Stranded [RA + Deepsss]

It started with turbulence.

Elliot was familiar enough with plane rides to not think too much, even when the shaking and lurching continued for 10 minutes. He simply leaned back into his seat, turned his head to look out the window, and tried to block out the noise of the fussing baby behind him with his ipod.

This was his vacation, after all - no need to get irritated, he told himself. Before long he would be sitting on a beach in Spain, soaking up the sun and swimming until his hearts content. The twenty-four year old settled in easily, 5'9 inch body easily fit within the close rows of seats.

A few minutes later, the Captain's voice crackled through the intercom.

Please refrain from moving about the cabin, we seem to be hitting some rough turbulence. The lights overhead suddenly flickered, catching Elliot's attention much more quickly. Green eyes flicked to the overhead signs, noting the brightly lit "seatbelts" icon, before he watched one of the flight attendants hurry up the aisle to slip into the pilot's cabin. When she stepped out, Elliot could have sworn her face looked significantly paler.

That was the moment that hung in his memory: the first budding sensation that something wasn't quite right, but not sure what he was going to do about it.

After that everything went so wrong, so fast.

Elliot could hardly remember the announcement that they needed to make an emergency water landing, never mind the fact that they were somewhere over the Atlantic: there was a small string of sparse islands coming up, and they had no other choice. Something about an engine going haywire, threatening to die altogether. A cocktail of fear, disbelief, and adrenaline fed itself straight into Elliot's veins as he reached for something, anything, to help him - what had been that bit about a flotation device before they took off, or the oxygen mask - Elliot had never listened to stuff like that, no one did -

People were panicking as the never-ending sheet of blue got closer and closer to their plane. He watched it, unable to look away, and thought that it seemed as if they were in a bit of a weird position to land. Was the wing supposed to be tipped down?

They hit the water at an angle, and for a long moment there was blackness. Pain hit Elliot all over as his body was wrenched around in the force of impact, slammed against the seat in front of him, hit from the side, tumbling. And then there was water pouring in from all sides, and his own body took over. Fingers scrambled to release himself from his seat just as he looked up. The ceiling - which was suddenly level with the water, as the plane had turned on its side - had been split open like a gutted fish. Without thinking, Elliot lurched towards it, reaching for the metal and pulling himself through just as it was all pulled under water.

He swam. In hindsight, Elliot didn't know how he did it. Bits of the wreckage was everywhere, twisted metal carcasses littering the top of the water and threatening to pull him down as they sunk. Cargo that floated quickly scattered before he could grab one; he had to settle for part of a flight chair, clumsy and awkward as it was. An island rose above the flat horizon, and Elliot set a course for it before the white noise in his head rose to such an unbearable level that he couldn't move.

Time passed in a strange, warped way that made him wonder if he were even conscious. A few times he forgot to keep swimming, exhausted, and sank under the water before his survival instincts came roaring back to life.

Wet, but firm, sand felt like saving grace underneath his feet when Elliot finally reached the shore. Quickly abandoning the heavy chair, Elliot panted and waded, struggling with every ounce of his fading strength to get out of the water. "Oh god," he gasped, collapsing onto dry sand in a heap. His simple t-shirt and jeans were plastered against his wet body, blonde hair matted close to his head. Somehow, he had lost one of his shoes, and one of his hands was bright red with blood.

The plane went down. His own heartbeat sounded like a roar in his ears, nearly drowning out any comprehensible thought. But even then, it felt surreal to Elliot. The plane went down. Slowly, he regained his breath, though his limbs still burned from exhaustion.

That was when Elliot realized he didn't hear anyone else in the water. No screams, no calls for help.

Nothing.

The Faroe Isles weren't known for their hospitality. North of the Atlantic Ocean, the small collection of unexplored islands were host to a myriad of harsh landscapes, dangerous beasts previously unheard of in modern society, and limited resources. Yet despite the dangers and stacked odds, the lands represented the home of exactly one lost soul. A man who didn't know where he had come from, how he had come to exist in such an unforgiving location. There were of course pieces, shards of memories of when he was a child: an explosion, a woman's desperate voice, 'Noah'. None of it honestly made any sense, though it didn't need to. The one and only goal on those islands was survival, and for the greater part of his twenty-six years that was what the man had managed to accomplish.

