[M] Crash Landing -- Revamped { Prae & Hannelorian }

[prærieulv]

Lennox slowly pulled the blanket away from the wound once the bleeding seemed to cease, and he couldn't help the soft breath of relief that escaped him. The piece of metal appeared to miss any major arteries, so the biggest challenge would be to keep the wound as clean as possible. "This is certainly the most unexpected date I've ever been on," he chuckled absently, carefully helping her tie the makeshift bandage around the wound. "But I wouldn't say I'm opposed to a second...Surely it could only be uphill from here."

He trailed off from the tease, gaze following hers towards the broken window. A soft, thoughtful hum escaped him as she spoke, and he slowly nodded his head. "Not exactly a lighter topic, lass, but I don't disagree." Lennox had squatted next to the seat to have better leverage on the piece of metal, and now he used the armrest to help himself stand. It sent a rush of blood to his brain, and the edge of his vision darkened just slightly. "I'll grab a couple of bags for now... It might be best if we take it one step at a time."

The thought of venturing out of the plane didn't sit well with him, especially without having at least a small group of individuals to go. For now, they could attempt to rest while simultaneously rummaging through the salvaged baggage. "Stay put." He instructed, giving her arm a little tap before he started to maneuver back down the aisle.

Lennox didn't have to go too far to find a couple of smaller carry-on bags and a hard-shelled suitcase. It took a bit of effort to drag his findings back to the woman, and he carefully handed her the carry-on bags. "Miranda Darrow." He had been thinking back to some of the information she shared while he was working on her wound, and he decided to test the sound of her name once he returned to her. "It suits you."

He carefully lowered himself to sit on the stained aisle carpet, wanting to give the woman some space to sort through her luggage. It also allowed him to lay the hard-shell suitcase flat on the ground, even in the rather tight space. "Seven children...Your family must be raising a small army. Should the Scots be worried?" Lennox offered another tease, looking up towards the woman with a playful, yet tired smile. He couldn't imagine his own parents raising seven kids. They could barely handle the two they did have.

[Hannelorian]

The notion that things could only go uphill from here was somewhat reassuring. At the same time, there was a gnawing in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to believe it would get better. They had, after all, survived a plane crash. What were the odds on something like that? But something wasn't right and Miranda knew it. She had caught a glimpse of the world outside and it didn't quite make sense to her. And with a subtle tap on her arm Lennox was gone to find a couple of bags. Normally if a man had ordered her to do anything, she would refuse, she would fight it. Yet here and now she did nothing of the sort. She relaxed into the seat and embraced the fact that her body ached. It rebelled against her.

He returned with a few bags, and then he let her name roll of his tongue and a part of her felt pulled into him, drawn to him. Maybe it was the situation, maybe it was her adrenaline. "Does it? Suit me?" Miranda had never thought about how her name sounded, whether or not if she looked into the mirror her appearance screamed Miranda Darrow. She had thought, no, agonized over her last name and her family legacy. But hearing him say it brought a smile to her face as she pressed her hands into the arms of the seat and pushed herself up with a groan, moving to sit opposite him in the aisle, taking a bag of herself and slowly unzipping it.

"Scotland the Brave, afraid of a few English kids?" Miranda laughed lightly. "Ordinarily, perhaps the Scots ought to be worried about us Brits from the south... but my family?" Another laugh. But truly the thought of it was depressing. "There's nothing to fear. The Darrow siblings are far more dangerous to each other than anyone else." Sad. How sad. What should she say? How much should she say? "We... don't get along. Not really." Miranda's hands moved automatically through the bag, the contents still seemed to remain folded relatively neatly. She was pulling out a sweater, it was grey and seemed to belong to a woman. More clothes, and yes, perhaps that would in time become useful.

More time? Someone should be looking for them. It shouldn't be too much longer. A small pouch, Miranda unzipped it. Make up. A travel sized pain reliever, toothpaste. "My parents aren't the most loving. They love each other, sure." Miranda sighed and shook her head, her body recoiling slightly in pain. Miranda set the useful supplies aside. "Lennox Hughes." Miranda did the same as he had, and perhaps for the same reason, to see how it felt rolling off her tongue. She couldn't say she didn't like it. That it did tantalize her ever so slightly. "It suits you." She repeated the line as she finished combing through the bag, in the end she had also found a sewing kit which could prove useful for wounds.

"It's funny." She began, "You know... there's that cliche, everyone gets on a plane and hopes they'll be seated next to the love of their life." Miranda allowed herself to lean backward, eventually laying in the aisle her legs still folded neatly and firmly against the ground, a test to her flexibility. "And all I wanted was to get drunk on a flight and forget my problems, and then... poof." Miranda lifted her hands into the air, her fingertips making a motion that mimicked an explosion. "Two hours, thirty six minutes." She offered effortlessly. "That's how long we were in the air." Miranda pulled herself back up into a seated position and set the bag aside to move to the next carry-on that Lennox had brought.

