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

[prærieulv]

** Rated M for Mature Content including, but not limited to: violence, blood, coarse language, sensual situations, and drug use. Read at your own discretion. **

---

"Now boarding flight BA225 - Heathrow LHR to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International."

The voice over the small intercom caused Lennox's heart to patter.

Flying was not unfamiliar territory for the Scottish decent - In fact, he flew so often that the airport experience was practically all muscle memory. Except for the part where he actually had to board the plane. Lennox wasn't sure he would ever adjust to his feet not being on the ground, where they belonged.

However, the sinking pit in his stomach felt more intense today than the typical anxiety he was used to. The short layover in London had given him the oportunity to enjoy a soothing beverage, yet that wasn't even enough to shake free the rock in his gut. Maybe he could pin the blame on the weather. The dreary morning was unsettling, and he truly disliked the thought of lifting off into the thick, dark clouds.

I'll be home soon enough. Lennox reminded himself as he flashed his plane ticket to the check-in officer. Once he landed in New Orleans, his buddy would pick him up from the airport, as previously agreed upon. Then the carride from there to his home in Texas would feel like nothing compared to being trapped on a metal death tube thousands of feet in the air.

After the Scot tossed his suitcase in the overhead compartment, he settled into his seat next to the window. It certainly wasn't his favorite assigned seat, but it was the price he'd have to pay for waiting so long to purchase his ticket. Fortunately, his seatmate was a petite young woman, who only bid him a small 'hello' before popping a set of earbuds into her ears. He didn't mind. Small talk on an airplane was almost worse than the flight itself.

Eventually, the plane was loaded with all of it's passengers, and Lennox was able to order himself another dark bourbon to try to help settle the churning of his stomach. It seemed counter productive, especially as he took his first sip, but eventually it seemed to do the trick.

-

Lennox couldn't be certain how long he'd been asleep for - an hour, maybe two? - before he was jolted awake by what could only be described as extreme, unyielding turbulence. He didn't appear to be the only one taken by surprise, as multiple other passengers began to chatter with concern. The woman to his right was gripping the armrests, worry lines creasing her young forehead. "Don't worry about it... I'm sure we just-" he started to provide assurances to the woman, but his words were cut off by a voice over the plane's intercom.

"Attention passengers, we are experiencing some unexpected turbulance. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

The voice was calm, like the owner had practiced these lines for many years...yet the Scot wasn't convinced. This couldn't be just any turbulance. The plane seemed to be rattling, and from the increased panic of the people around him, Lennox wasn't the only one to notice something was wrong.

"Attention passengers, as we may encounter a change in cabin pressure, the oxygen masks will be deployed. Please remember to secure your own mask before-"

Another announcement sounded within a few seconds of the first, only this time, the flight attendent's voice morphed into sharp static before cutting out entirely. The plane jolted suddenly, causing a fresh cacophony of hystics to fill the main cabin. Oxygen masks did drop from the upper compartments, and with one more glance at the woman beside him, Lennox quickly secured the mask over his nose and lips.

It was then that he could start to feel the plane tip forward, like the nose suddenly outweighed the body, and his heart dropped to fill the lingering pit in his stomach. The muffled voices around him shifted into frantic screams, and that was when the plummeting truly began.

There were a few feelings from the decent that Lennox could truly remember: his neighbor's nails digging into his forearm, the warm tears spilling down his cheeks, and the weightlessness of falling. However, all three of these feelings were ripped away the moment the plane met the earth, and his head met the window.

-

The air reeked of blood and smoke.

Lennox slowly began to peel open his eyes as he regained consciousness, blinking slowly to rid himself of the double vision. His body felt like cement, but somehow his eyelids felt heavier and he had to squint against the bright light shining through the...plane.

Just as the thought entered his mind, all of the memories came rushing back, and his eyes finally shot open. He was surprised to find that he was still buckled securely against the faded blue seat, although the oxygen mask he briefly wore was no where to be found. There was a dull throbbing against his left temple, and as he raised a hand to touch the sore spot, a quiet curse slipped from his lips.

