Alex maneuvered his way around the debris and scattered remains of suitcases as he hunted for the sound of the voice, soon spotting the woman just where he had been told he would. He raised a hand in a second greeting as he moved in closer to her, and snorted a noise of amusement at the question. There was a long moment of silence as he took in the given information, seeming to try and assess this news. "I suppose it could be worse... at least the jungle will provide some shade," he tried to toss out a positive note, raising his shoulders as if to say that was the best he could do. The jungle also meant there was plenty of island that couldn't be seen, and could only be discovered through entry into the unknown.
The man, nearly a decade older than the woman, didn't say much until he was asked to return his airplane scavenger hunt. "Sure can... There are a handful of others back the way I came. You might tag in someone else and catch yourself a break," he suggested, nodding towards the nose of the plane. Before he started on his task, he took the liberty of looking out of the fuselage hole, to get a firsthand look at what had been described to him.
Lennox hadn't moved from his propped position, using the seat for support rather than sitting down fully. There was a part of him that worried if he sat down all the way, he would have a much more difficult time standing back up. His left ankle was beginning to remind him that it was also injured, though the pain radiating through his temples was much more bothersome at the moment. He was also starting to wonder if all of this effort would be worth it in the end. Was there ever a time that a plane crash resulted in survivors being rescued? Possibly, if they had landed somewhere in the U.S., but even he wasn't foolish enough to think his luck stretched that far.
After briefly resting his eyes shut, the Scot began to feel rather useless just standing there, and decided to drag one of the intact suitcases closer to him. It took some convincing for the zipper to give, but soon he was able to open the bag and carefully start to rummage through it. The interior was a bit disheveled, though not in as bad of shape as he had been expecting. By the look of the clothes, it appeared to have belonged to a man. Lennox pushed around some of the clothing, careful not to lose any out of the bag, and managed to win himself a couple of airplane bottles of whiskey. As tempting as it was to sneak one for himself, he tucked them into his back pocket with the painkillers he had also found. What he really needed was a decent place to keep all of the important items.
The mindless task was easy, and allowed his thoughts to wander back to the first woman he had come across. Her hands had been soft on his cheeks, and her fingers long and slender. It made him wonder if she played any instruments, or maybe instead she used them to hold a pencil or a paintbrush. But, of course, she might not use them for anything at all. Though what he really wanted to know was her name. He was kicking himself for not asking the simple question at the start.
Almost as though she could hear his thoughts, Lennox started to hear a familiar approach and he ceased his suitcase hunting to look up at a familiar face. She was a sight for sore eyes, quite literally, and the Scotsman offered her a small dip of the head. "You didn't happen to see a bridge connected to America, did you?" he questioned, clearly being facetious as he inquired about what she saw at the fuselage. Deciding that her attention was much more appealing than the contents of the suitcase, Lennox fought with the zipper to shut the bag, then pushed it between the row of seats for safe keeping.
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