"That's what, still the northern Atlantic?" Miranda wished she had paid more attention in her geography lessons, it would have come in handy now. "And we're on a beach. A tropical beach. There's at least one palm tree." Miranda never forgot anything, well, anything she found odd, or simply cared about. Of course she knew how long they had been flying. She played symphonies in her head, or listened to her own performances and could simply track the time, knowing if she was early, or late, or if her rhythm was wrong. No one was harder on Miranda than Miranda. Her mind wandered, she seemed to drift from topic to topic. "Is it hard? Being away from your family?" Miranda was nervous, but not because of Lennox, no, Lennox was the only thing keeping her grounded. It was the fact they had been in a crash. And they had breached the unknown.

[prærieulv]

The bent, metal zipper on the hard-shelled suitcase took a bit of convincing before it would allow Lennox to reveal the contents hidden within. It appeared to have both men and women's clothing, although the masculine articles inside didn't seem to be anything he would be able to fit into. That didn't mean it wouldn't come in handy though, and he made it a point to keep everything as neatly folded as possible. Despite the fact that they had only seen a small handful of people showing signs of life during the first search of the plane, he still held onto the hope that other survivors would start to stir eventually. Surely there wouldn't only be six people alive...

His hazel gaze slowly raised from the bag as the woman questioned his previous comment, and a soft smirk tipped up one corner of his lips. He offered a nod of confirmation, although he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to make such broad assumptions so soon. "It's a strong name... yet also very elegant," he spoke absently, a bit distracted as his hands riffled through the clothing. Even with their few brief interactions, Lennox was certain those two words were just a couple out of the many that could be used to describe the woman. In light of the traumatic events that occurred, the Scot could at least be grateful to have pleasant company.

He did fall quiet after that, selfishly relishing in the soft sound of the woman's voice as she described what sounded like a rather broken family. It made him frown, but he kept his focus on the small toiletry bag he confiscated from the bottom of the suitcase. As much as he wanted to assure her that family wasn't everything, he couldn't help but realize it was only easy for him to say such things since his own family was very close knit. In fact, he wasn't sure he could even imagine what it might feel like to have such disconnect between blood relatives. "Well...if it's any consolation, I'm glad I got stuck with the most pleasant Darrow," he offered a light chuckle, plucking another small packet of painkillers out of the small bag. He also managed to find an unopened pack of razors, which he added to his small pile of findings.

Shortly thereafter, Miranda said his name, and the Scot's eyes finally tore away from the suitcase again. He smiled at the way she mimicked his previous words, causing another quiet chuckle to rumble up from his chest. "Does it?" he returned, feeling the smile linger on his lips this time. "'T was my grandfather's name," he tossed out as a side thought, leaning back onto his palms as a way to give his hunched back a break and to give himself a chance to give the woman more of his attention. He had salvaged most of the useful items from the bag, and with the new discovery of a few packs of painkillers, he was reminded of the harsh thudding in almost every corner of his skull.

Lennox watched as the woman leaned back, almost feeling a touch guilty at his sudden inability to look away. It wasn't that he was necessarily ogling, although it may have seemed as such if he got caught in the act. He was simply relieved to see that she was able to move in such a way, despite the ache that he assumed she would feel as a result. And then there was that elegance - her hands in the air, slender fingers moving with such grace despite what seemed to be such a simple action. That was the moment a rather inappropriate thought crossed his mind, bringing a hint of color to his cheeks. Luckily for him, her following words prevented him from dwelling on such thoughts. Two hours, thirty-six minutes. The way she spoke with such confidence made him believe that they were true, even if he had a hard time understanding just how she knew that.

He finally tore his gaze away as Miranda sat back up, opting to stare off out of one of the cracked windows for a few long moments. He didn't really enjoy the new thoughts that raced through his aching mind, especially now that he heard their situation spoken out loud. It was like everything became much more real. "Very northern Atlantic." he confirmed, briefly worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. At least, they should be somewhere in the northern Atlantic, maybe somewhere close to Canada, but even that seemed like a stretch. The dots weren't exactly aligning, and Lennox could feel a bought of gooseflesh break out across his freckled arms. The air was thick, heavy with humidity, and that was only one of the many things wrong their current location.

"No." Lennox answered the next question blatantly, a soft expression of relief crossing his features at yet another change of conversation. He didn't mind the jumpiness, in fact, he appreciated having a reason to temporarily ignore their predicament. "My family is lovely, don't get me wrong. I quite like being around them, s'long as it's for a short period of time. We just don't see eye-to-eye on some things...and I get tired of being asked when I'll marry," he let himself huff out another chuckle, hoping to ease some of the tightness that had settled in his chest. He also dropped his gaze back to the suitcase, carefully separating the men's clothes from the women's clothes. He should've grabbed another bag.

"I guess that's not entirely true...It is hard, sometimes. The States are nice, there's opportunities there that aren't offered in Scotland...but I miss it," Lennox decided to correct himself, his blue-green eyes lifting towards Miranda again. He offered a small smile, almost sensing she could feel the same discomfort that had started to creep into his bones as well. "Two hours, thirty-six minutes... How'd you know that?" he asked the question that had been burning in the back of his mind. He hoped it would give her something to focus on, but also that it might give him some insight into who she was.

