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Thread: [M] Crash Landing { Prae & Hannelorian }

  1. #11
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    Alex maneuvered his way around the debris and scattered remains of suitcases as he hunted for the sound of the voice, soon spotting the woman just where he had been told he would. He raised a hand in a second greeting as he moved in closer to her, and snorted a noise of amusement at the question. There was a long moment of silence as he took in the given information, seeming to try and assess this news. "I suppose it could be worse... at least the jungle will provide some shade," he tried to toss out a positive note, raising his shoulders as if to say that was the best he could do. The jungle also meant there was plenty of island that couldn't be seen, and could only be discovered through entry into the unknown.

    The man, nearly a decade older than the woman, didn't say much until he was asked to return his airplane scavenger hunt. "Sure can... There are a handful of others back the way I came. You might tag in someone else and catch yourself a break," he suggested, nodding towards the nose of the plane. Before he started on his task, he took the liberty of looking out of the fuselage hole, to get a firsthand look at what had been described to him.

    Lennox hadn't moved from his propped position, using the seat for support rather than sitting down fully. There was a part of him that worried if he sat down all the way, he would have a much more difficult time standing back up. His left ankle was beginning to remind him that it was also injured, though the pain radiating through his temples was much more bothersome at the moment. He was also starting to wonder if all of this effort would be worth it in the end. Was there ever a time that a plane crash resulted in survivors being rescued? Possibly, if they had landed somewhere in the U.S., but even he wasn't foolish enough to think his luck stretched that far.

    After briefly resting his eyes shut, the Scot began to feel rather useless just standing there, and decided to drag one of the intact suitcases closer to him. It took some convincing for the zipper to give, but soon he was able to open the bag and carefully start to rummage through it. The interior was a bit disheveled, though not in as bad of shape as he had been expecting. By the look of the clothes, it appeared to have belonged to a man. Lennox pushed around some of the clothing, careful not to lose any out of the bag, and managed to win himself a couple of airplane bottles of whiskey. As tempting as it was to sneak one for himself, he tucked them into his back pocket with the painkillers he had also found. What he really needed was a decent place to keep all of the important items.

    The mindless task was easy, and allowed his thoughts to wander back to the first woman he had come across. Her hands had been soft on his cheeks, and her fingers long and slender. It made him wonder if she played any instruments, or maybe instead she used them to hold a pencil or a paintbrush. But, of course, she might not use them for anything at all. Though what he really wanted to know was her name. He was kicking himself for not asking the simple question at the start.

    Almost as though she could hear his thoughts, Lennox started to hear a familiar approach and he ceased his suitcase hunting to look up at a familiar face. She was a sight for sore eyes, quite literally, and the Scotsman offered her a small dip of the head. "You didn't happen to see a bridge connected to America, did you?" he questioned, clearly being facetious as he inquired about what she saw at the fuselage. Deciding that her attention was much more appealing than the contents of the suitcase, Lennox fought with the zipper to shut the bag, then pushed it between the row of seats for safe keeping.
    -- prærieulv --

  2. #12
    The Grey Lady
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    There was something crude about so cavalierly searching through bags of others. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, breaking of some kind of sacred societal compact. Times had changed, and now they had to break the covenant in order to survive. What one carried in their bag might mean a chance at protracted survival. Miranda was not yet in the mindset that rescue was something coming anytime soon. Bleak. Typical Miranda, not willing to look at the bright optimistic side. Even as the man in the back of the plane, the one who had found her attempted to be. It could be worse he had said. Yes, she supposed it could. But what did worse really mean?

    As she traversed the aisle, cluttered with things and garbage, perhaps some small trinkets that once meant so much to someone, she caught sight of the man she longed to see. It didn't take him long to make a sarcastic comment. The kind she would roll her eyes at but for the moment found terribly endearing. "Bridge?" Miranda shook her head slowly and then shrugged her shoulders. "Bridge no. Tunnel, hell yes." To her own mind she was very funny, practically a riot. Miranda could see him clearly now, he was exhausted, pained terribly, likely more than she. But he put on a brave face. Slowly she lowered herself to the ground, taking great care to sit gently, resting her back against the side of an aisle seat.

