really be seen, but there was worse.
Sure, he had shrapnel sticking out of his leg, but you see, it wasn't nearly that easy. Alex had specific healing traits as a lycanthrope, and that meant he healed at a ridiculous speed under most circumstances. This wasn't always a great thing, though, and when Poe gets closer he just might realize that the wound going through his leg, jeans shredded around it, isn't bleeding.
In fact... It appears that Alex's leg had already begun to heal around the shrapnel while it was still imbedded in his leg.