[M] Crash Landing { 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. **

"Are we there yet?"

The words were spoken with a smugness that Lennox could only find endearing; otherwise, he would be leaving his younger sister at the airport. She was only trying to lighten the mood, due to his distaste towards flying, but it was much too early for that type of harassment.
"Edith, if ye don't keep that humor to yourself, you'll be staying in London," he retorted, and adjusted his grip on the small carry-on bag he held.

On any normal day, the idea of stepping on an airplane left a unpleasant taste in the man's mouth, but on this day it was particularly sour. Frequent flights weren't unfamiliar to either of the Scottish descents; however, the elder of the two still had a hard time adjusting to his feet not being on the ground. His only saving grace was the short layover in London, where he was able to regather his bearings and fuel his body with a relaxing beverage.

Even as they stood in line to board their next flight, Lennox still found it difficult to shake off the pit in his stomach. Typically by this time, he would be exhausted enough to not entertain the idea of 'what ifs,' but today those thoughts were plaguing his mind. It did become a bit easier to ignore once the two found their seats, and he was able to order himself another beverage shortly after the remaining passengers got settled. That seemed to do the trick, and helped ease him into a light slumber just as they made it into the air.

-

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. His sister, who was by far more comfortable on a plane than he himself, was also beginning to look concerned.
"Don't worry about it... I'm sure we just-" he started to provide assurances to the younger, but was cut off by a woman's voice over the intercom.

"Heads down, stay down! Passengers, please quickly find your seats and fasten your seatbelts. This is not a drill, we are experiencing unexpected engine failure. Oxygen masks will be deployed..."

The Scottish man was certain the woman said more than that, but the increased voices of fear drowned out the remainder of her instructions. Engine failure. Those words had sparked his own sense of panic, and if it wasn't for the oxygen masks dropping from above, he would've stayed frozen in his seat.

His immediate instinct was to reach out and properly secure the mask to his sister's face, despite clear instructions to do his own first. Her safety was his number one priority, inside of a plane and out. He could see his own fear reflected in her eyes while he was doing so, and he tried his best to muster as much assurance as he could in the given situation. Once hers was secure, he then clicked his seatbelt into place and yanked his own mask onto 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 pit in his stomach. The muffled voices around them morphed into frantic yells, and that was when the plummeting truly began.

There were a few feelings from the decent that he could truly remember: Edith'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 blink open his eyes as he regained consciousness, trying to rid them of the double vision. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened, just that his body felt as if it weighed triple the amount it was supposed to. Despite the heaviness, he was able to raise a hand to his temple, where he felt a gooey substance. What the fuck...

As the though entered his mind, all of the memories came rushing back, and his eyes frantically shot open. "Edith," the voice almost didn't sound like his own, and as he tried to turn to take in the sight of his sister, a fiery pain snaked down his spine. A soft curse escaped him at the sensation, and it became apparent that he needed to assess his own wounds before he would be able to help Edith at all.

Taking in a deep breath, Lennox slowly lowered his gaze to his own body. His left leg had wedged itself between the seat in front of him and the cold metal of the airplane wall, and his left arm had taken the brute force of his body hitting that same wall. Clearly he had a head wound as well, but somehow he didn't appear to be on the brink of death. The biggest issue would be getting his leg free from where it was tightly nestled, without increasing the severity of the injury.

He wasn't sure if there were other survivors, but the last thing he wanted was to be the only person alive on a crashed plane.

[Hannelorian]

A pale slender finger attached to a pale slender hand moved in a circular motion clasping a small wooden pick with an olive stuffed with god only knew what about a martini glass. The stirring motion moved the crisp and clear liquid to and fro ever sloshing about with no end in sight. One might remark that the long and slender fingers were those of a piano player, they just had that look to them. In the other hand, those delicate digits clasped a phone, holding it so tenderly to the ear of the young woman. She listened to the voice on the other end but only barely.

"Call me as soon as you land, Emmy.

Emmy, he was the only one who called her that. She hated it with every fiber of her being. But rather than acknowledging the speaker, she only muttered a dispassionate "mhmm." Still she stirred the drink without ever taking a single sip. Miranda, as she was called, would later wish she had finished the drink.

"I'm serious darling, don't forget!" the voice seemed irritated, it wanted more from Miranda, but Miranda would not give it the satisfaction.

"They're calling my flight." They were not. "I've got to go Sebas." Miranda's Londoner accent poured through the simple words, Her tone was cool, almost too eerily calm. The reality was far more grim, Miranda simply didn't care.

