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unrequitingly
[ He thinks it's the nerves that finally get to him.
When he crawls out of the wreckage of their starfighter – his brain is too frazzled to remember the name – his entire body is shaking, and Abel drags himself towards some burnt shrubs before ripping off his helmet and vomiting into the dirt. It's a risk he shouldn't have taken considering the alien nature of the planet they'd just crashed into, but the air seems breathable enough–if he can take a deep breath. The adrenaline is difficult to ignore, rushing through him as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, tasting the weird material of his suit and the acid of vomit. There isn't much to look at where they've landed; there are dense tree-like structures to the north of him, large shadows that remind him of mountains to the left. The air smells vaguely sweet, but mostly, it's thick with smoke and the burning wreckage of what had been their only viable transport off this world.
Abel tosses his helmet aside, only vaguely registering the crack down the center of it when it rolls away from him, and he huffs out a strained breath before struggling to get to his feet. His entire body still feels as if it's falling, but his thoughts are finally starting to unwind and – Praxis. Their comms had been severed when they'd been hit, and he hadn't seen him pull himself out of fighter, frantic now as he stumbles back towards the broken hatch of the cockpit. He bangs his knees against part of the wing but ignores it, his voice tight and barely louder than normal despite the fact he thinks he's yelling. ]
Praxis! Can you hear me? Where are you? [ He shouts the fighter's name a few more times, trying to dig his way back into the wreckage.
Part of the blow that had landed them in this mess and mostly struck in the back, and though they'd only reunited with each other a few short days after the transfer, older feelings began to slam through him. What if he's dead or seriously injured? What if Abel can't do anything to help him and... He sucks in a frantic breath, and when he's sure there isn't any sign of him in the seats, he turns to look around at the burning pieces of the ship. Had he been thrown when they'd landed? A different sort of panic races through him then, and he thinks he's going to be sick again. ] Praxis!
[ He cups his hands together and yells for him over and over, only pausing to listen for any answering sounds. ]
When he crawls out of the wreckage of their starfighter – his brain is too frazzled to remember the name – his entire body is shaking, and Abel drags himself towards some burnt shrubs before ripping off his helmet and vomiting into the dirt. It's a risk he shouldn't have taken considering the alien nature of the planet they'd just crashed into, but the air seems breathable enough–if he can take a deep breath. The adrenaline is difficult to ignore, rushing through him as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, tasting the weird material of his suit and the acid of vomit. There isn't much to look at where they've landed; there are dense tree-like structures to the north of him, large shadows that remind him of mountains to the left. The air smells vaguely sweet, but mostly, it's thick with smoke and the burning wreckage of what had been their only viable transport off this world.
Abel tosses his helmet aside, only vaguely registering the crack down the center of it when it rolls away from him, and he huffs out a strained breath before struggling to get to his feet. His entire body still feels as if it's falling, but his thoughts are finally starting to unwind and – Praxis. Their comms had been severed when they'd been hit, and he hadn't seen him pull himself out of fighter, frantic now as he stumbles back towards the broken hatch of the cockpit. He bangs his knees against part of the wing but ignores it, his voice tight and barely louder than normal despite the fact he thinks he's yelling. ]
Praxis! Can you hear me? Where are you? [ He shouts the fighter's name a few more times, trying to dig his way back into the wreckage.
Part of the blow that had landed them in this mess and mostly struck in the back, and though they'd only reunited with each other a few short days after the transfer, older feelings began to slam through him. What if he's dead or seriously injured? What if Abel can't do anything to help him and... He sucks in a frantic breath, and when he's sure there isn't any sign of him in the seats, he turns to look around at the burning pieces of the ship. Had he been thrown when they'd landed? A different sort of panic races through him then, and he thinks he's going to be sick again. ] Praxis!
[ He cups his hands together and yells for him over and over, only pausing to listen for any answering sounds. ]