Derrick might have hit his head, but he was still coherent enough to know that going near the still spinning airplane engines equaled a bad idea. Another man didn't seem to have the same sense, however. Derrick ducked and covered his head with the book he was holding, as the engine exploded. The sound of a man laughing a minute later finally brought him out of his crouch.

"Nice move there, Emeril."

"What?" Derrick glared the man stretched out on the sand like he hadn't a care in the world. Sure, he used to be a chef, but it wasn't like he wasn't in his whites or anything.

"Well, Mr. Lagasse, you've got that bitchin' protective cookbook goin' on there, so I figure Emeril it is," he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

Derrick flipped the book around and sure enough, it was a cookbook. Had a nice piece of metal embedded in it too. "Derrick, is my name. Better my book got it than my head."

"Better for who? I'm Sawyer—if anybody cares," he got up off the ground and lit his cigarette. "See you around, Em," Sawyer waved back dismissively as he walked away.

Normally Derrick would be beyond pissed at this point, but all he could think of was that this crap was going to ruin his sister's wedding. Experience told him half the budget in weddings usually went for food, and it was way too late to cancel and get her money back. The catering business was cutthroat. He ought to know too, since he used to be the guy aiming the knife. Plus it wasn't like they could just go on with it if they wanted to—how many times could Amelia be asked about her dead/missing brother before it drove her nuts?

Money aside, his ex was even going to dress his kid up in one of those tiny little suits for the wedding. She had custody and it was mess arranging visits sometimes, but he didn't want her and his son to be worried that Daddy was dead in the ocean somewhere.

Well, you aren't. So stop being so fuckin' morbid. Maybe someone had a cell phone? He scoffed at himself as soon as he finished the thought. If you can't get a stupid signal in a huge city like Los Angeles why would there be one here?

Maybe he could blame his brain lapse on heat stroke or something. The crucifix he wore around his neck felt like it was stuck to his skin with glue, and his hair was sticking to his face and arms. Maybe if someone around wasn't too freaked out he could ask for something to pull his hair back.

Yeah, I don't think the bald guy can help me with that, and the pregnant girl has bigger problems than my hair. Hmm, maybe that blond girl, Derrick walked over to talk to her.

"Excuse me, miss?" Polite could help.

She pushed her sunglasses down her nose and snorted at him, "Whatever you want, skip it."

"I'd say excuse her, but there really isn't one."

Derrick forced himself not to jump at the voice behind him, "That so?"

"Definitely. I'm Boone, and that thing over there is Shannon," the 'thing' in question flipped Boone off. "Shan gets classier everyday," He rolled his eyes then continued. "If you want pens, I've got you covered, otherwise you're out of luck," Boone held up a fistful of ballpoint pens, looking hopeful.

"Nah, I'm good," Derrick shook his head and sighed. This is gonna be one for the books, I just know it. Hell, there goes Mr. Ballpoint with a cell phone, I'm surrounded by geniuses. He'd just have to pretend he hadn't had the same idea.

A/N: I had to do some guessing with Derrick here, but I think it went well—let me know if you agree or not, will you? I hope anyone I've asked to revise doesn't think I'm being too hard on them, I want things to make sense if at all possible. On another note about applications—I suppose I wouldn't want to hang around Ana Lucia either, but no Talies yet? ;_;