"I love you." Click. Miranda had hung up with the phone, she didn't bother to return the notion. "Prick." She whispered to no one in particular as she set the phone down upon the cool marble countertop of the airport bar. The bartender had sympathetic eyes, or perhaps he was simply attracted to her, it was difficult to tell, but also unimportant. It was just another nameless man, in an airport bar that she'd been to hundreds of times if not more on the seeming thousand flights she had taken over the past few years. With bright brown eyes Miranda gazed down at the fingers of her left hand, a ring with an impressive diamond stone that glinted in the light reflected back at her. In a swift motion she had removed it, and dropped it into her purse, black to match her outfit. A sleeveless black dress that fitted well and came down just below her knees, a pair of black high heels to match. Straight to work from the airport, there would be little time to change. At least Miranda enjoyed the cold of airplanes, it made her feel a little more relaxed, she couldn't tell one why.

"Pretty sure you aren't supposed to take those off Miss." The bartender commented, prompting those brown eyes to divert their gaze from her now bare fingers to the man who spoke. Miranda smiled softly. "If you knew him, you'd take it off too." She flashed her perfectly aligned pearly whites and stood up, seemingly out of nowhere she had withdrawn a couple of pound notes of differing amounts and set them down beside the drink she had only toyed with and turned her back, making her way to the gate. A purse over one shoulder, the opposing hand resting on the handle of the slim black carry on she wheeled beside her. While standing in line she fidgeted with her fingers, and withdrew a slim hairtie from her rest and in an effortless motion had drawn up her neat blonde hair into a bun and boarded the flight when it was her turn.

Standing in her seat, an aisle seat, great... Miranda politely asked the gentleman across from her to stowe her bag in the over head compartment and he naturally obliged, no one said no to a pretty girl. Miranda cast her eyes further back across the rows, she made note of no one in particular, though later she might recall having seeing an attractive man next to his younger sister. Seated beside her in the window seat an older man, chatty, but she didn't catch his name nor he hers. These were the moments everyone would forget, but today would be emblazoned on her memory.

--

Miranda would not describe herself as a nervous flyer, in fact, it would really be quite the opposite. Flying was a brief reprieve from all else. A few hours in the sky where no one could reach her, and she could reach no one. Blessed time alone to her thoughts, or more importantly to her music. Drinks service would come and go and Miranda sustained herself on water and pretzels that were certainly past their prime. But the staleness of the snacks did not bother her, that would be something far to trivial to complain about or spend another moment's thought upon.

It was however when the water nearly all gone from the confines of the plastic cup began to shake that Miranda took notice. The reverberations of oncoming turbulence rippled across the cool surface like little waves, which in time grew to rapid and angry swells. Something was not right. This was not turbulence that Miranda expected from this route. She rested the book she had been reading, a history of the Plantagenets, perfectly mindless for her, upon her lap and looked up. The flight attendants seemed harried, a bit startled. It was now clear they had been passing messages back and forth, quietly, in an attempt to keep the passengers calm.

And then it happened, as the turbulence grew more and more violent, it finally happened.

"Heads down, stay down! Passengers, please quickly find your seats and fasten your seatbelts. This is not a drill, we are experiencing unexpected engine failure. Oxygen masks will be deployed..."

Engine failure? "Did she say Engine Failure?" Miranda was almost in shock, no, not almost. Miranda was in shock. When the oxygen mask fell moments later it would take a split second to respond. Longer than it should have. In this moment she wished she had called her father instead. She should have spoken to him. This was the moment that her life was going to end. Should she pray? Would now finally be the moment she made her amends with God? If there even was a God.

And then the plane tipped forward into what felt like a free fall, compartments opened, bags and objects fell out and onto the passengers. The screaming would have been deafening if Miranda had bothered to pay attention. Instead she only dug her hands into the hand rests and closed her eyes. To brace for impact, to brace for the end. Why hadn't she done everything differently? Who would remember her when she was gone? All at once everything grew louder and louder and then in a flash there was nothing, dead silence.

--

The scent of burning flesh filled Miranda's lungs and brought her seemingly back to life. The young woman screamed herself into a state of awakening only to find she didn't entirely remember what had happened. How could her mind block out a plane crash? But that lasted only moments as her eyes came into focus, and she saw what was around her. Daylight. But not the kind of daylight that one saw through the small openings of windows with their shades up, broad and blinding light. Fire, smoke that grew worse and would eventually block out that very same light.

She was still in her seat, she was upright, but the cabin... the cabin was now in pieces. Craning her head to her right was painful, but there she saw her seatmate, the older man who talked far too much... he had been silenced forever. His head twisted in an unnatural way. Clearly he had been killed in the crash, or by falling objects. She felt no pain, was that normal? No. Of course it didn't mean that Miranda had no injuries but that simply her body for the moment prevented her from feeling them. Her hand trembling reached down to meet the metal clasp of the seatbelt and released it. Miranda lurched forward falling to the floor, and then she dragged herself into the aisle and through debris for a foot or two until she had hit a drinks cart, and pulled herself up.