[Hannelorian]

It was almost as if Miranda was able to separate herself from the crash. Here in simple conversation as they processed a few of the bags, it was quiet and with such a pleasant chat with an absolute stranger, it was easy to overlook the disaster that surrounded them. Perhaps, however, it was feeble attempt at avoiding the nature of reality. "The most pleasant Darrow?" Miranda chuckled for a moment as she pushed the bag aside having separated the contents into piles for later use or transport. "Hardly." Miranda was in fact, not the most pleasant of the Darrow family. No, Miranda was regarded as the hardened one, the serious one. In many ways the most successful Darrow aside from their esteemed father. She was often perceived as cold, unfeeling. Not exactly the most enticing dinner guest invitation.

"That honor would go to my sister Delilah." Miranda rolled her eyes as she thought about the girl, only a year older than herself. A violinist. An insufferably arrogant violinist, but by God was she... "Charming. She's very charming." Miranda was attempting to be deferential, to be nice. "She's beautiful, has crazy talent. She has a way of drawing people in." Miranda rested her hands in her lap, eager to stop her arms from moving for a few moments, her shoulder still in pain. For the first time though, as Miranda spoke she was really watching Lennox, the way his body moved. The way his cheeks ever so briefly would flush with color before it faded just as quickly as it came.

"But that isn't the real Delilah. Not at all." Miranda finally resumed, this time with a sigh. "I won't bore you with all that. I'll settle for your suggestion that it is in fact, really me that is the most pleasant." Miranda cracked a smile. "You don't meet a Lennox every day, you know?" Miranda maneuvered herself differently, on her knees she pulled herself down the aisle to be nearer to him, having completed his second bag, proving quite efficient at it. Miranda was... lost in her thoughts and acted perhaps more on impulse than anything else. Resting on her knees and leaning back on her legs she reached out to cross the small distance them, her fingertips deftly catching a strand of his hair and tucking it behind his ear.

"I get it... short periods of time." Miranda nodded, biting her lower lip as she watched him, her eyes occasionally moving to cast their gaze over some of the assorted piles. Surely they wouldn't need all of this, right? "So... when they ask you when you'll marry, what do you tell them?" Miranda was genuinely curious, and in such perceived isolation there was comfort in company, comfort in talking to someone who at least understood what they had gone through. "Do you tell them you're waiting to meet your stranger on a plane? And you have this gnawing feeling her name would be... Miranda?" She laughed at that, clearly very proud of her own bad jokes. "Would you mind grabbing my case, it looks like the overhead above my seat is still closed." Miranda pointed upward. "I would but... you know the whole useless arm thing." Miranda nodded over to her shoulder.

"You seem skeptical of my ability to determine the time we were in the air." Miranda raised an eyebrow, fully aware that it seemed an odd notion that she would know. "How do you know I don't get so nervous on flights that I count the seconds?" She was smiling, clearly not a serious answer. But Miranda always enjoyed a little bit of a tease. "I suppose I could tell you." Miranda eventually conceded as she continued to hold her gaze upon him. "I get nervous to tell people my name." Miranda finally confessed after a few moments had passed. "The off chance that I'm recognized, and even if I'm not, my last name might be." Miranda was by no means modest, but she generally was intensely private. But after being so close to death, what did it matter?

"It's always a relief when people just carry on as you did, or then I know if they're flirting with me it's not because of my name." Sometimes it was nice that the audience for classical music was particularly niche. Miranda adjusted herself to move her legs out from under her, and pulled them up closer to her, arms wrapping around them, fully aware that wearing a cocktail dress she had to be careful about how she positioned her body. At least she had the hoody... as blood soaked as it was. "I am a concert pianist, you see." Miranda said the words softly and with a hint of warmth, she wondered if she would ever see a piano again. "According to some, a very, very good concert pianist. Award winning even." Miranda did not particularly enjoy discussing her notoriety or her accolades but when it was appropriate she would mention it. "According to others, I'll never be my father. The legendary Darrow, concert pianist and composer turned conductor. Brilliant, they say." Miranda rolled her eyes again, another mention of her family. "We're a big deal in the classical world... but, that's how I know how long we were in the air." Miranda hadn't actually explained, so she took a moment and held her hands in the air before her, as though they were resting on the delicate ivory keys of a grand piano. Miranda cleared her throat and rocked on her hips for a moment, her legs sliding down to rest flat against the floor.

The pianist began to hum a piece of music gently, as her fingers moved swiftly, her fingers making every last motion of the tune she as humming as though she were playing, she did this for a few moments, the pain in her shoulder hardly seemed to matter, the pain in her ribs from the very act of breathing faded away as for those few moments in time she seemed genuinely lost in the piece. It was the one thing that could take her away from this, take her into a new world, one of her own creation, one where the sorrows of her life didn't exist, where her family wasn't there, her fiance might as well never have existed. "It's Hammerklavier. Beethoven's twenty ninth sonata. Some say it's the piece that defined the sonata form itself, and standardized the length." Miranda finally was coming in to close on her point.