    Miranda had the smallest of smiles, even though her head was angled downward, looking at her hands. She was always looking at her hands, wriggling her fingers just to make sure. As though it would change and they would be compromised, snatched from her at a moment's notice. "I met your friend." Miranda said in passing, eventually turning her attention to look up and at the man. Her bright brown eyes did not betray her, they did not show exactly how tired she was. But at least she wasn't one to give up. "He's a nice guy. Not much of a conversationalist." Another joke. Maybe she should stop making such comments given their situation, but she didn't know how else to deal with this.

    "At least we can add to our numbers." This group of people how now become a tribe whether they realized it or not, whether they wanted to or not. They would need to depend on each other to survive. That was a notion that made Miranda entirely uncomfortable - depending on others. "Miranda." She finally spoke having figured that enough time had passed that they could skip to the names bit. "My name is Miranda." She wasn't Em, or Emmy, she was simply Miranda, the name she had been given, the name she adored. The name that was called when she was in trouble as a child. Pushing herself up by pressing her palms into the rough ground, she positioned herself closer to him, to sit on the floor in the aisle beside him.

    "And you are tired." Miranda spoke softly, her voice gentle and carrying across the space between them like a fragrance floating on the air. She took advantage of the situation, that too was classic Miranda Darrow, a hand reaching up to grab his, to hold it softly. She enjoyed the feeling of his skin, it wasn't too rough, in fact fairly smooth. "You need to rest, regain strength... you want to be in the best shape you can when Edith wakes up." Though in a shocking turn, she was not being entirely selfish, she did want him to be strong for Edith, to be able to calm her, at least as best he could, as well as he did with her. She was going to have one hell of a time coming back to consciousness to all of this.

    "I think we're out of danger for now..." She had neglected so far to tell him what she had seen, so she recounted what she had to Alex. "Where would you say we are?" Miranda asked, realizing that was now beginning an entire line of questioning after telling him to rest... "No, never mind that. I don't mean to... take up all your time." What was he? Busy? Did he have plans? A date? Tickets to a show? It's not like they were going anywhere. She too wanted to know about what he had found, who he found. Alex had mentioned that there were others. She should try to tend to them. Yes, Miranda that would be the right thing to do.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  3. #13
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    Lennox should have been suspicious at the how the woman didn't immediate describe what she saw out of the fuselage hole, but all he could feel was a sense of calm at her returned jest. It was a bit ridiculous, embarrassing even, the way a stranger could so easily relieve some of the crushing weight he felt on his shoulders with just a handful of words. There were very few people out there that could do so, and the handful had known him for a large majority of his life. A small part of him did worry that this feeling would only be temporary, like their connection through this trauma would dissolve as time went on.

    Seeing the woman take a seat on the floor increased his desire to do the same, but he resisted the urge to join her for a few moments longer. It wasn't that sitting down was wrong, in fact he was sure it would benefit him, but the dread of standing back up caused him to hesitate. Her statement regarding Alex earned a soft snort from Lennox, and he appreciated the momentary distraction. "The man's a gowk," he corrected, gazing down at the woman. "A fool, that is," he clarified, "but he was less injured than most."

    There it was, a name to match the face. "Miranda," he repeated quietly, as if testing the way the name sounded out of his own lips. It was beautiful, and suited her in a way that he couldn't admit aloud. He hadn't even noticed her move closer, not until he was reminded of how exhausted he appeared to be, and those fingers he had been imagining earlier took his hand. His body jolted slightly at the unexpected touch, though it didn't stop his own hand from quickly grasping onto hers. It wasn't exactly the same as when he got to feel her body against his, but it would have to do for the time being. "Ah, tired... Yes, I am. But please, call me Lennox."