Now that he was becoming more aware, he very carefully turned his head to glance at the seat next to him. The frail young woman was slouched forward, head dangling at an awkward, sickening angle. Lennox was certain he would've retched, if it weren't for how quickly he averted his gaze. What a horrible way to go.

As a way to distract from the body poised beside him, Lennox began to assess his own injuries. It was then that he noticed his ankle, trapped between the dented metal wall and the seat in front of him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, but the raspy voice hardly felt like his own.

Somewhere in the deep fog of his mind, Lennox knew he needed to start to move. There could be others. Surely he couldn't be the only survivor.

[Hannelorian]

It was almost over now, less than a minute to go. The young woman clad in a black evening gown with flawless porcelain skin and blonde hair assembled neatly into an updo sat upon the stage. Her hands flying across the delicate ivory keys of the concert grand piano. Behind her the conductor, and surrounding all of them a large orchestra, instruments playing in absolute harmony. Her body was almost shaking, the music - Rachmaninoff's Third piano concerto was flowing through her. The familiar warmth of a tear or two falling down her cheek was welcome. When the young woman played the piano she did it with such emotion, something some had criticized for her, others applauded her. Though her numerous accolades largely spoke for themselves.

Her fingers moved without hesitation or thought, driven entirely by purpose and within the blink of an eye the final notes had been struck, and like a gymnast who had nailed the landing of her life, the woman's arms rose high into the air, her head flung back and there was a deep exhale, one of victory.

"BRAVA" Shouted at her from the audience who was quickly scrambling to rise to their feet and meet the performance with thunderous applause. Slowly the woman rose from the bench, pulled into an embrace from the conductor. She bowed her head then to the first chair violinist and made her way to the edge of the stage where she fell into a deep and grateful bow. The whole thing seemed like a blur, she was whisked off the stage.

"Miranda." A strong male voice called. "Another incredible performance. Truly." His words seemed genuine, his hands were clasped in front of him. Miranda for her part, seemed drained, exhausted, partially relieved perhaps that the evening had come to an end. "The Royal Albert will miss you. Until next time then, yeah?" It wasn't so much asking her, but rather an expectation she would return, and return she would.

Miranda had changed before getting into the car headed to the airport. An outfit which would prove to be entirely impractical in the not too distant future. A little black dress, heels and a black hoodie. Planes were always freezing, but there wouldn't be time for anything else once they landed, straight back to work. The familiar feeling of her phone vibrating shattered her one moment of focus. Sebastian popped up, accompanied by a picture of the two of them in what was from the outside perspective, a happy occasion. She sighed, clicked the button on the side which would send the call to voicemail.

It wouldn't be until she was sitting at the gate that Miranda would pick the device up again, raising it to her ear she listened to the voicemail that was waiting for her. She listened with a sense of dread, she had considered just deleting it without listening. "Emmy. How'd the show go? Call me when you get to the airport." And now she was at the airport, and she would not call. Instead she would slip her earbuds in and board the plane, stowing her carry on in the overhead compartment. Miranda was seated in the aisle in the mid section of the aircraft. It didn't bother her terribly. She had flown hundreds if not thousands of times, usually for her work. Airplanes were like second homes. Tiny, aluminum can second homes. Nothing like those in the English countryside which she called her actual home.

Vodka was her companion, the thing to dull her pain, her senses, to ease her off into sleep as the sounds of her own performance flooded her ears.

--

A violent jolt rocked the plane and forced Miranda into a state of consciousness. Miranda looked around and saw others just as confused or disturbed as she. But the thing was, it didn't stop. There was no calm that followed normal run of the mill turbulence. There was the voice of one of the flight attendants asking the passengers to return to their seats. Withdrawing the earbuds she listened more closely, she could tell there was something behind the voice. Something like trepidation, or perhaps even fear.

"Attention passengers, as we may encounter a change in cabin pressure, the oxygen masks will be deployed. Please remember to secure your own mask before-"

The sound of screaming filled the air, so much it was nearly impossible to make out the words of the following announcement. The man beside her, in his sixties perhaps had his hands pressed together and was mouthing something. Perhaps a prayer. Miranda considered the same, especially when she could feel the plane enter something akin to a nose dive. The air masks deployed and Miranda scrambled to fasten it to herself, her fingertips digging into the arm rests of the seat. This was it, this was how Miranda Darrow would die.