That was when the pain set in and she clenched her teeth to breath through. Her eyes gazing down a small piece of metal, almost rod like protruded from her arm. "Don't..." Miranda whispered not quite able to recall if she should or should not withdraw it from her body. She was bleeding, her ribs ached in pain, most likely some were broken, but otherwise she could walk. Forward was backward and Miranda moved slowly toward the light taking stock of the seats, of the death... The hell comes next.

[prærieulv]

The reek of sulfur seemed to grow stronger with each passing second on the plane, which would 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.

He just wanted to close his eyes for a second...

The sound felt like it rang in his ears - a scream, perhaps? - but did the trick to get the rest of his body moving. He used the stronger of his two arms to brace against the seat in front of him, while his shaky left hand worked free the seatbelt that securely held him to his seat. Grunting with the effort it took to keep himself from falling forward, Lennox adjusted both hands to firmly grasp the seat he was now propped against the back of. "Ane... twa..." he muttered out the words, almost for his own sanity, before ripping his leg free from it's confines. A low groan of pain rumbled in his chest at the action, but he didn't let himself dwell on it for too long.

Now that he was free, and his adrenaline was pumping faster, he was able to focus his attention on the body next to him. To his surprise, Edith appeared to be the least banged up out of the two of them. There was a decent goose egg on her temple, assumed to be caused by falling luggage, and a bloody gash on her side from where the broken armrest had pierced her. Her small frame was slightly dangled into the aisle, and it took a bit of effort to get her seated properly upright. Two slender, shaky fingers pressed against the young girl's throat, and Lennox almost sobbed at the faint pulse he felt. She may not be awake, but she was alive.

It was then that he began to hear muffled footsteps from somewhere down the aisle, and a heavy wave of relief coursed through his veins. He wasn't the only one alive and awake. For now. His mind had the audacity to remind him. Anyone alive needed to get off the plane, as quick as feasibly possible. Edith would be safe in her seat until he was able to find a way out of this death trap.

Lennox once again grabbed the remains of the seat in front of him, and used it to haul his body the rest of the way out of his own chair. Pain snaked throughout his entire body, like small electric pulses, and he had to grit his teeth in order to swallow down his discomfort. Everything began to sway slightly, and the edges of his vision appeared to be slightly darker than everything else.

It was almost bad enough to encourage him to sit back down, but the sight of a young woman in the aisle stopped him from doing so. "H-Hey... You a'right?" he did his best to call to the gal, but the words didn't come out as strong as he had hoped. With the help of the lounge, he was able to side step over his sister and through some of the debris that covered the aisleway. His left leg protested at the weight of his body, but not enough to prevent him from taking a few more steps towards the newly found woman.

His hazels started to roam then, taking in the sight of the mangled bodies strewn throughout the cabin. "Crivvens," he rasped, feeling bile start to rise in his throat. There was still a small part of him that hoped this whole thing was just a dream. A figment of his anxious imagination, and soon he would wake up to find the plane safely landed in the United States.

[Hannelorian]

It was only when her head cleared enough to take stock that Miranda began to calm down, or perhaps panic even harder that she lulled herself into a false sense of security. She survived. Somehow she was still alive and that didn't feel quite real, or to be honest, quite right. But it wasn't the time to dwell on her survivor's guilt, or even begin to understand it well enough to know that's what it is that she felt. It was time to take a breath, and breathing it hurt. Each time her body swelled on an inhale she was reminded of her injuries, and the smell of the air around her was overpowering and hot. Almost like a barbecue that had gone wildly out of control, what a twisted thought.

Looking down Miranda held her hands in front of her until her eyes focused on them. Her palms were facing up, her brown eyes scanned each and every detail. A moment was spared to move each and every finger, curling them in one at a time until four digits rested gently against her palm and a thumb curling inwards to rest on the knuckle of the index finger. "Thank God." If her legs had been taken she could survive, hell if her entire lower half had been removed, she would figure it out. Her hands, they were her lifeblood, her entire way of life and they were okay. "You really should have those insured for more Emmy" the voice in her head reminded her. But it wasn't her voice, it was Sebastian's. If this had been another time she would have rolled her eyes and had a quick retort, but now she could only thank God that he spared her hands. Death would have been preferable to losing them. "Fuck me..." Miranda whispered to no one at all, it was a reminder to snap her out of it and focus on what was going on around her.

Staggering forward, it would take time to get used to feeling her legs again, but even they ached, each one cried out for rest for a break, but there was no time for that. Miranda would use the tops of the chairs, the faded blue fabric with wrinkled white squares against the headrests to propel herself forward - trudging past another row. Her eyes scanned the seats and the bodies as she went. There were empty seats. Were they survivors? Or had those seats been empty all along? No amount of struggling would bring back an image of the faces she so briefly looked at while her bag was being stowed, or while she made her way to her seat some hours before.