"If you're anyone else, it will take 43 to 45 minutes to play from start to finish. The slightly longer length accounts for the fact that it is nearly impossible to play the piece at it's intended speed." Miranda smirked as she watched Lennox. "But I'm not anyone else. I can do it in 40 minutes. And I got through the piece just over three times from my seat. Don't worry, I'm not humming aloud on my flights, nor am I playing an invisible keyboard. But it's what I'm supposed to preform next. And from where I was stopped, it would have been two hours and thirty six minutes."

Miranda shrugged her shoulders as though it was nothing. Miranda's life had been judged by her talent, though for Miranda it was simply love of music and her instrument. But Miranda was not solely defined by her profession, though no one in her life saw Miranda for who she was, they only saw her as the concert pianist. A sad state.

[prærieulv]

There was an odd comfort that came with discussing family, even though Lennox didn't share the same sentiment towards the aforementioned older Darrow sister. Maybe it was because Miranda was here with him now, trauma bonded over the disaster that enveloped both of their lives. Or, perhaps, Miranda wasn't giving herself the credit she deserved. Whatever the reason, the Scot didn't bother to vocalize his disagreement and instead allowed the woman to speak her piece. "Maybe we agree to disagree," he offered, returning her soft smile with a small one of his own. If, somehow, the two of them made it off this...place, he would have to ask to meet this Delilah sister. He doubted it would change his current stance, but it was pleasant to think that maybe, just maybe, they would make it back home to their families. Even if those odds felt stacked against them.

As he went to finally closed the thoroughly investigated suitcase, he noticed some movement out of his peripheral that grabbed back his attention. He looked up just in time to see Miranda's hand extend towards him, and for some reason, he felt himself gravitate towards the touch well before she actually reached the strand of ginger hair. His eyes momentarily fluttered closed, relishing in the gentle caress, even though it caused another round of goosebumps to break out across his arms. He swallowed thickly. "What do I tell them?" He repeated, carefully considering the question as he blinked his eyes back open. Her newfound closeness was comforting, if not a little distracting, and Lennox had to fight the urge to reach out to touch her in return. It had been soothing, to feel the touch of another person. Like maybe that would be the thing to hold him together.

Before he could properly answer, Lennox felt a pleasant bubble of laughter escape him instead. "Aye, you guessed it...been waitin' for the day I finally meet my Miranda Darrow. I would've preferred it not be on a crashed plane...but I suppose that's asking far too much," he chuckled, pushing the suitcase away with his shoe so that he could stretch his limbs out ahead of him. He took the chance to bump her leg with one of his, deciding that would be sufficient in satisfying his desire for physicality. "Mmh...I tell them I'll marry when I find her. Whomever she is, wherever she is...I'll know it when I find her," Lennox offered a more truthful answer to her question, feeling his cheeks warm again as his gaze lifted towards the overhead containers.

He reached out to grab the armrest of the seat to his right, utilizing its stability as he pulled himself up to his feet. His muscles protested the movement, especially now that he had sat for some time, but it wasn't quite enough to cease his movements. It was easy to pop open the overhead compartment, though it did take a bit of effort to slowly lower the case down to the center aisle. "Here you are, m'lday," he hummed, carefully placing the bag next to the woman. He then sat back down in the aisle, deciding to sit back against the seats on the other side of Miranda. There was still a respectable amount of space between them, but this at least allowed Lennox to relax back against something.

All the while, the Scot eagerly listened to the explanation for how this woman knew exactly how long they had been in the air for. It was surprising, and yet somehow not at all surprising, to hear that she was a pianist. That would explain the way her fingers seemed to move with little to no effort, almost as if they had a mind of their own. It also seemed to give some insight into the rocky relationship held by the Darrow family. "Oh." It was a simple word, but it was the best he could muster as some of the complexities of her life came to light. He was almost ashamed, in a way, at his lack of knowledge on the subject. Although she said she preferred his type of reaction, he still felt a bit embarrassed to have never heard the Darrow name before. He wasn't that uncultured...or so he initially thought.

Lennox was then stunned into silence as he watched those fingers move, mesmerized by the way they seemed to follow some intricate, invisible pattern. He had never been a fan of classical music, but now he couldn't shake off the desire to actually hear the music she was portraying. "Wow." He certainly wouldn't be winning any awards for his superior vocabulary. "I won't pretend I understood a lick of what you just said...but I've never wanted to hear a piece of music more than I do now," Lennox finally pieced words together to form a true sentence, though his gaze remained fixated on her hands even after they lowered.

"Classical music is way outside of my realm of expertise...so when I tell you I've never heard the name Darrow, keep in mind that's also coming from a person who has barely heard the name Beethoven. But, if that ruins my chances for a second date, please disregard everything I've said," the Scot laughed again now, another hint of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. "And before, when you said your sister has crazy talent...you failed to mention your own." It was a fact he couldn't help but point out.