As the way most stories go, the day had started just an any other. The roughly six-foot man growled, his teeth bared as he stared down a massive saber tooth near the coastline. Brandishing only a spear toward the creature, his muscular physique flexed and tensed as anticipated the beast's attack, already planning for his counterattack. With only the spear and a loincloth that barely covered anything there wasn't much room for error, as the various scars across his body would attest to.

Alas before their standoff even reached its conclusion both were distracted by the piercing sound of an explosion off in the distance. Flaming debris rained down in the distance, sending the sabertooth into a panic flee back into the jungle as the human held his position and looked on in confusion. He had seen creatures breathe on the island before, but nothing like he was seeing off in the horizon. His instincts told him to run, far and fast, but his curiosity kept him firmly in place. Just barely amidst the plumage of fire and smoke he saw the weirdest looking creature, one unlike he'd ever seen, nosedive straight into the ocean disappearing beneath the waves just as suddenly as it had appeared.

Minutes ticked past, and as the flames and smoke began to dissipate the man saw no signs of the mysterious flaming beast. With a grunt, he moved toward the catfish and settled down against the sands, removing the tooth from his spear and worked on skinning the fish. For the briefest moment he looked back out into the ocean. He watched a minute more, but after seeing nothing more than wisps of smoke the thought of the creature left his mind as focused on skinning his catch.

~

He was halfway finished with his catch when debris had begun to wash onto the shore. The initial wave of metal washing ashore caused the man to jump back, eyeing the shards cautiously he moved closer. After a minute staring them down, then poking, he risked getting close enough to actually pick one of the pieces up. Though damp, the metal still felt warm in his hands. Moving it closer to his face, he rotated the piece around then moved it closer and suddenly bit down on it hard. The decision was one he regretted immediately, the shard was immediately hard with the taste of iron and ash, yelling out angrily he threw it back out into the ocean when he noticed something new wash up onto the shore off in the distance.

For a moment he stared down the newest creature to wash ashore, this one far larger and apparently still moving. His instincts told him to exercise caution but once more his curiosity got the best of him. Heading over, he stayed just out of range to have fair warning if the newcomer attempted to attack him but still close enough that he could get a decent view. With a loud grunt he called out, wanting to see if he could catch the man's attention.

Against the sand, looking up, Elliot could only see the stretch of blue sky over him. That, and the bleeding hand he was also holding up. I don't understand. How had he hurt himself? He couldn't remember any pain initially, and his mind struggled to think back to what he had just survived. Then, slowly, there were snippets. Reaching for the serrated opening that had been torn into the plane. Gripping hard, fearful of getting pulled back into the plane and getting tangled up in the seats. The realization didn't offer any sort of comfort, only a blank stare. Oh.

After some time Elliot managed to push himself into a sitting position so he could cast his gaze out over the water. Smoke was still billowing up from where the plane had gone down, though it was mostly submerged - chunks of metal were still floating, too stubborn to die just yet. A few pieces of carry-on or full luggage was trying to float towards the shore, and Elliot watched them bob idly, wondering where their owners were. He couldn't be the only person who made it, he told himself. There were over a hundred people on the plane, at least - and yet, he couldn't even remember seeing them after the crash. There was a person in the seat next to him, but whenever Elliot tried to remember any faces or people his mind covered over it with a certain white noise that kept him numb and quiet.

Elliot was still staring out into the waves, exhausted and lost, when he heard a noise that had him turning on instinct. At first he thought it was a large animal - and he wasn't necessarily wrong.

"Hey!" Surprise and euphoria quickly surged through his body at the sight of another human being about fifteen paces away. I'm not alone. But a moment later he paused, taking in the man's attire - or lack of, rather - and the large, threatening spear in his hand. Whatever smile that had tried to spread across his face disappeared, leaving Elliot frozen in his spot, silent and thinking.

Something quickly blossomed in his gut, growing too strong, and too fast. The laugh started off quiet, and then grew louder until Elliot had tipped his head back in a sharp, barking laugh. Jesus fucking christ. Slowly, Elliot twisted around in the sand to face the man and got to his feet. "Do you speak English?" Elliot asked weakly, but hopefully. The man seemed clearly from the island, not from the wreckage, which made him wonder: was there more like him here? A whole tribe, perhaps?

