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[ex_ludo717]

Of all the things Drake expected to be doing over Spring Break, playing Treasure Island is the one thing that hadn't crossed his mind. As he follows the trail of A's back to the beginning, he feels a perverse need to alter a few of them to B's, C's, and of course, D's. He doesn't, though, for giving in to the small urges only makes way for bigger lapses later, and he's not about to traverse that route. Not unless the gain far outweighs the risk. He snorts, inwardly, for that factor is the main one he used to decide on this early trip to Australia. The gain outweighed the risk, was was he'd thought, and now look at him. He's stuck on an island searching for running water and writing FOLLOW THE A'S on a beach.

Alfred seems alright though, which is a plus. Most people would be panicking in that situation, but the Brit seems to have a sensible head on his shoulders. No histrionics there.

When Drake breaks out of the trees, he's almost surprised to realise how much the leafy canopy had been protecting him from the sun's glare. The heat hits him hard, and its with a muted sigh that he realises he's going to be red as a lobster within a day or two without sunblock available. Damn plane restrictions.

He stops at a clear part of the beach, the bit he'd found Alfred on. A few more bits of flotsam have washed up, and so he takes the time to harry what he can reach together. There's no way on earth he's going back into the water, so his discoveries are limited to a few soggy looking packets of what looks to be food, and another first aid kit. Someone's carry-on appears to be lodged in a sandbank, too, but it's a small distance away. It can wait.

Taking his stick, he digs the tip into the sand, making the scraped out shape as deep as he can so it won't immediately fill itself in.

FOLLOW THE A'S - WATER

If the tides are washing things up there, he should probably repeat the message a few times along the same beach. With that in mind, he kicks off his shoes and moves off towards the abandoned carry-on.

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[arhythmitist]

Strangely enough, Adam is perfectly calm. He's no idea how long since he swam to shore, but his legs still ache and the cotton in his mouth is getting harder to breathe around. Still, he wanders the beach looking for other survivors. He heard voices earlier, but couldn't cry out to them. It's a funny thought: all it took was a plane crash to shut him up.

He doesn't really wonder why he's so calm. He understands what happens when he's overstimulated. He could cry, wail, curse god or fate or a drunk pilot. He could scream at the top of his lungs for help. He could just lie there in the sand until the seagulls and crabs ate him. It's hard to muster the energy to be hysterical when you've got so many things to be hysterical about. Instead, he's almost catatonic.

Waving the collar of his wet shirt, Adam notices the boy dragging a stick in the sand. He hadn't thought of doing that... As he gets closer and reads the message, a smile lights up his face. Water! Maybe he was wrong, maybe he should be looking on the bright side. He's alive! He's alive and there's water! When he feels himself getting ready to let out a cheer, his smile dies. Just one more thing to be hysterical about...

"You found water?" he askes, voice raspy and flat. Of course he found water, why would anyone lie about that? Unless they were a cannibal luring survivors to a big, bubbling pot. Still means water. Shaking some of the sand from his hair, Adam looks around. "I could help? Where'd you get that stick?"