"Ladies and gentleman today's flight is nearly fully booked. Don't be an arse, check your damn bags..." Humor was her coping mechanism. At least today it was. Normally she'd have preferred a stiff drink after a hard day... but this was too unbelievable. But out of the silence, save for the sparking of electrical still fought for life, and the distant sound of fire growing, the moaning had largely stopped. Until she heard a voice, or something like a voice it was low, raspy, barely able to identified as a signal. "Someone's alive." Miranda moved as fast as she could now, making her way toward the source of the sound and praying to God it wasn't her imagination. But God had done her enough favors this day, he probably wasn't listening anymore.

A man. A young man, not much older than her by the look of it. He was covered in blood, funny, so was she. It was impossible to see well, but she could have sworn he had been beautiful. It was the same man she clocked when she looked back, he was there with a young woman. Figures. Even in this hell hole, he'd be taken. Of course she never considered it was a sister, nor did she really remember the woman's age, could have been a daughter. It was like the world's worst Hallmark movie. Two strangers on a plane that has just crashed in the middle of nowhere. But hey, at least it wasn't the ocean! Those things weren't real, and besides, she was still alive which meant she had a future husband who at some point would wonder why she hadn't called. Then he would be angry that she hadn't called. Then he would be wondering how much she was worth when she was dead, and perhaps be hit with a twinge of sadness when it came out that Miranda Darrow was still kicking. Metaphorically kicking of course. Then he would likely be mad that she hadn't found a phone on this whatever, wherever, to call and let him know she was alright. Figures.

"Hello?" Miranda found herself calling back, her voice was shaky, she was struggling to push her own thoughts aside. Moving forward she could finally see him more clearly, and it was real. He was real. He was hurt. Worse than her by the looks of it. She moved her way to him until she was directly before him. "Did you ask if I was alright?" Miranda commented off hand as she scanned the man looking for his injuries, his head was obvious, it was a miracle that he was able to stand. He must have been in an immense amount of pain. She wanted to laugh, but she couldn't. Instead she reached a hand out and placed it on his head, moving some of his hair from his wound.

It took only a moment for Miranda to lean over into the row next to her, a woman and her husband, their hands clenched together. They died together. Miranda hoped they were happy, and that at the very least at the moment of their death they weren't lonely. Maybe they were strangers, maybe just two people need to find comfort in their last breath. But they weren't important now, they were dead. She instead stole the blanket from the woman's lap, wrenching it from between her body and the seatbelt it had tangled itself in. Turning her attention to the mystery man, she raised the fabric to his head and held it there tightly.

"I don't think there's a way out back this way..." She had seen the darkness settle in toward the first class cabin. See how well that curtain protected you? "There's a hole in the side of the fuselage..." Miranda gestured toward the path behind him, from the direction he came, light and air had been flooding in, but now it was all smoke. Something truly infernal was just beyond. But then again there was no telling how much of the plane was in this spot. Miranda had a keen sense of observation, that never failed her. Unlike everyone else.

And the of course there was the fabulous piece of metal jutting out from her arm which by this point was screaming in pain, but if she didn't think about it, if Miranda forced herself to focus on this man in front of her, the pain was lessened. She was just the girl covered in blood with a casual extra piece reaching out to say hello.

[prærieulv]

It didn't seem as though the woman had heard him at first, not to his surprise considering how weak his initial callout had been. That didn't stop him from pushing forward, using this time to take a mental inventory on passengers that at least appeared to be living. The faint movement of someone's chest, or even bodies that didn't appear to have life threatening injuries - not that he was anywhere close to medically qualified enough to make such a call. He wasn't even sure what he would do if he did start to find more survivors, let alone someone clinging to life. Was this what Darwin meant by survival of the fittest? What a fucked up philosophy.

As Lennox reached the second row ahead of his own, he could hear the returned call out from the woman, and he allowed himself to rest against an empty seat's remains. She was moving towards him at a much greater speed than he could muster anyway, and he was certain his last bit of energy would need to be stored as long as possible.

The closer she got to the Scottish man, the clearer she became, and the more convinced he was that luck truly was on his side. Not only did she appear to be carrying herself with much more gumption than most could in this given situation, she also wasn't rough on the eyes either. Not that this was the time nor the place to think such things. Though in a way, it was nice to know he didn't hit his head hard enough to knock the sense out of him.

When she spoke to him again, he gave a very short nod of confirmation. "I did," he added, his own gaze starting to sweep down her body to hunt for her injuries as well. That is, until he felt soft fingertips brush across his forehead, and those hazels quickly lifted back to the woman's face. It was astonishing to him, the way she was able to jump to aid even before addressing her own injuries. He had been able to barely catch sight of the metal protruding from her arm, yet could only imagine how uncomfortable it must feel to have such an unwelcomed addition.