--

When Miranda's eyes opened again it felt like a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare would be a more fitting descriptor. A wave of pain shot through the entirety of her being as the world slowly came into focus. Her breathing was ragged, shallow at points, hard to control. Where was she? What had just happened? Instinctively the first thing she did was raise her hands to her hands though the pain followed her, her body now broken and displeased her sudden yet forceful movements. She wiggled her fingers, all working. She wasn't looking for her engagement ring, which was hidden away in her bag. She didn't care for any of that, she simply cared that her hands, her life, were intact.

The relief she felt was brief. The air was thick was black smoke and smelled of burning plastics and something else so truly horrible she wished she didn't know that it was the smell of burning flesh. Somewhere in the prevailing taste of the smoke was a hint of iron on the tip of the tongue - so much blood. Peering upward Miranda could see the light of day spilling in through what was assuredly a massive hole in the side of the aircraft. It was at that moment she remembered that she had been on a flight to New Orleans. The plane had landed, or crashed, whatever. Daylight flooding in but not through the windows was jarring.

The seat beside her held the now deceased man. Miranda couldn't bring herself to look too closely. Looking down she could see her legs were cut up, but nothing too serious looking. Her knees were scraped, likely from having hit the seat in front of her. Her hands moved to fiddle with the metal clasp of the seatbelt. Something normally so ease was now a struggle. She was flustered, but finally she was able to release it. "Fuck..." She whispered as she pushed herself into a standing position. The seat back in front of her was her support, she needed it to force herself up and then to keep her standing. The world began to spin, it was like the blood was draining from her head.

Miranda tried to breathe in deeply and it hurt severely. Some of her ribs were most definitely broken. A small, jagged piece of metal was protruding from her left arm, probably the source of the pain she was feeling earlier, now, what felt like eternally. She pushed herself into the aisle. There were bodies, those who didn't make it to their seatbelts in time or the violent force had been so severe it ripped the fabrics loose and allowed them to fly anyway. Miranda felt herself shaking, stepping over the bodies trying to be respectful of the dead as she searched for life. Any sign of life. She saw a man seated beside the window a couple of rows behind her, he was moving. Even if slowly. Moving.

"Hel...hello." She finally pushed out.

[prærieulv]

The reek of sulfur seemed to grow stronger with each passing second on the plane, which should have encouraged a sense of urgency, if Lennox wasn't fighting against heavy eye lids. The longer he sat, mulling over his next steps, the more intense the throbbing in his brain became.

If he could just close his eyes for a second...

There was shuffling somewhere in front of him, and Lennox realized he had, in fact, closed his eyes for a few long moments. The noise was enough to blink his hazel eyes back open, and he was sat up just enough to see a woman stumbling down the aisle. She was dressed much too nicely to have just been in a plane crash. It was a shame, really. He was certain she would have been quite stunning if it weren't for the smudges of debris and scrapes along her light skin...not that she wasn't easy on the eyes the way she was.

It was a relief to see someone else alive. Assuming she wasn't a figment of his disoriented imagination.

Then she spoke, and a sense of relief washed through Lennox's achy body. "H-hey, you a'right?" he tossed out the greeting, and cringed at the hoarseness of his voice. It felt wrong to ask if she was alright. Who would be in this situation? It was almost like kicking a man in the jewels and asking if he was okay.

He then realized he would need to dislodge his ankle if he was going to get up to check on the woman, and he slowly unclipped the metal seatbelt with a trembling hand. The freedom caused him to slide forward enough to brace both his hands against the blue fabric of the chair in front of him. A soft grunt escaped him as the impact against the seat sent a jolt of pain up his arms and down his spine, but luckily for him, he would soon have a different pain to deal with. "Ane... twa..." he muttered the words under his breath, almost for his own sanity, before ripping his leg free from its confines. A low groan of pain rumbled in his chest at the action, and he let his eyes slide closed for a few heartbeats.