That would just be his luck, Elliot thought. To survive a plane crash, only to be killed a few minutes later on land. In the universal gesture of peace, Elliot showed the man his empty palms, keeping his arms away from his body. "Please," he added, though he wasn't even sure if it would help. "Please don't kill me." Underneath him, his legs still felt weak and tired, and the man in front of him was built out of solid muscle. There was no contest between them.

He just stared silently, watching as the stranger slowly stood up and raised his hands in an odd gesture. The odd creature didn't seem dangerous, at the very least it would have already attacked by now like everything else on the island. Far stranger however were the sounds it made when it spoke, none of which making any sense to the man at the moment. It did seem familiar he had to admit, the way the man strung together sounds reminded him just barely of times long past. He had heard of such sounds before but could not recall exactly where or when, nowadays they had only come to him in dreams and the brief fragments of memories he had when he attempted to recall the time before the island.

As he continued wondering why the sound the creature was making seemed so familiar, the man just continued to stand there with his head tilted like a lost puppy. Even if it did sound familiar, the newcomer made absolutely no sense. More curiously though, it looked almost exactly like himself. It was shorter, slimmer and had the most bizarre looking fur, but the way their bodies were shaped was exactly the same.

His curiosity finally getting the better of him, the man finally stepped forward after what seemed like an eternity of silence. Though his expression remained cautious it didn't take long for him to close the gap between the two of them, only to begin circling around to get a better glimpse of the newcomer from every side. Seeing how small the other looked compared to himself when close up put him even more at ease. The spear was tossed carelessly to the ground as the man then reached and grabbed the other's right arm, his grip was firm as he felt the odd, damp fur that covered his upper-body. It made no sense from the looks of things, it obviously wasn't water-proof and the layers were thin enough that they wouldn't provide the least bit of protection from an attack.

After the brief inspection he let out out irritated grunt at the uselessness of whatever it was covering the stranger's skin and finally let go, next noticing large cut across his palm. Once more he grabbed the same arm, this time inspecting the injury closely. If his own history of injuries were anything to go by, the man's cut didn't look deep enough to be fatal though he figured it would make him sick eventually if it went unchecked. Without particularly thinking, he leaned in close and licked the wound slowly, ignoring the taste of iron mixed with salt water as he did what he could to clean the cut. After a couple of seconds however he found that the blood was still leaking despite his efforts, resulting in him letting out an irritated grunt at how annoying it was to deal with injuries.

Switching instead to plan B, he let go and reached down at his side to undo his loincloth. His own nudity wasn't of any concern and he was actually somewhat relieved to not have to wear the thing anymore as his sizable length flopped out into the open. He wasted no time tearing the cloth into long strands, then once more roughly grabbed at the man's arms and tightly wound them around him wound as a makeshift bandage. It was the next best thing to stop the bleeding he had learned Constantly cleaning a wound with his tongue was tedious and inefficient, it was far better to wrap it with something that would just soak up the blood instead.

His work down, his attention turned straight back to the man's face, then back to the ocean, then back to his face. Frowning, he jabbed at the man's chest then pointed out to the ocean toward the location where he saw the massive burning creature fall from the sky just earlier. Not really able to speak, he could only growl and huff to try to communicate, wondering if the stranger's appearance and the random flaming sky creature were related to one another.

Elliot decided that the silence was almost as painful as the accident. He could feel the man's eyes watching him, staring him down with an intensity that made his stomach roll. Instinct urged him to talk, but Elliot didn't know if that was the best idea; what if he accidentally talked the man out of whatever he was considering? What if it didn't even matter?

Helpless, uncertain, and scared, it was all he could do to stay absolute still, hoping that staying completely immobile would somehow better his odds; and it seemed to work. The tight band that constricted his lungs lessened significantly when the man tossed his spear onto the ground, though a new wave of alarm washed over Elliot as his arm was grabbed.