In fact, he was so caught on the thought that he almost didn't notice her go for the blanket, until he felt a jolt of pain from the pressure on his wound. A quiet hiss escaped him, and he couldn't help but scowl at the unpleasant sensation. "Fuck-" he muttered, briefly clamping his eyes shut before forcing them to blink back open. Some knight in shining armor he was turning out to be. At least you didn't piss yourself. It appeared as though he also didn't hit his head hard enough to forget to look on the bright side.

Her following words pulled him back to reality, and a part of him wondered if she was getting too ahead of herself. He knew it was best to find the quickest exit point, which was clearly not towards the nose of the plane, but even if they found an exit... they wouldn't know exactly what it would lead to.

"Slow down," Lennox encouraged after a moment, slowly lifting one of his hands to relieve her own from holding the blanket to his head. While he appreciated the gesture, he wanted to ensure she was properly treated as well. "Lemme take a look at that extra limb, yeah? You're practically a walking weapon if we don't get that out of ya," he added on, reaching out with his left hand to touch the elbow of her injured arm. He was exaggerating, considering the rod didn't appear to be too long, but it would definitely be a major inconvenience.

Guiding it closer to him as carefully as he could, the Scot started to analyze the best - and as close to proper - way he could remove the metal piece and temporarily wrap the remaining injury. Unfortunately, the only thing he knew for certain, was that it was going to hurt like hell.

Lennox then released his loose hold on her arm, reaching instead to the knife that was securely hooked in the front pocket of his jeans. He would have to remember to thank his father. "If you're alright with it, I think it should slide out without putting up too much of a fight," as he said the words, he also removed the blanket from his wound and started to cut a few long strips off the fabric. It wouldn't make the most sanitary bandage, but it would hopefully keep her from bleeding out. "When it's removed, we'll decrease the bleeding with this," he continued, lifting a strand of the blanket to show what he was referring to.

"Is that alright?" The Scot made sure to ask, not daring to remove the chunk of metal unless given permission to do so. If the woman's preference was to leave it in if or when it could be more properly addressed, then he would respect those wishes.

[Hannelorian]

Here and now Miranda felt a tremendous sense of relief. What if she had been the only one? Would that be a fitting enough punishment? Surely she would have died waiting for rescue, but now there are at least two. Her and him. She wouldn't have to suffer alone, even if she didn't know him, even if he meant nothing to her and she nothing to him, they had a chance to become something to one another. It was hopeful to think they could drive one another to survive, and perhaps they were not the only ones. But what are the odds really? What are the actual odds of surviving a plane crash? Granted it did happen, for example that one soccer team they made that movie about. But they ate each other, grim Miranda thought.

As soon as the man, whose accent was entirely curious, somewhat Scottish, but it was like it was buried under something far more familiar blurted out a rather muffled "Fuck." That was the first moment that Miranda let something like a smile slip, it was an unconscious movement and it was ever so brief, flickering. Typically Miranda detested being ordered, or commanded about, but that wasn't what this man was doing and that alone was enough to put her at ease. But he was right. "You're right, I need to slow down..." That was phrase that sprang forth from her lips that those who knew her would say was one in a million. Those were odds she knew. That wasn't the Miranda Darrow the world knew. But it was the Miranda Darrow here, and perhaps the one she had always been, willing to admit fault. The truth was that Miranda was panicked, scared beyond belief and determined to appear composed. Fake it until you make it.

But all thought went out the window when he ever so gently placed his fingers upon her elbow. An action that triggered an immediate wince and something of a recoil. Not because she minded, but because the pain was growing more intense, her arm more useless by the moment. It was rather on the contrary, there was something ever pleasant about the small gesture of human contact. It was something that in her desperate state she craved, it was something to reassure her that everything would indeed be alright. Above all though, stood his kindness. Just as she had been so prepared to tend to him, he now was readying to tend to her.

"A man asking for consent..." Miranda let out a small sound not quite a chuckle, certainly not a laugh, but rather a small noise to indicate her disbelief. "Now I'm starting to think I've imagined you." She remembered she did not know him well, or at all, but he was something else. Perhaps it was him at his best, under the extreme pressure of their situation. "You... may proceed." Miranda took a deep breath in and then out. "Just..." Her pale hands with those delicate slender fingers outstretched to suggest a brief pause. Miranda now stood as straight as she could and looked upwards toward the man who even in his hunched position seemed to tower over her.

"Distract me?" Miranda requested the only thing she could think of, keenly aware that this likely would hurt a great deal. The adrenaline was nearly depleted, she would feel ever single moment of this pain. "Anything. Tell me a joke, even a bad one... or a story..." Reaching forward her fingers clipped themselves around the bottom of his shirt, without realizing it she was slowly curling the fabric, pulling it further and further into her hands until she had held it tightly, giving herself something to squeeze upon that wasn't his injured frame. Something to dig her nails into. "What happened to the girl?"