    "You're also right... Thank you," he murmured softly after a moment, unable to argue with her rational. If it weren't for the mention of Edith, he might have tried to argue. There wasn't much comforting he would be able to provide the young girl in his current state. With that thought, he used the seat's armrest to help lower himself down to the aisle floor next to Miranda, all the while not letting go of his gentle grip on her hand. His body practically screamed in protest the whole way down, but once his ass met the carpeted aisle, a long breath of relief escaped his lips.

    His eyes briefly fluttered closed, allowing himself a few moments to enjoy the release of pressure on his ankle. He kept them closed as he listened to the way she described the island, imagining the words as they left her lips. It wasn't until she retracted a question, that his hazels popped back open, and he turned his head to check if her expression was serious. Then, he started to laugh. Maybe it was out of hysterics, or maybe it was the fact that this woman made him feel a giddy childishness that he hadn't felt in many years. Whatever the reason, it felt damn good.

    "Take up my time? Am I late to an appointment?" the words left his lips through a chortle, and the Scotsman raised the wrist of his free hand, as if checking a watch - one that he wasn't wearing. As much as he wanted to tease the woman further, Lennox opted for giving her hand a slightly squeeze. "I do believe I have a bit of time to spare, especially for a bonnie lass like yourself," he hummed, leaning his back against a row of seats to get a little bit more comfortable.

    It took him a moment to reflect back on her description of the island, needing to first clear away some of the euphoria he felt from his previous amusement. "I suppose we could'a ran a path farther south than expected, especially when the plane started to fail. Do you know around how long we were in the air for before going down?" he took a stab at answering her question before tossing back one of his own. He supposed that the opposite could also be true. Instead of falling south when the plane engine failed, the pilots very easily could've overcorrected to the north instead. There was no telling where exactly they landed, and he wasn't entirely sure that knowing the location would do them any good.

    "The jungle could mean shelter and, hopefully, food... and staying near the ocean gives us a water source." This certainly wasn't going to be like staying at a five star resort... but at least this checked a few things off their list of 'needs'.
    Last edited by prærieulv; 05-11-2023 at 04:33 AM.
    -- prærieulv --

  4. #14
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    The mystery was finally solved. His name was Lennox. Not at all what Miranda had imagined it would be. Then again what else could it have been? He certainly wasn't a John or a Harry or even a Thomas. You know those generic names that would nicely fit anyone, no he was none of those. He had to be something different and how magnificently different it was. It was name that spoke to his strength, to his clarity of character, at least in what he had shown her thus far. It fit, it was rather clever how the mind twisted itself to make these kinds of connections, associating a person, a face, a character, a personality with an actual human being. How odd a notion that people did not fit their names. But it was true, she didn't know why or how, it was one of those things that just was.

    "I know a gowk when I see one." Miranda smirked a small bit, it had been a long time since she had really spent time with a Scot who used their own quirky expressions. Quirky to her, not to them of course. As he moved his body slowly and visibly painfully to sit beside her she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret, he didn't need to move on her account, how difficult it must have been but at the same time... she was glad he had. "Hurts doesn't it?" She remarked as though in passing. "Everything hurts." Movement was painful, breathing was beginning to border on excruciating. It felt like her body was on fire with each inhale, the expansion of her lungs a most life sustaining function was starting to irritate her.

    And then there was the nature of infectious laughter, the very last thing she wanted to be doing. But he laughed, he actually laughed for the first time since the two had become acquainted. Apparently her humor was at least a little effective. However, this then induced laughter in Miranda. He played along well, his comments on being late to an appointment, it spurred Miranda's laughter further. Those around them who survived and were conscious must have though the pair were absolutely mad to be laughing at a time like this. Miranda would use her free hand to clutch at her rib cage, and would periodically cough her way through a bit of the laughter. It burned, it ached, but no matter the pain the laughter had been worth it. "Bonnie, eh?" Miranda smiled, she couldn't help it. Was he flirting with her? Was she flirting with him?

