Ben
Indeed, the rain would feel more solid than liquid. The canopy felt even more solid than the rain, though, unfortunately. Cracking, breaking, snapping and thrashing, the branches at least helped stifle Ben’s fall, sort of. He occasionally struck larger and thicker branches, which bent then flung upwards, catapulting Ben a little. He tried occasionally grabbing branches, but was too drunk to be precise, and still fell, sometimes rolling or dragging over other larger branches. In the end, Ben landed amidst shrubs and bushes, which stifled his fall a bit more, and he landed with a thud and shattering.
“Ugh! I think I broken something…” Ben remarked, sitting up, shaking his head, and lifting his hand, seeing that he held onto a branch that broke but hung on by some bark. He dropped the broken stick, then looking up, Ben saw the airship, flaming and smoking, going down.
He picked himself up with a groan, the device falling in some pieces, so Ben had to unstrap the remains of the device that saved him, and it immediately fell as a pile of rubble. At least it served its purpose. Ben checked his revolvers and Bowie knives, the weapons still in their holders, so that was good, but there was probably no way he’d ever find his hat again.
Utilizing as much clarity and consciousness a drunk man could muster, Ben decided to walk the direction of the airship’s crash landing. If anyone survived, they would probably need help, and there may be supplies and tools that could be salvaged, too. He did, however, keep an eye out for the skies, just in case.
17-Dec-2017 20:37:44