Miranda remembered now, once more at an inopportune time that this man had not been alone on this flight. "The one you were with." She could damn her own observations. She wish she hadn't known it, it would have been so much easier to just imagine him as a saving grace, someone who would deliver her from this situation. But now was not the time to be selfish.

Miranda wanted to ask his name or to share hers. Would that somehow make this more real? If she actually could call him something...would it disappoint her? Would it reaffirm her? Would it be the final confirmation that they were in fact in a plane crash with no real idea of where they were, or what they were going to do? Perhaps it was best to let her mind wander so that the pain may be lessened.

[prærieulv]

In the given situation, Lennox had thought it to be nearly impossible to want to smile, yet there he was, feeling a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. The woman hadn't even said anything particularly amusing, but the disbelief in her tone had boosted his confidence, if even just slightly. It didn't seem normal to sprout such a quick fondness towards a stranger, whose name he didn't even know, but nothing about the given situation was exactly what he would consider normal either.

Once he got the go-ahead, Lennox set the largest piece of the blanket on the back of one lounge and returned the knife to his pocket. His movements halted though when the woman seemed to hesitate, and his gaze returned to her frail form in front of him. Those hazels softened at the request, and he mustered up as reassuring of a smile as he could. His lips even parted to rattle off a tease, but just as quickly fell shut when he felt those slender fingers take perch in the hem of his shirt. "We're going to be alright," he offered a different choice of words instead, being sure to meet her eyes when he did so.

Then her questions reached his ears, and Lennox instinctively looked over his shoulder, back towards Edith's unconscious form. Not that he had expected her to have moved, it was still a relief to see her there. He was also a bit surprised that this woman must have taken notice of him prior to their current meeting. The realization was pleasing, in a way, but he did regret his lack of observation at the start of the flight. He couldn't recall the looks of any other passenger on the plane... but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Were you spying on me, mydame?" he offered a tease this time, hoping to ease some of the worry he was beginning to sense from her. It also gave him the chance to offer her a decent chunk of the blanket. "Bite this," the words almost felt sensual, if not for the given circumstance, and he had to clear his throat to chase the thought away. There were plenty of other, more pressing matters to attend to. Like the metal stake still buried in the woman's arm.

With one hand now empty, he was able to guide her injured arm's hand to his chest, both to keep it lifted and to give her something to rest it against. "That lass, is my younger sister, Edith, and like you and I, she's going to be okay," he finally got around to answering her questions, hoping the words came out with more confidence than he was truly feeling. He wanted to believe that all of them would be alright, and be able to make it out of this alive, but he was no future teller.

Placing his weaker hand and the strip of blanket at the top of the rod, and his right one at the bottom, the Scotsman dug through his aching brain to fulfill the woman's request for a distraction. "While I'm not the greatest comedian, I do have one that might twist your arm. Wha's the difference between a Scottish sheep farmer and a Rolling Stones song?" as the question left his lips, he grasped onto the cool metal and prepared to pull.

"One says, 'Hey you, get off my cloud!', and the other says 'Hey McCloud, get off my ewe!'" He rattled off the punchline of his joke, easily distracted away from his embarrassment as he both pulled and pushed the metal free from her body. The moment he was certain the rod was dislodged, he dropped it to the floor and began to tightly wrap the leftover wound. "It's out. You did a marvelous job," he praised quietly now, his focus solely on making sure the wound was not exposed longer than necessary.

Once he was satisfied with his makeshift bandage, Lennox returned his gaze to the woman before him and reached to gently start freeing his shirt from her grasp. "Now-" he started to speak, but the sound of movement caught his attention. His head whipped around to follow the noise, which he immediately regretted as it sent a wave of pain all the way down his spine. A soft grumble of discomfort escaped him, despite his efforts to swallow it down.

"New plan. Go take a look at that hole, and see if it's a viable exit. I'll check to see if there are more survivors," he jumped on the control train, ready to start making progress now that her wound had been mostly cared for. It didn't sound appealing to sift through the death spread throughout this plane, but he knew there had to be more than just the two of them alive.

[Hannelorian]

It was clear to see that in this man's eyes there was tremendous empathy. How could their not be? The two of them were going through this together. But he seemed to understand her, regardless of her quirks or odd idiosyncrasies. He was willing to indulge her, oblige her in her requests. When he looked at her, he appeared to see her for what she was, a frightened young woman, another human who needed support and strength. Miranda then did as she was instructed and bit down on the fabric he provided.

Once more she so easily molded and remolded herself into someone cooperative, someone patient. She knew he meant well, and above all she still knew how much this would hurt. The airline blanket was covered in who knew what, from whom, from where. But she did not question it. Instead she tried her hardest focus on him rather than her pain, or the absolutely foul taste in her mouth. It was awful, truly and significantly awful and singular and bordered beyond description. At the same time he gracefully moved her arm to rest against him. It was as though he felt no real pain, he simply acted in a steadfast manner. His body was strong, she could feel as much, but little beyond that. The moments were counting down now, there was no sense preparing, that only meant thinking about the object being ripped from her flesh and muscle.