    "So Lennox thinks I'm pretty." She wanted to say his name out loud just to feel the way it would roll off her tongue. Had she gone mad? Maybe. With time Miranda would extend her legs until they lay outstretched and flat against the ground, reaching across the aisle. Her free hand moving to pull and smooth her dress down, not the most practical outfit for a plane wreck. She'd have to fix that eventually. But all the while she never let go of her hand that held his. Or his that held hers, however one wanted to imagine it.

    All good things must come to an end, and reality waited for no one. He had asked her how long they had been in the air, that was an easy question but a serious one. One that changed the mood just a bit, but that was inevitable. "Three hours, thirty seven minutes." Miranda was able to rattle off that fact without so much as a second thought. "From the conclusion of the safety briefing." Safety briefing, for once it was quite useful, which was something of a sad and bleak fact. Had she really bothered to listen? Did it make a difference? Maybe. Probably. Miranda did not measure time in hours and minutes, at least not internally, but she had one hell of a conversion engine. Miranda measured her time in symphonies, concertos and the like.

    She gone through the trouble of painstakingly crafting the playlist for the flight. Miranda, however, did not require headphones. She could see the score in her mind's eye, and go through each and every note of each and every piece she had so deliberately selected. She knew how long each piece lasted, and how much time had past at any given point in any given number. Her fingers could move in time and the music would play in her head, she could hear it all, including her own mistakes of her past of her youth. When she stopped playing three hours and thirty seven minutes had elapsed from when she began, and it wasn't long after that she lost consciousness. Off hand it might seem like Miranda gave an arbitrary or joking answer, simply to have an answer or garner a smile. But no, she had been deathly serious.

    "Shelter and food... yeah." Miranda repeated softly. It wasn't the idea of the jungle that terrified her per se, rather the idea that it seemed odd. It all felt odd, but it likely wasn't worth it yet to express such feelings. "Come on now, time for rest." Raising her free hand so delicately into the air and drawing it closer to her own body, Miranda patted her shoulder. "You can use my shoulder." She offered a soft smile, a flash of those pearly white teeth. By this point she had leaned back embracing her situation making herself as comfortable as possible. "I'll still be here." She hadn't known what she meant by that. Where would she go? What would she do? Would he find comfort in knowing that? Or a reason to want to get out of this hell faster than he would have moments ago.

    "Everyone needs strength enough if we hope to move people off this bird." Miranda sighed, and with that same free hand she moved a few stray strands of her blonde locks away from her eyes and trailing it back behind her ear.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  5. #15
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    The woman's laughter was like music to his ears, and Lennox almost wished his own hadn't interfered with the beautiful sound. He hoped the survivors around them, the ones that he had found conscious, mistook the two for long-time friends. Maybe even long-time lovers. It wasn't like humans to stake claim of each other, so he would excuse the feeling as his way of calling dibs. Though it did dawn on him that he didn't know a thing about this woman, other than her name and the way she made him feel. She could be a murderer, for all he knew, except for that seemed a bit overdramatic. Maybe she just needed the comfort of a man, until she could find a way back to the one she already had.

    His thoughts didn't put much of a damper on his mood, too distracted by her lovely smile and the way his name sounded on her lips. Instead of his prior, negative thoughts, it got him thinking of all the ways he would try to get her to say it again. "Very pretty," he confirmed without a moments hesitation, glancing sideways at the woman, just in time to watch her hands smooth down her dress. He quickly diverted his gaze, now feeling a bit embarrassed by the crude thoughts that swarmed his mind. It wasn't like she could read his thoughts, or he desperately hoped she couldn't, but the thoughts shouldn't have seeded themselves in his mind in the first place. How long had it been since he was with a woman? Months? Years? He somehow couldn't remember.