The same moment he decided to open his eyes again, he used the back of the seat to help pull himself up. His knees immediately wanted to buckle, but the sturdy chair helped to support him in his effort to remain on his feet. Now that he was standing, and the woman had made it closer, Lennox could see the hunk of metal protruding from her left arm. "Yer carrying a little piece of the plane around with ya," he commented, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip at the sight. Already, he was trying to make light of a rather dark situation.

Back home, he was almost the farthest thing from a doctor someone could get. It took a lot for him to search his mind for the best way to address the woman's unwanted souvenir. "Do you have any other injuries?" he asked, cautiously side stepping his way past the deceased woman he had been sat next to. He didn't give up his hold on the seats, using the blue fabric to keep himself steady even as he moved to stand in the center aisle. It dawned on him suddenly that leaving the piece of debris would be the safer option, at least until they could find the proper supplies to stop the bleeding once it was removed.

"And did you happen to see anyone else?" Lennox couldn't help but ask, his gaze briefly looking past the woman towards the front of the plane. He noticed the large hole in the side of the aircraft, a few rows back from where first class should have been. That section was dented inwards instead, due to the impact with...whatever they landed on, and he counted his blessings that he hadn't been seated in the front half of the plane.

[Hannelorian]

It was funny, wasn't it? A plane crashed, at least two of them survived and Miranda had made intimate friends with a scrappy piece of metal that was jutting out from her flesh. It was possible, to Miranda's mind at least, that the entire situation was so dark it was rather humorous. "Do you think it was an important part?" Was the best Miranda could do to meet the man's attempt at a joke, or rather a piece of benign commentary. Miranda had seen the man, but now she truly saw him as he emerged from the trap he found himself in. He did so mightily and without complaint. Maybe they were both so high on adrenaline that the real pain had yet to set in.

When she looked at him closer he was handsome and had what she felt were kind and warm eyes. "Other injuries... yes." Miranda paused for a moment, she had been so briefly distracted by the welcome sight of this stranger she almost forgot about everything else. "Broken ribs... I think. Cuts, things that will certainly become horrifically intense deep purple bruises." As he emerged into the center aisle, Miranda moved to accommodate his presence. "But enough about me... how are you?" Miranda couldn't deny she felt horribly selfish in the moment. Something some might also argue was characteristic of the woman. "May I?" Miranda's hand reached out to his forehead, noticing a small cut and some dried blood, carefully, ever so delicately she moved a few stray strands of his hair behind his ears and took a closer look. "Your head is probably killing you." She suggested, he too, like most of them had been knocked around a fair bit.

"From what I can tell... the plane broke into at least two pieces... the pilot's section is gone... The rest of the forward seems... well. Bad. I only just woke up... you are the first person I've found still breathing." Miranda offered her best comforting smile. But no mere glance could remove the overwhelming sense of sorrow and dread that pervaded this space. Statistically the forward and tail sections of planes were the most likely to lead to death in the event of an accident. "Can't keep the Scots down can ya?" Miranda joked lightly, having noted the accent. Slowly but surely she turned around to cast her gaze upon the rest. "I'll look... for others."

Holding on to the faded blue seat backs, some with those annoying little white cloths covering where one's head would lie, she pulled herself down small lengths of the plane, avoiding all sorts that were cast off into the aisles. Bodies, a turned over drinks cart. Pieces of luggage that had fallen from the overhead compartments. Everything was a mess to say the least. It was painful to think of what had been lost in this situation. It was even more painful to think of how close she could have been to her own death. Then again, in her mind there was nothing that said she wouldn't die. She hadn't even looked to see where they were. But she noted that she heard silence, there were no sirens, no panic from outside. Wherever they were, it seemed safe to assume they had not been found. Perhaps no one had even noticed they had gone missing.

For whatever reason, she felt odd leaving the other man behind. His mere presence had been a comfort, just knowing she was not alone. But now she had to search for others. And sure enough she did find another man, unconscious but breathing, his injuries seemed to be none too severe all things considered. Miranda supposed he was in his 30s. His chest was steadily rising and falling. She felt no need to wake him straight away.