The moment between the two felt intimate. A part of her mind drifted just for a moment to something else, something distant. As though the moment were exchanged in a bedroom, rather than the wreckage of a plane, as she bit down harder on the fabric. No one and nothing else existed then for Miranda, just the two of them. Of course when he moved on to explain that the woman was indeed his sister, it felt something of a relief. Mostly because he seemed so sure she was alright, and secondly because it made him hers. At least for this moment he was hers, and she would relish it, she would hold on to his kindness and to this intimacy for just a few moments, long enough to feel them pass by her fingers like ethereal wisps of dust.

He asked his joke, his question, and as he did he placed his hand on the rod and Miranda let out the smallest of whimpers, only to crack the lightest of smiles before he got to the punchline and the rip. A muffled scream flooded past her pursed lips as the pain shot through her, like electricity lighting up every single nerve in her arm and trailing in ever diminishing waves through her extremities. It was a moment of weakness and vulnerability, one in which Miranda felt her body fall forward to press against him. Then stability and the feeling of the wound being tied off. He praised her. Praise was something she seldom encountered.

Now she would speak, letting the scrap of blanket fall from her mouth to the floor. So quickly and cooly he had moved on to his new plan, it was enthralling if not terrifying. "Okay." She spoke as he slowly untied her hands from his shirt, a part of her would have felt embarrassed at her behavior if it had not been for... well the crash of it all. She simply let him do so, eager almost to retreat. "You should be careful..." Miranda moved her hands to rest on the sides of his face, one moving down slowly to his neck, fingers twisting to keep it centered. "Rapid movement... that's going to hurt." It already had hurt him. But she knew, because she too heard the noise and understood he was right it was time to check on the others. Whoever may be left.

As Miranda moved to go past him, she did so with the most grace she could. It wasn't much, but she wanted to be as strong as he had appeared. "Oh..." she said softly while turning back to face him. "Thank you." She spoke softly but audibly, and returned her gaze to the handful of rows in front of her. Her hands once against clasping the top of the seats for support, pulling herself up the subtle incline. Miranda would come across his sister, and in a quick moment she leaned downward, resting two fingers to her neck. "Slow...but steady." She remarked after waiting for a few moments, her pulse was good, or so she thought. Miranda was certainly no more a doctor than that man, but then again, he may have been a doctor, she had no idea.

Now she had the mammoth task of approaching the hole in the fuselage. It had jagged edges and let just enough let in along with a trail of thick smoke that mostly blew over and past, against the rest of the plane. Or whatever was left of the plane. The metal was torn and twisted, but one thing had been somewhat clear, this row had once been where the emergency was. Perhaps someone had tried to open it. It was oddly devoid of bodies thus adding to her own theory, someone opened the doors too soon and was ripped from the aircraft, or perhaps more luckily they had already escaped. Approaching it was a delicate task, she had to move past bags and belongings, thankfully there was a gracious amount of leg room.

"Well..." She whispered to herself, longing to make a snide remark about paying for extra leg room. Slowly she ascended, until she could just reach the opening, her hand reached outward to grab the edge of the metal, but it was hot, enough for her to rapidly retract her hand. "Okay, note to self, don't do that..." Another murmur, as she then forced herself to look out. It was remarkable and horrible. It was an island, something out of her own imagination. The craft had come to rest just on the beach, there was fire, smoking remains, parts of the plane in sight and others gone... she pulled herself back inside and breathed in deeply. "Fuck."

[prærieulv]

Warm. Her body was so warm when it came to rest against his own, and Lennox couldn't think of a feeling he would rather relish in more. A part of him had even wanted to hold her, to try to sooth the pain he had heard her feel, but the stirring around them was taking precedence. Maybe if he truly was holding on to luck, it was something he could find time for once they got off the plane. The thought, as well as the noises of life in the plane, fed into his urgency to get back to work. Then those lovely fingers found his slightly blanched cheeks, and the Scot couldn't help but tilt his face into the gentle touch. The reminder was appreciated, and he gave the smallest nod of understanding rather than offering a verbal response. He wanted to linger there a few moments longer, but damn his big mouth and her willingness to do as he had asked.

There was an emptiness that surrounded him when she began to move, but Lennox quickly distracted himself with the current task at hand. He didn't get the chance to step forward though, when he heard the woman's soft voice just behind him. This time he made sure to turn slowly, meeting her gaze one more time before they would part ways. "It was no problem," he assured, unable to pull his eyes away from this stranger's back as she began to make her way up the aisle. He watched long enough to see the pause at Edith's seat, and once again, he found himself smiling faintly at the brief check-up. She was special, and he was going to be sure he kept an eye on her.