    The discussions around the island brought him back to reality though, and he pondered over her answer for a few moments. It was shocking that she could recall the timing, let alone give him an answer with the minutes included. "Impressive," he spoke the word absentmindedly, raising his free hand to swipe at the back of his neck. Was it getting warmer in here? Surely it had to be. "Let me sit on that for a bit. Geography was never my strong suit," he admitted, a little puff of air escaping him. Not quite a chuckle, but something close. "Though that does narrow it down a little bit... We only made it about halfway across the Atlantic," he mulled over the situation, trying to dig in his brain for a specific location.

    It was then that he connected the concerning dots. The jungle didn't suit this area, nor did the heat that was clearly coming in through the hole in the wall.

    Fortunately, Miranda's encouragement for rest pulled his focus, and he turned his head to look at her shoulder. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips at her gesture, but he opted to lean his head back against the armrest behind him instead. As tempting as it had been to use her as his personal pillow, the man had other plans in mind. His fingers also uncurled from their grip on her hand, releasing it entirely, and he pulled his arm away from where it rested against hers. Not missing a beat, Lennox then placed that same arm across the woman's shoulders, taking into consideration the chance of there being injury, and gave her a small tug closer. "Everyone needs strength," he repeated her previous words, "you should try to rest, too."

    Once he said his peace, the Scot let his eyes flutter shut and another deep exhale ease out of his lips. He had known his body was exhausted from the crash, but what he didn't expect was just how quickly he would succumb to sleep. The sleep, however, was not restful, and his body tensed and twitched as the plane crash haunted his dreams. Despite the terrors, he did manage to stay asleep for a substantial amount of time, at least until the screams in his subconscious became screams in the real world.

    The suddenness of the sound caused Lennox to jerk awake, and a startled noise slipped past his lips. Edith. His mind screamed at him, but the weight at his side stopped him before he could make a beeline for the seat. "Miranda... H-hey, I need to go see who that was," he tripped over his words in his haste, unsure if the woman next to him had managed to get any sleep, or if she had just watched over him as promised.
    Last edited by prærieulv; 05-11-2023 at 03:11 PM.
    -- prærieulv --

  6. #16
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    When Lennox, a refreshing name to have on the tip of her tongue and in the forefront of her mind had pulled away she assumed she had done something wrong. Was she moving too fast? Too close? It's not like Miranda was trying to seduce him, rather to simply offer him some comfort and by way of that offer herself a similar if not lesser degree. But the fear that seemed to strike her mind like a hot poker quickly passed when his arm maneuvered ever so delicately weaving it's way to avoid any further harm or pain wrapped itself around her. Miranda's mind raced and indeed perhaps felt uncomfortable, she had no answers, she had only questions and those were the things that haunted her the most.

    Why was he so kind? Why had he latched on to her and she to him? Why was she so irrevocably drawn to his presence, why did her body ache for his touch? So many whys. It wasn't as though Miranda was unloved in her life before. Another odd notion, now she would have to measure her life in "Before" and "After." It seemed only reasonable as she doubted that anything could ever be the same. Her trauma most all of which was unprocessed would see to that. She had a man who loved her, or perhaps he loved the idea of her. The Miranda who boarded the plane was not the Miranda she was showing now.

    As Lennox drifted to sleep, Miranda found herself grateful he had managed. Every time she went to close her eyes, or rather to let the heaviness of her eyelids shut themselves she could see it, death, she could hear it, the screams, she could still smell it, the burnt flesh and fabric. She could feel every moment of pain tense in her arm and the swelling agony with every breath she would draw in and out for a brief respite before the next inhale. If she had slept, it hadn't been for very long, but instead she had settled to watch Lennox, never taking her eyes away from him. "Sleep well sweet Prince." She whispered after he had drifted off. Once the silence was golden, but now it was a curse. Would she ever regain what she had lost? What had been stolen from her? Security?

    At this point it was impossible for Miranda to tell how much time had passed, there was no music in her mind, no melody even. There was nothing but screams and vivid memories that one day she hoped to repress unsure as to whether or not she could ever cope with them. That was true misery, true and horrifying misery. Her fingertips would rise in the air and move fluidly as though she were conducting, and then lower as though she were playing something. But no notes filled her, none of the emotion of music overwhelmed her as it once had, such overwhelming feelings that expressed themselves in her style, in her face and hands.