Lennox leaned his head back against the seat behind him, letting his eyes fall shut for a few, long moments. "You'll have to play for me...when we get back to the States. I'm not sure how many people you offer private performances for, but I'd love to hear you play." It was bold of him to think that they would even make it back to the States. They didn't know where they were, which likely meant the outside world wouldn't know where they were. It was that side of reality that Lennox didn't want to think about.

[Hannelorian]

Miranda listened intently to the way Lennox responded to her. He was exceedingly kind to her. It felt odd, strangers showing such a quality of character it made her wonder what she had seen in other people. Or rather what she had failed to see. Maybe she had spent too much time assuming the worst, or that the people in her life simply wanted something from her, a piece of her that she would never be able to recover. "It would seem rude to say I am more talented than my siblings." That was how Miranda admitted that it was true, but she seldom took credit for such achievement. "As for Beethoven..." Miranda smirked as she watched over him. "Just... wait a second."

Miranda stood slowly, feeling every creek, every ache of her joints as she moved to her seat to search for her bag which held her phone. When she held the cool device in her hand, she wondered what she was doing. Reaching into the bag she pulled out the small white case that held her earbuds. But there was a moment of absolute hesitation before she tapped on the screen to bring the device screaming back to life. The screen had cracked. Her battery was hovering somewhere near 28% and flickering in the top right corner was the dread "SOS." There were no bars, no little arced curves to indicate the presence of WIFI. They were truly and properly alone out here. There was no hope. At least not from standard technology.

Miranda made her way back to where Lennox had seated himself and she sat beside him, it was almost funny the way she moved, like she were an old lady. Every last bit of her cried out in pain, but for a moment she felt like she could bring him a little bit of joy. Or at selfishly, she could bring herself a small moment of joy. Miranda's fingers deftly opened the case and withdrew one of the earbuds, and carefully and perhaps too forwardly Miranda slipped it into his ear. "I am only realizing now... this must be gross for you." Miranda sighed as she slipped the other earbud into her own ear, and within a few taps upon her screen something began to play for the both of them.

Hammerklavier

The bold opening notes began to play and Miranda felt a wide smile crossing her face as she felt the music reverberate through her. "Lennox, meet Beethoven." Miranda said in a rather soft voice, almost sheepish, as though she were shy in the presence of such an enormous figure. "This is that same piece... and that is me playing it." Miranda generally hated to listen to herself, she could hear her imperfections she could practically see herself making mistakes. Mistakes no one else alive would perceive but she would and she felt so deeply, so painfully, but that didn't matter. "As far as private performances go, well, you might want to buy a girl dinner first." Miranda said so casually, like she had known him her entire life long.

"On the night this was recorded... I stepped on the conductor's foot... and it was one hell of a heel. That poor man." Miranda shook her head. "When you play, you really just surrender yourself to the music. You let it wash over you. And nothing else in the world matters. Not family, not... a plane crash. Just nothing. Only the feelings you have, the joy and the sorrow... whatever it is. But I'm being selfish."

Miranda felt honest, strangely so, she wouldn't normally be that open, that direct upfront with very few people. And so quickly? Adrenaline, the situation, who knows. "You moved to the states, what is it that you do? I assume you aren't a pianist." Miranda grinned and unconsciously found herself leaning her head upon Lennox's shoulder. "But... you need to rest. You should sleep. With any luck the others will rouse soon, and you'll need energy... you were hurt worse than I was." What was this sense of selflessness? Or was it in fact the ultimate act of selfishness. "And to really bring the mood up, there's no service out here... not a single fraction of a bar."

[prærieulv]

Excitement was infectious. At least, the Scotsman certainly couldn’t help but feel enthralled by a topic that, prior to a half hour ago, meant nothing to him. Something about the way Miranda's eyes seemed to brighten, and a softness fell across her features, bringing the youngness back to her face despite the smudges of dried blood and soot. It was a sight he hoped to see more of, if their current circumstances would allow for such a thing. For now, though, he would just relish in the moment and do his best to keep the spirits lifted. It was mutually beneficial anyhow - His pounding headache had been temporarily forgotten about.

That is, until she stood up to go search for what Lennox assumed would be her phone, and he took that time to let his eyes sink shut again. His own cellphone had long since been forgotten about, but he could imagine it was completely lost somewhere in the depths of the plane shrapnel and dead bodies. He could vaguely remember setting it in his lap, with the intention to put on a movie or a podcast once he woke from his nap...but unfortunately, he was never presented with such an opportunity. Fretting over the device was hardly worth it, especially given the high probability that the battery had run out. Or maybe it had been tossed out of the hole in the wall, where it would likely never be found again.