[prærieulv]

The woman had returned his jest without missing a beat, and Lennox could feel the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of his lips. He wanted to jab again, maybe mention that that specific piece of metal could've been the key to holding the plane together, but he couldn't shake the concern that she might be hurt worse than what could be immediately seen. His eyes scanned over the scrapes and bruises that were noted, silently taking a mental inventory of the other major injuries she had accounted for. Even if he wasn't able to help with them now, Lennox would be sure to address the ones that he could once they were in a better position to do so. The broken ribs would be the most difficult to mend, though there was also the risk for infections...

Her question pulled him out of his thoughts, and he lifted his hazels to meet her warm gaze. "Mostly in one piece," Lennox paused, noticing her hand lift followed by the request to touch him. He gave a little nod, instinctively leaning into the gentle brush of her fingertips. His eyes slid shut at the delicate touch, but just as quickly as it was there, it was gone again. "Hurts like a bitch...but that's probably the worst of it," he confirmed, blinking his eyes back open slowly. Her hand had been so soft, and her fingers long and slender. Under different circumstances, he might've even tried to convince her to touch him again.

Unfortunately for him, they were not under different circumstances.

Lennox then listened as she began to describe some of what she observed during her short time awake, and he allowed his gaze to wander back to the front of the plane. He wondered if there was any chance some of the first-class section came off with the pilot's quarters. Even if the chances were slim, it at least allowed for some hope that the pilot section was in one piece somewhere...and not completely smashed into the ground. "Aye...It takes more than a measly plane crash to bring down a true Scotsman," Lennox felt himself chuckle, which a sensation that might've felt pleasant, if it didn't cause a pinprick of pain to pulse under his temple.

Their exchange felt way too short, but Lennox supposed it was probably time to start assessing the full situation. "Be careful," he warned, casting a quick glance over his shoulder towards the back of the plane. The center aisle was full of various obstacles, between suitcases and shrapnel, and the occasional body dangling over armrests. He also noticed there was a sizeable hole at the back of the plane, almost mirroring the one towards the front. It almost looked like something took two large bites out of each side of the plane.

Since the woman worked her way towards the back of the plane, Lennox decided he would start towards the front. He supported his weight against the seats as he moved, forcing himself to check every row leading to the hole in the fuselage. He eventually came across a man and woman, both still unconscious, but Lennox took note of the faint rise and fall of their chests as he passed. It was a miracle that they both seemed to have survived, and whatever injuries they endured weren't obvious to the naked eye, though Lennox didn't hang around long enough to fully inspect them.

By the time he made it to the front of the main cabin, a few beads of sweat had started to drip down Lennox's forehead. He swiped at them impatiently with the collar of his shirt, and slowly pushed himself away from the final set of seats just a few steps away from the hole. His ankle practically whined with protest but held him up easily enough to know it wasn't broken, only sore and probably quite bruised. It took a moment for him to maneuver to the edge of the gap in the wall, but as he did, he had to squint against the increasing brightness from the outside.

"Crivvens," he whispered to himself, finally understanding why he had started to feel so warm. The plane had landed just at the edge of what appeared to be a beach, except for the way the sand eventually gave way to a jungle like terrain. It might have been a beautiful sight, if not for the fact that it seemed very...out of place. A tropical beach, this far north?

Lennox didn't allow himself to dwell on the thought for too long, deciding to turn away from the hole and start back towards where he last saw the blonde woman. He wanted to update her on what he had seen, and maybe start hunting for anything that resembled a first aid kit.

[Hannelorian]

The scene toward the rear of the plane was as grim as the rest had been. Most of the passengers lay limp and entirely devoid of life. Miranda wondered if she should be... more devastated than she was at such a compelling loss of life. Why had she survived? She could have just as easily been numbered among the lost souls and yet here she was, broken and in pain, but still walking down the remains of the aisle. Every now and again Miranda would lean over to one side, her fingertips rising and carefully she would push a torso up, a head to the side, something to look for signs of life, but she was coming up entirely empty. Bending down to move bags out of the way sent shock waves of pain throughout her frame.