    Miranda feared falling asleep for too long. Not only were the visions intense, but so was the fear of waking up. The fear that the wrong part of this had been a dream. Not the plane crash, no, but that she had been able to rise from her seat, that she had met Lennox and he had helped her. What if she woke up still in her seat in even more pain or unable to move? What if Lennox has been a dream? The thoughts were then interrupted by a very real scream. Someone had regained consciousness and by the sound of it someone was in extreme pain... or shock at what they had seen when their eyes opened. "Go." Miranda bid Lennox without a second thought as he excused himself. She had no hesitation and no desire to stop him from moving even if it drew him away from her.

    Now she could not be greedy, now she had to share him with his family, the family he belonged to. With the other passengers who would wake up and need his help, and perhaps hers as well. Alex after all had been gathering supplies to bolster their ability to treat the wounded, at least to a certain extent. Miranda had to set her cravings and desires aside. How unfortunate. Or wasn't it? She had thoughts about the Scottish man that she had no right to have. Pity.

    Once had risen, Miranda slowly but surely pushed herself off of the ground and began to make her way toward the scream, if it indeed was Edith, she hoped it wasn't too severe, then again... all of this needed explaining. But Miranda paused, and for found herself turning back, not out of lack of concern but out of an abundance of it. She had not yet made her way toward the nose and the passengers Lennox had identified, she wished to check on them too, check for their pulses, to attempt to address any visible bleeding. She would do this quickly and quietly before returning to find the Scottish man, Alex, and the screaming source.

    Was this hell? Or was this paradise lost?
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  7. #17
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    To say Lennox stood with any amount of grace, would be the equivalent of saying the island they crashed on was void of danger. In fact, the first step he took away from Miranda almost lead to his knees buckling, and he had to grasp onto the back of a lounge to keep himself steady. The ground felt unstable, but the man knew it was only due to the rush of standing too quickly. He didn't have time to waste letting his brain catch up to his feet. The voice had clearly belonged to his sibling, which he had known even before the screams morphed into some cacophony of his name. His urgency only tripled at the change of sound, and he shook off the vertigo just enough to begin working his way back through the baggage and debris.

    Just as he was about to reach his previously assigned seat, the Scot thought to check behind him to see if the woman had followed his pursuit. It was a bit selfish of him to think that she would, knowing that her presence made him feel like he could handle any situation, but it looked as if his luck might have ran out. Though he didn't have much time to dwell on the disappointment, as his sister had climbed the ladder of priority whether he was ready to face reality or not. He could only hope that his brief rest was enough to prepare him.

    Kneeling next to the hysterical girl's seat, Lennox gently took her face into his hands and began a soft mantra of hush. The young lady took quite a bit of consoling, before she could even unclasp the safety harness still secured around her waist. Free from the confines, Lennox was able to pull his sister into a firm, yet gentle embrace, soothing her sobs down to mild hiccups. It was astonishing that both of them had managed to survive such a catastrophic event. There were some, who he had briefly met when searching the plane, that had clearly lost their spouses, or even their children. And that, he selfishly thought, might have been a sensation far worse than death.

    Closer to the fuselage section of the plane, a few of the living had started to move about. Alex was one, still rummaging through suitcases to find as many medical supplies as he could. There was a stack of suitcases in the row across from him, clearly having already been searched, and an ever growing pile of first aid in one bag directly to his right. There was also the first woman Lennox had found, sitting a few rows back from Alex, tending to a nasty gash on her inner right thigh. Despite the awkward angles of dressing her own wound, she moved as if she had dressed a wound many times before.
    -- prærieulv --

  8. #18
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    Miranda never came first. Her parents put their careers above everything, their children clung desperately to them and were ultimately cast aside. Her siblings like Miranda followed suit and put their own careers first. After all, they had a family name to maintain a reputation to uphold. Sebastian, Miranda's fiancé put almost anyone before her, especially himself, his parents, his friends more than anything. So it was only natural that when Edith, who should would later find out for certain was the source of the scream, awoke that she would come first. This made sense, family above strangers, there was no bone to pick, no anger to be had, it seemed like a natural expectation of her life.