Lennox blinked back open his hazels when he heard her footsteps return, feeling a smile automatically start to tug at the corners of his lips. He extended up a hand in a silent offer to help her sit back down, remembering what it felt like when he did the same not long before. Then, what happened next surprised the Scot. A soft, cool object poked into his ear, and he quickly reached up to touch the little earbud. A soft laugh escaped him, and he could only shake his head at her words. "I actually don't mind..." he chuckled, not only as an assurance to her, but because it was the truth. He would've done anything in that moment if it meant getting to hear the song that had previously been described to him.

The first few notes that drifted through the earbud caused Lennox's heart to lurch, but it was in a way that was very pleasant, almost soothing. He would've closed his eyes again if it weren't for the pleasant sight of Miranda's bright smile. He caught himself watching her instead, completely immersed in the music flooding into his ear. He could almost imagine Miranda's delicate fingers stretching across the black and white keys, following a pattern that was purely foreign to him. In fact, it was so captivating that he nearly missed her playful tease, were it not for the flush of color that returned to his cheeks in response. He shifted his gaze away, a slight smirk curling the corner of his lips. "I'll keep that in mind," He whispered, his voice hushed as though speaking louder might disturb the melody.

He rested his head back against the side of the seat behind him, humming a noise of thought as she described the feelings that went hand in hand with playing the piano. "Seriously fuckin' brilliant," he finally complimented, deciding he finally heard enough to offer some praise. "This is exceptional... I've honestly never heard anything like it." He turned his head to look at Miranda again, a pleased smile on his lips. "Thank you for introducing this uncultured Scot to Beethoven." Lennox chuckled again, almost feeling at peace with their unfortunate situation.

That soft chuckle morphed into a quiet laugh, and he reached over to gently pat a hand against her knee at the same moment her head came to rest against his shoulder. "I am certainly not a pianist, nor am I in the least bit musically savvy," he freely admitted, tilting his head to let it rest against the top of hers. His eyes finally closed again now that he was settled comfortably, feeling the woman's warmth soaking into his side as she leaned into him. It was pleasant, enough so that he found it difficult to answer her initial questioning. "I'm sorta a jack of all trades, master of none type of guy," the words came out a bit mumbled, and he knew she had a point about getting rest. Even though he didn't have a strong desire to sleep, his eyelids were quite heavy, and a nap surely wouldn't be a bad idea.

"Mmh...We can worry about that later. I'll rest my eyes, if you do the same." Lennox counter offered, although he wouldn't be able to fight the sleep even if she disagreed. With the earbud still in his ear and his hand resting lightly on Miranda's knee, his breaths slowly evened out as he slipped into unconsciousness. Although the sleep was deep, it wasn't necessarily fruitful. The Scot didn't dream, or at least he had no recollection of dreaming, yet his body involuntarily twitched and jerked during the brief time he rested.

[Hannelorian]

Lennox was joyful, a bright spot on a dark day. He was complimentary. Miranda hadn't entirely known to expect it. He perhaps unknowingly brought a strong smile to her face as he spoke, no matter how hushed the tones were. Audiences were enamored with Miranda. Her family was not, they were critical. Finding fault where no one else would. Her fiance too would say the nice words, the right words but they always rang hollow. Miranda was little more than a ticket to notoriety, to some kind of fame or spotlight. The idea of hanging off of her arm was more appealing than actually spending time with her. And yet here a stranger had shown her more kindness and genuine affection.

As Lennox drifted into unconsciousness Miranda lowered the volume of the music until it was just barely audible, allowing other assorted recordings of hers to play. Holding the phone in her hands she sighed and stared at it for a few moments. A symbol of a life she longer wished to live if she made it out of here. A world where she was underappreciated, under loved. Miranda chucked it across the aisle and into a pile of debris, the music would play until the device finally died and maybe then she could find some peace. Lennox's chin rested upon her head and Miranda felt herself slowly falling into call for sleep. Her body now only aching in the silence. His hand upon her knee, she wondered why she hadn't questioned it.

Was it because they had survived the unthinkable? Surely that could bring two people together, desperate for companionship when the simple reality is that they probably should have died. But she wasn't upset, not in the slightest. Slowly Miranda worked to remove the hoodie that she had been wearing. Her movements were slow and deliberate, not only did she want to avoid disturbing Lennox in his sleep, but anything sudden caused her a tremendous deal of pain. With the skin of her arms revealed Miranda could now see the extent of her bruising, a sea of blue and purple on a porcelain canvas. Miranda spread the bloodied garment across the two of their laps. Once more she leaned her ahead against him, her body adjusting slowly to turn toward Lennox, her arms reaching out and wrapping around him, holding on to his warmth as she too finally lost consciousness.

Miranda could feel the rush of air against her face, her body propelling her forward in a run. Pushing harder and harder to go faster as he breath remained steady and constant in perfect control. The feeling of the sweat in her black leggings and black zip up had long ceased bothering her. The steady beat and descending melody of Saint-Saen's Danse Macabre playing in her ears as she went never slowing down not even for a moment. She emerged from the park and darted across the streets of London gunning for her apartment building where she slowed down her body finally coming to rest as she moved through the doors.