The tail end itself too was missing, they seemed to be in an aluminum can that had been opened from both ends. But parts of the galley were intact, items of food and drink were strewn about, things that might prove useful, would prove useful as the reality of their situation set in. "What in God's name happened?" Miranda spoke aloud, never having been one for God or religion, she wondered if now was the time to reconsider faith. Surviving a plane crash is something someone surely would have called a miracle.

"The plane crashed." A voice answered from behind, catching Miranda off guard. Turning around she was scanning over the seats. There was a middle aged woman who was squirming in her seat, Miranda slowly walked to her. "I had put that one together." Miranda replied softly, kneeling down at the edge of the aisle. "Are you hurt?" She asked. The woman was older, she was sitting next to a younger man, maybe in his early 20s. He too was still breathing, albeit in a shallow capacity. She could have been his mother. "I'm... so tired." The woman responded her eyelids were heavy, but she appeared to have nothing more than some bruising on the visible parts of her arms. "I... think I'm fine." She continued.

"You should get rest." Miranda responded with a soft smile. "Do you know him?" She motioned to the young man sitting beside her. "He seems to be alright." Her voice was tender, she paid attention to how she spoke and how she came off. A skill she normally did not possess. Miranda was known for her competitive attitude, for speaking exactly what was on her mind, she would always say the first thing that came it to, and not the much nicer second thing.

"My son." The woman stated with a sense of pride and tremendous relief in her voice. "And he would tell you to rest too... There's a few of us. I'll be gathering supplies." Miranda turned and moved back down the aisle toward where she had encountered the man with the Scottish accent. And before long he was there, making his way back down from the front of the plane. Miranda could feel her face soften, and a small but genuine smile forming on her face. But she didn't know why. He was a stranger.

"Tell me something good. Give me... something good." Miranda said as the two met. In her hand she carried a couple of little bottles of alcohol and a still wrapped blanket that had fallen to the floor. Makeshift bandages and alcohol. "Two more live ones back there... no tail though. A broken lavatory or two, some... parts of the galley. But... you know it's slim pickings." Miranda sighed as she began to open the blanket, a small bottle of the vodka. Pouring a little on the corner of the blanket she raised it gently to his head and began to clean the wound. A small whimper of pain escaping her lips as she did so. Fucking piece of metal.

[prærieulv]

The Scotsman felt an odd sense of relief when the woman came into view, though he wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't like she could've gone very far, even if she had wanted to. The least Lennox could do was be thankful he was able to feel something other than immense dread...and the constant thudding against the sides of his skull.

Lennox offered a small smile as the woman asked for good news, and he raised a hand to swipe at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Unless you were looking for a beach vacation, less an all-expense resort...I'm afraid I don't have great news..." he admitted, then paused to listen to her report from the back of the plane. It was promising to hear she had come across two other survivors, which would bring the current total to six. "There's two more in the front as well...Breathing, but I didn't stay long enough to have a chat." Lennox breathed out his own little sigh now, resting back against the side of an empty seat. This meant that there was hope. One of these four individuals could be a doctor, or someone important enough that a search party wouldn't rest until they were found.

He was pleased to see she had come across a couple of essentials during her first trip to the tail of the plane, that is, until he realized what she would be using those essentials for. His nose wrinkled in anticipation, and he closed his eyes just as the blanket lifted towards his busted temple. A soft hiss of discomfort slipped through his clenched teeth, but the soft whimper of pain emitted from the woman was enough to draw his attention away from his own displeasure.

His eyes fluttered back open, and he slowly reached up to halt her actions by grasping onto her wrist. "Let me take a look at that first, aye? Since you found some good supplies, I can probably get rid of your little friend there...if that's alright by you," he suggested, carefully lowering her hand away from his head. His gaze stayed glued to the piece of metal for a few seconds longer though, as he tried to determine the most efficient and least damaging way to free it from her arm. One end seemed to be at least a bit thinner than the other, so hopefully pulling from the opposite end would be the best bet.

"Sit." Lennox instructed lightly, stepping to the side and motioning to the seat he had been leaned against. To his relief, the seat directly next to it was empty as well, aside from a small suitcase that had been tossed around during the fall. He then reached into his back pocket to remove the pocketknife he had managed to get passed security - not that he had done so intentionally, sometimes the pesky gents just didn't seem to care enough.