"Umm - please, I...ahh..." Elliot tried to flinch away, but the man was both faster and stronger. He didn't like being so close to the other, but it did allow him to study a bit more. The man's skin was strongly tanned, bronze and even in complexion. Even though the fabric of his shirt, Elliot could feel the calluses on his palms and fingers. There was no longer any doubt that the man had been on the island for a long time; probably with a tribe, Elliot thought.

Somehow, the other looked less upset about his presence, so Elliot ventured into speech again. "No English, huh?" He asked, trying to ignore how his shirt was being so intensely examined. "Do you speak at all, anything?" An instant later he felt those rough hands grabbing his arm in such a way that his bleeding palm was forced upwards. "Oh - yeah, d-don't touch - hurts - hey!"

The last thing Elliot was prepared to expect was licking. Wide-eyed and alarmed, his good hand shot out to press against his shoulder, but to no avail. "Umm, y-you..." If the licking had given him a shock, it was nothing compared to when the loincloth came off. Immediately Elliot flushed and turned away, though the image of his cock, naked and bold between his muscled thighs, stayed seared into the back of his eyelids. He ended up giving his hand up willingly so the man could bind his injury, though Elliot was determined on keeping his eyes away from what was in between the man's legs.

"Thank you..." Elliot paused as the other began to gesture towards the sky. Confusion knit his brow for a long moment, but he sensed enough of the question to take a stab. He nodded, and then gestured towards the sky too. "Yeah, er - plane," Elliot said, pronouncing the last word clearly. He said it again before letting his pointing finger slowly fall, tracing the trajectory of the accident until he was pointing at the water. Then, tapping his own chest, he gestured towards the ocean again. "I was with the plane..." A darkness flickered over his features, voice falling. "Many people were." By now, debris had secured whatever foothold it found onto the shore: suitcases, chunks of the plane, seat cushions. He tore his eyes away from the evidence and faced the other man.

There were so many questions he had, and so much he desperately wanted to communicate - but so far, it didn't seem possible. Elliot decided to go for something very simple, since he hadn't even heard a syllable from the man. "Elliot." His bandaged hand tapped his own sea-soaked shirt, gesturing towards himself. "El-li-ot." And then, in a silent question, he reached out and let his fingers tap the large, smooth expanse of the other man's chest.

The native just watched curiously as the man spoke more gibberish. While it made absolutely no sense he couldn't shake off the feeling that it sounded extremely familiar, like he'd heard just sounds once upon a time. Though the speech made no sense, he was at least smart enough to piece together concepts from the other's gestures.

There were other people, like himself, apparently. This one apparently wrestled down the giant flaming creature from the sky, though was apparently disappointed as the beast disappeared straight into the endless waters. Though a hunt getting away was absolutely the most frustrating thing one had to go through in life, it was absolutely amazing that such a smaller creature than himself could get up so high in the sky to wrestle the flaming beast in the first place.

The man's eyes widened in both shock an awe, humbled that such a powerful creature was not currently ripping him apart limb from limb. He thought he was good with his ability to jump from tree branch to tree branch but apparently there were far greater creatures out there with the capacity to jump high enough to hunt down the loud sky-beasts that occasionally showed up over top the island. The native looked absolutely amazed, as he then continued listening to the familiar-sounding gibberish. "Elli- Ott" He spoke slowly, his tone low and somewhat awkward given the years he had spent only communicating in growls and yells. Elliot was apparently an extremely powerful creature, and he quickly concluded that it would be wise for him to avoid getting into a fight at all costs.

When Elliot pointed in his direction, nearly jabbing him in the chest, the man suddenly jumped back in recoil fearing that he would catch fire just as the sky beast had. Both hands patted down his chest, though after not feeling any signs of pain or injury his attention turned back to the man looking like a betrayed pup. He was utterly lost now, nothing made sense and it was starting to make his head hurt. After letting out a low groan he cautiously took a couple steps back then scurried back to the other end of the beach and flung the large catfish he had caught over his shoulder before bringing it back and dropping it before Elliot's feet. It wasn't as big as the sky creature but he figured maybe offering his own catch would make him feel better, at the very least he thought it would put him back in the stranger's favor once again.

"Ell-E-Ott" He said, a touch less awkward the second time around, pointing to the man then down to the fish.