Finally he started to work on his own assigned task of checking seats for living individuals. It took a bit of effort to get himself to the front-most part of the plane, where he started to forage through the rows of seating. While he didn't take the time to look in bags and suitcases, he did check the pockets of individuals that clearly didn't make it. He mostly found wallets and cellphones, but occasionally he got lucky enough to come across a package or two of painkillers. He also took a mental note of the suitcases that did appear to be held together enough to check at a later time.

Not surprisingly, the front of the plane didn't appear to have many living, and it wasn't until he passed his previous seat, that he found his first conscious person. It was a woman, probably in her mid fifties, and he was pleased to find that she wasn't too badly injured. For the time being, he encouraged her to stay where she was, until he could finish going through the plane and regroup with the woman he sent to check the fuselage.

Lennox was able to find five more individuals before the throbbing in his temples brought darkness back to the edges of his vision, and he was forced to take a break against the battered remains of one of the blue lounges. One of the fellows he came across, who was unscathed beyond a few cuts and bruises, had offered to help him search the remainder of the plane. The Scotsman then requested for said guy, whose name he discovered to be Alex, to go check in with the woman he sent to investigate the hole in the side of the plane.

Alex worked his way towards the fuselage, or at least the same end of the plane that the fuselage was located in. "Hello? I was told to come ask about that hole in the wall..." he called out, figuring by now she might have moved on to a different task.

[Hannelorian]

Ordinarily Miranda would have found it alarming how quickly the feeling of loneliness and isolation set in. These were things she had once relished, those brief times were for her and no one else. No one was there to steal it away. But now, as she looked at the chaos around her, it was for the first time a truly unsettling feeling. Something stirring within her like a maelstrom had to be pushed farther and farther down by the sheer force of her own will. Now was not the time she would tell herself, not the time for so many things she wanted to do. She supposed being on the edge of death or surrounded by so much death had finally shown her what she truly wanted or some version of it anyway.

When a voice hit her ears she almost smiled until she realized it wasn't the man. It was a man but not the man. She should be overjoyed, it meant there was another survivor. That's good. She knew that was good and a part of her truly took a split second to lean into that feeling. But the other part of her felt a deep and profound sadness it wasn't the man who helped her. Why was she so attached to him? She didn't know his name. She only knew he had a sister whose name was Edith. Edith, from the looks of her was something of a spitfire. That reminded her so incredibly of herself at a younger age. Not that Miranda was particularly old, but life had had it's way with her.

Miranda needed to hear that voice, she craved it. But again she assured herself that now was not the time and that it was most likely the feelings she had were because of trauma, and that he was the first one she encountered and that he had been so gracious and helped remove the god damned piece of metal from her arm. Her arm, that was now free of the extra bit felt heavy, and in pain. But she retained full control over it and her fingers and palm, that surely was a good sign. The bandage wasn't entirely blood soaked, blanket, whatever, surely that was also a good sign.

"Hey!" Miranda responded with a kind of feign enthusiasm, maybe she was just tired. Maybe this was all finally starting to crash around her, pun intended, way to go Miranda. "Up here!" Down here? Over here? Wherever, here. Miranda waited for the new voice to catch up to her and she smiled faintly, it was clear from the look on her face that she was losing energy and fast. When Alex had approached her she cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes for a moment to concentrate her focus. "Are you a good news kinda guy?" Miranda asked without entirely waiting for an answer. "We're on a beach. Some kind of beach... just a few meters to the shoreline... it looks like some kind of wooded, jungle like thing..." Which should have set off some kind of alarm. Miranda knew, or thought she knew where they might be...

Going on a plane from London to the US, they had to be somewhere over the North Atlantic, perhaps close to Canada on one of those many islands, but it seemed too warm for that. Troubling, disturbingly warm. And the trees, they didn't make sense to her either. But was now really the time to ask those questions? No. Miranda wanted to wait for the man to share her thoughts, so she kept quiet on that at least. "...it looks like the mid and forward part of the aircraft are here... bits and pieces, lots of fire... probably some fuel... the rear... it's gone."

Gone here could mean it exploded, it could mean that it simply landed in a different location. Gone could mean any number of things, perhaps it was on land, perhaps it had gone into the water. "We can get the rest out... it's not a far drop to bottom... it looks shallow..." Miranda had, in her own way kicked a few objects that seemed rather unimportant from the edge and through the hole in the craft, she could still see them below through the water, it was shallow enough. "We need to scavenge for as many as possible... emphasis on anything that looks like it could help medically... Can you begin to search? Pills, sewing kits... anything." Miranda hadn't a qualm about issuing an order. It was odd now she didn't know his name. But that was fine. It was a mystery she wanted to unwrap.

Miranda waited for Alex to assent to her request, and then she made her way back into the aircraft proper and down the aisle in search of the man she had abandoned, no, that was too strong a word. Back in search of the mystery, to see if she could help in what he found.