He took the other end of the blanket into his left hand and used the knife to cut out a long, thick strip of the fabric. "I'm going to pull from this side -" Lennox paused long enough to motion towards the thicker end of the metal scrap, "And I need you to hold your arm still, so it doesn't try to go with it." He thought it would be best to explain his plan, so she didn't have to over anticipate his every move. "Then I'll need you to pour some of that vodka on both sides of the wound once it's out...Think you can do that?"

[Hannelorian]

There were more survivors. That was a relief. Even if their numbers were still in the single digits, that seemed exceedingly rare. There were relatively few stories of plane crashes that Miranda could recall where there were any survivors let alone six. "Did you ever think that this piece..." Miranda motioned to the metal that this stranger was about to remove from her body. "Maybe this piece was the one that held the whole bird together?" Miranda found herself actually laughing. This wasn't a small chuckle or some shy little notion, it was a genuine laugh that escaped her. Perhaps in the face of adversity she had either finally snapped, or realized that if she couldn't laugh about it she would fall into a pile of tears.

"Wait." Miranda paused for a moment, in the seat she turned toward the stranger. "Did you say a beach?" Miranda hadn't given much thought to it, nor had she really bothered to look outside. Miranda thought that looking outside would make it all too real. When she heard the word beach her mind began to wander. Had they really made it as far as Canada? Perhaps they were over some island or the coast. Never in a million years would she assume it was a kind of tropical beach. This finally prompted Miranda to turn to look out the shattered window. "What... the actual fuck?" Miranda's eyes widened, while she could only see a partial picture it was enough to confuse the hell out of her.

"Okay. Let's put a pin in that." Miranda turned her attentions back to the Scottish man. "Alright." Miranda was talking mostly to comfort herself however, that removing this foreign object from her body would be okay. What were the odds really of it having hit some kind of major artery? But if it had, and she did bleed out, well... it would be mercifully fast. Or so she hoped. "Don't hesitate, and don't worry. I don't think I can be in any more pain, truly. I can handle this." Miranda did not know she could handle this, she lied. A flat out lie. Miranda was nervous. "Okay, I'm lying." Miranda sighed and uncapped the small bottle of vodka holding it in opposite hand as the offending wound. "Do it. Steady arm. Got it."

Looking at the Scotsman she bit her lower lip in nervous anticipation. "Distract me? Talk to me about anything. Or better yet." Miranda thought for a moment. "Tell me your name. I hate to think that your name in my phone would be... Ginger Scotsman or something like that." She cracked a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushing the slightest bit of red. Her phone. She hadn't even thought to check for a signal. It was probably still wedged somewhere in her seat back pocket. Miranda didn't get nervous, but here she was nervous. Not just for the metal to be removed but honestly because this stranger made her nervous. He seemed so normal, so seemingly well adjusted. Miranda did not know how to manage well adjusted people.

[prærieulv]

This woman was just full of surprises. The laughter that spilled from her lips was almost melodical, albeit a bit hysterical, and the Scotsman couldn't help but notice just how beautiful she truly was. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed her attractiveness prior to then - he was a man after all - but this laughter seemed to make all of her features soften. He could remember thinking the same tease when he came across her the first time, but now that the joke was back around again, it made the thought all the more amusing. Now he could feel a bubble of laughter building in his own chest. "I think you may be on to something." He chuckled the words through his fit of chortles, silently wishing he could bottle up the sound of her laughter and save it for a bad day.

The amusement faded almost as quickly as it had begun, but Lennox could still feel a hint of warmth in his chest. For a moment there, he had almost forgotten about their current predicament. "Yea, a beach. A tropical beach, to be specific." Lennox confirmed, finally letting his gaze divert away from the woman and to the broken window instead. It didn't make sense to him either, but he had tried his best to push the thought towards the back of his mind. They should've been too far north to have landed anywhere tropical, and the heat that radiated in from the hole in the wall seemed...odd, to say the least.