"Good morning Ms. Darrow." A familiar voice called to her, the doorman with his coffee in one hand always bore a smile when he saw Miranda. The young woman's delicate frame almost doubled over as she grabbed her ankles pulling herself into a stretch before rising and returning the greeting. "That remains to be seen, Andrew." Always the same response. Miranda hadn't realized or known if it would be a good day or not. She had once read somewhere that someone knew if their day was ruined or not by 8:37 in the morning. Couldn't find your keys? Didn't have your coffee? Little signs like that. It wasn't even 6:30 yet but something in her still screamed that it would be a bad day.

The doorman raised his mug in a silent cheers, and Miranda slipped into the elevator. A few moments later she opened the door to her apartment. It was unusually quiet. Taking a look around it felt like something wasn't right. Like it was all familiar but just a little bit wrong. Pushing the feeling aside Miranda stepped further in, her eyes gazing upon the black Steinway that sat in it's usual spot. "Old friend." Miranda whispered as she passed it. How many hours had she spent sitting at that same piano? Where it first lived in her parent's house, the very same one she learned to play on all those years ago, to the expense of moving it from apartment to apartment. It was the one constant in her life, it never judged her. It only spoke when she bid it to do so.

Miranda stood behind the couch in the open and spacious living room, the morning sun was pouring through the massive windows that spanned the walls. An arm wrapped around her from behind. The other hand holding a coffee mug, teasing her, it wasn't for her. It never was. Miranda did not ease into his presence, she did not melt against him, instead she felt shockingly numb as his hand rubbed against her stomach. Slowly she turned and looked upon him, the same smug look on his face that he always had. He stood in nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist, his perfectly muscled body still glistening with water from his shower. She hated him. She hated how he would rather spend his time at the gym rather than we her. Then again Miranda made it clear time after time that she would rather be practicing the piano. They weren't right together, they never had been but no one said anything other than how happy they were for the couple.

"You should turn on the news." He said softly, and as though it were magic the remote for the television had appeared in her hand, turning around again she clicked the tele on. Her eyes grew wide and the remote dropped from her hand. The news broadcast footage of a horrific plane crash, a plane going down only a few hours after leaving London. The phrase No Survivors stuck out.

"It is believed that Miranda Darrow, award winning concert pianist and daughter of legendary composer, Michael Darrow was on board. She is presumed deceased."

The words spoken by the reporter caught her off guard, unaware. Sebastian had leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Look's like you're dead sweetheart." The voice was sickeningly sweet, almost full of glee and delight. She didn't need to look at him to know the smirk that was on his face. "I'll miss your money." He continued and Miranda closed her eyes shaking her head. "This... can't be..." Miranda's dreams had pulled in her reality and reflected her greatest fear. It was a nightmare.

And then she awoke with something of a start, and out of breath. "Fuck. Me." She was over it already.

[prærieulv]

There was a brief period where Lennox found himself balanced in the space between wakefulness and sleep. His body refused to budge, but his mind was beginning to take in his surroundings. There were voices, hushed and barely audible, coming from somewhere nearby. Perhaps he had left the TV on and inadvertently dozed off on the couch. He couldn't make out the words regardless, nor could he open his eyes to try to see who they might belong to. It was a peculiar feeling, being lucid enough to almost perceive his environment, yet stuck in the darkness behind his eyelids. He couldn't even raise a hand to paw at his eyes, but maybe that was a good thing, considering the ache that was starting to creep back into his bones.

However, the sudden jolt at his side provided the necessary impetus for his body to emerge into full consciousness. His eyes didn't fly open, although he was hit with an odd rush of realization and relief. The TV was not on, and this voice, he could definitely recognize. A subtle smirk played on his lips now, a silent testament to his wakefulness. "I thought you asked for dinner first, little hen." His voice was coarse, laden heavily with sleep. He could tell, even without opening his eyes, that she had fallen victim to unpleasant dreams. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist a playful tease, despite wondering if it was the right moment for such informalities. He could've at least checked if she was alright first.

With that thought in mind, Lennox finally peeled open his hazels, squinting painfully at the light that still seeped into the plane. It took a few heavy blinks to gain any sort of focus, the throbbing between his temples causing hints of darkness to pulse at the corners of his vision. The gash on his temple had blossomed into a decent sized knot, which was now painted purple and blue. "You a'right?" Lennox finally asked, turning to look towards Miranda now that he was no longer seeing triple. He wouldn't admit it, but he almost felt worse now than he had prior to falling asleep. The blame could likely be pinned on the lack of movement, and possibly the diminishing effects of shock and adrenaline.

The voices that had been a murmur before were now growing louder, and he found himself looking down the aisle past Miranda while he awaited a response. A woman, who might have been in her late forties though it was hard to judge from this distance, was leaning over a row of plane seats, struggling to restrain a man against the cushions. Lennox couldn't make out the exact words being exchanged, but it was clear the woman was only trying to provide some sort of assistance, or aid.