Luckily, she seemed to put the thought aside for the moment, and Lennox could focus his attention back to the task at hand. Her rambling earned a soft smile from the Scotsman, and he slowly reached out a hand to briefly rest it against her cheek. "You're gonna be just fine, little hen. You're in good hands, I promise." He assured, meeting her gaze as he uttered the words. There were a number of things that could go wrong, he knew that, but sometimes feigning confidence was key to bettering a bad situation.

At her next request, Lennox lowered his gaze to the jutting piece of metal, and he couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped him. "Ginger Scotsman? You wouldn't even sprinkle a braw or a handsome in there?" Lennox teased, keeping his focus on the rod despite wanting to offer the woman another playful smile. However, as he went on to truly fulfill her ask, that small smile faded, and he felt himself hesitate. Not because he didn't want to offer his name to her, but because he had to dig in his mind to find the answer. It felt like a word that he couldn't quite place, balancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Lennox." Finally, he found it, and a wave of relief flooded into his chest. "Lennox Hughes. I'm twenty-eight years young, and as you already guessed, I was born in Glasgow...but I was brought up more in the States. I've got a younger sister back home, Edith. She's a handful, that one..." All the while, the Scotsman got to work on removing the metal piece from the woman's arm. He had placed one hand against her arm, planning to help hold her limb in place in case she wasn't able to do so. It was all done in one rather quick movement; from the moment he grasped the thick end to the moment he yanked it back with all as much speed and strength as he could muster. It was slick with her blood, and for a moment, he was worried it would just slide right out of his grip.

The foreign object slipped out without too much resistance, and without skipping a beat Lennox plucked the vodka out of the woman's hands to carefully start pouring it onto the now open wound. He had decided he didn't like the thought of making her do that herself. "Hard parts over, lass. You handled that like a champ," He offered another reassurance, setting the small bottle aside so that he could take the larger bit of blanket into his hand. He pressed the fabric against both sides of the wound, thinking it would be best to try to stop some of the bleeding before wrapping it.

[Hannelorian]

The feeling of the metal leaving her body was a distinct and sharp pain, enough to make the young woman whimper and then finally melt into the seat, just in time for the stinging of the vodka which was now entering her wound. Crude but effective. "Thank you, Lennox." Miranda said softly as the immediate pain subsided, she offered him a small and reassuring smile. "And you're right, I should have added in handsome and brave to the general descriptor of ginger Scotsman." It was nice to know his name, it was equally pleasurable to say his name, to feel how it felt rolling off of her tongue. Perhaps she had become so quickly amenable to him because they were so isolated, so alone and shared quite the trauma bond with this man, this... Lennox.

"Miranda." She began to pay him in kind with similar information about her. "Miranda Darrow." Generally Miranda never worried about people recognizing her or her family name. Encountering those engrossed in classical music seemed to be a general rarity. "I'm 32 from London originally." Miranda could have offered more, that she was engaged perhaps. But no, she deliberately chose not to share that little tidbit. "I can't imagine having just one sibling. I have 7." The Darrow family were formidable in both their numbers and their talent. Each one of the children being deemed some sort of prodigy in some sort of area. The competitive nature led to broken and often dysfunctional relationships between all of them.

"In any event, Edith is lucky to have a brother like you. The kind of man who is willing to rip the piece of metal that held the plane together out of a complete stranger following absolute disaster." Despite her return to a joke of sorts there was a deep an honest sincerity in her voice. She was grateful for his help and for his company. Miranda moved to rest her hand upon his as he attempted to stem the bleeding. She applied subtle pressure to his hand, her way of letting him know he can press harder on the wound. "And this... this must be the greatest first date in all of history. I know you've just really been begging to have a woman bleed absolutely madly all over you." Miranda sighed.

When it seemed the bleeding had stopped, she maneuvered herself deftly to tie the makeshift bandage as best as possible around the hole in her arm. "Shall we move on to a lighter topic?" Miranda mused as she shifted her gaze once more out of the broken window. "When some of the others wake up, we need to start going through the bags... looking for supplies. Anything that could help. Probably inventory some of what's on the snack and drink carts that are left. And eventually... we'll need to go out there." Miranda nodded softly in the direction of the outside world. It all seemed overwhelming, horrifically intense.