"Just a sec, lass." He gave Miranda's shoulder a hint of a squeeze before hauling himself up to his feet. His first few steps away were unsteady and he used the seat backs to help steady himself. His ankle protested the movements, but with a bit of effort, Lennox managed to weave around boxes and rubble until he could make it to the small altercation.

"I need to know what is going on, not what you think I need to be doing. The gash in my leg can at least wait-" The man was yammering on and on, which Lennox started to drown out once he was close enough to better understand the situation. The stranger did have a substantial wound in his upper thigh, which the woman was trying to apply pressure to, all while also holding his shoulder back against the seat cushion. She wasn't fairing too well, considering she was a much smaller, frailer woman, but she did seem to have more energy than the man struggling against her. She was also surprisingly calm.

"The plane crashed. I'd suggest letting her tend to ya, if you really want to be able to figure out what's going on. That leg can only bleed so much." Lennox decided to chime in, talking over the unknown man since the woman seemed reluctant to raise her voice. He placed his hand on the gent's shoulder, offering the woman a light smile as he took over the effort to hold the man in place. The reluctance was clear, but that seemed to do enough of a trick to settle some of the movements. "She'll stop the bleeding, and we can go from there, yeah? I can share wit'cha what I know already, if that helps." Lennox wasn't much of an extroverted individual, so talking to strangers wasn't high up on his list of desires. However, the relief he could see on the woman's face made stepping in a bit more worth it.

[Hannelorian]

Little hen.

The phrase send a small shiver down her spine. Every bit of body responding in aching pain. A cruel reminder that she was now conscious, what's more, Miranda felt herself mortified that she had uttered the phrase fuck me out loud. But that didn't really matter when the voices from further down the plane struck her ears. He asked if she was alright and Miranda could only nod as she tried to tune her hearing to what was happening. It almost felt like an extension of her dream, other voices. She had been so focused on Lennox and her bodies infernal crying. There were other survivors.

Miranda pulled herself up and for a moment the entire world seemed to spin. A hand reached up and clung to the wall of the plane to stabilize herself. She was compelled to follow Lennox toward the altercation, the slightly raised voices. Lennox arrived at the site and Miranda was behind him, she recognized the woman, the older woman, but now she seemed frail. Had she been the one with the son? She couldn't remember, her head was lost. He was speaking and had so naturally diffused the situation.

"Hello." Miranda chimed in softly as she squeezed past the small group and moved to kneel beside the woman who was tending to the wound. "Maybe we haven't all gotten off to the best start." Miranda was looking around as the few other survivors began to gather, drawing themselves into consciousness. Commotion did wonders to rouse morale. "My name is Miranda, and the Scot over there is Lennox." Miranda flashed a bit of a smile, though it was hard, her head was swimming. Much like Lennox it seemed the rest allowed their adrenaline to wear off and the pain to surge through their bodies.

"Faye." The older woman finally let out as she tended to the man's wound. Miranda catching sight of it thought for a moment. "That probably needs stitches... I found a sewing kit earlier if that might help. And alcohol for the gent." Miranda had subconsciously adhere to a slightly more Scots style, the word gent coming out of her mouth where it never had before. "Quite right." The woman seemed a little more a tease with both Lennox and Miranda coming to assist. Though a part of her could tell Lennox seemed somewhat uncomfortable, perhaps he was a bit more reserved than she had first thought. He had been so open with her. Or maybe it was her need to have control over any given situation. Yes, that would explain it. Typical Miranda.

"As Lennox said... the plane crashed, we can all see that." Miranda's eyes darted around a bit.

"What do you know?" The man said, his tone was one of irritation. He had been subdued for the moment, there were enough people gathered now to stop him from fighting too hard. "I know we're alive." Miranda responded almost sniping at the comment. As though commanding this man to somehow feel more grateful. "Uh... let's see..." Miranda had to pause for a moment, breathing felt harder, more painful as her broken ribs reminded her of the trauma. "Just over two and half hours into the flight we went down... the plane is... in two pieces at least." Miranda looked at Lennox, her eyes searching his face as she tried to remember detail. "Lennox and I started to sort through luggage... we have some basic supplies. The drinks cart is really... our main source of disinfectant."

The man quieted a bit as Miranda was speaking, he seemed intent on her every word. Miranda was used to commanding attention, but she wasn't at the top of her game. She was vulnerable. "But... there's one significant detail." Miranda drifted off as she contemplated it. "We should be, in the northern Atlantic." She began, once more looking to Lennox for her own comfort. He felt like her point of stability, her rock. Was that unfair to Lennox? Probably. "But it seems like we've crashed on some kind of tropical island... palm trees, jungle, white sand beach and blue water kind of... tropical."

"You hit your head." The man reminded her, chiding in a sort of mocking and dismissive tone. Miranda couldn't help but roll her eyes. "When you aren't bleeding to death, you can take a look for yourself." Miranda's tone was firm and she vanished briefly to retrieve the sewing kit for Faye, who seemed like she might have some experience on this front. After handing the kit over, Miranda stood behind Lennox, one of her arms wrapped around him, he gave her stability when her body felt like giving out.