    In fact, the reality had begun to settle in, Lennox was not there for her, nor should he have to be. Instead he was there with and for his sister. It was foolish of her to hope for anything else. A part of her would have smiled if she had the strength. A smile the screamed in her own sadness, disappointment and upset. Once more not without a degree of understanding that she wish she hadn't felt. It would be easier to be angry than it would to simply accept the situation. Miranda convinced herself that she would be in the way, she was always in the way of something greater for someone else.

    It was only as Miranda moved deeper she caught sight of the woman dressing her own wound, to the other side of her a teenage boy lay sleeping, she clocked his chest rising and falling at an even rate. He was lucky he would be able to sleep through this... at least right now. If he had pained dreams he hadn't shown it. He looked relatively uninjured, something which didn't cause her much thought. Not all injuries were visible and that was going to be the problem. He reminded her of someone but it quickly passed as Miranda made her way to the woman to come close and kneel, to take the bandages away from her tired hands and to assume responsibility though arguably this woman was better at it than her. "Allow me..." Miranda would quietly say, not eager to ask questions or introduce herself. Her mind only thought of Lennox and Edith. Something must have been wrong with her, she surely hit her head harder than she could have imagined. It was beginning to feel like withdrawal. But maybe, just maybe it was all better this way. Miranda had never been good at caring for herself.

    She could hear Edith's cries and slowly calming hysterics from where she was. "Poor girl..." Miranda spoke softly as she finished wrapping the wound, careful to emulate the woman's style as she went. Miranda did feel sympathy, she too had awoken with quite a start, but to be so young... it all seemed unfair.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  9. #19
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    There was a hint of surprise in the woman's big blue eyes as Miranda crouched beside her, but the gaze quickly softened when some realization settled in. "Thank you," she whispered the words, though there was no true reason to be so quiet. The dead could no longer hear, Alex was submerged in his task, and the boy next to her was enjoying the peace of rest. She willingly allowed Miranda to take over for her, relieved to be able to lean back for the time being. The woman had aged well for someone in their mid-fifties. The wrinkles on her face were soft, hardly noticeable if viewed from a certain angle, but her frame was rather frail and thin.

    Miranda's words were met with a soft smile. "We're all poor right now, my dear," she reminded the younger woman, reaching out to pat one of Miranda's working hands, "She's actually quite fortunate to have someone to support her." The words weren't said with malicious intent, in fact, it was quite the opposite. Sympathy for the small girl was not surprising, she too felt it, but the sympathy did not look beyond the pain Edith was feeling. Some might say she was the luckiest one, depending on who was asked.

    The older woman then looked towards Miranda's poorly bandaged arm, or blanketed to be more specific, and offered out her hand to take back the remaining bandages. "May I return the favor? Alex over there has some water we can use to wash out whatever gunk that blanket might have rubbed into your words," she offered, motioning towards the suitcase digger on the chance that Miranda hadn't met him before. "I think he might even have an alcohol wipe or two," she added on, hoping that she would be given permission to return the kind gesture.

    Farther into the plane, the soft cries had faded into silence, and Lennox's soothing was no longer needed. The young Scottish woman had returned to a state of unconsciousness, and in a way, Lennox was relieved that she had. There were plenty of tasks that required his full attention, and at least if she was out, it would be one less thing on his already overflowing plate. He was feeling a bit more rejuvenated after his brief slumber, though the constant throbbing in his temples had not subsided.

    The Scotsman then maneuvered the young girl into his arms, lifting her light, yet somehow heavy, body with a low groan. I'm not fat... Just put your back into it. She didn't need to be awake for Lennox to imagine her words, and a little snicker escaped him at the thought. The extra weight had his body aching in protest, but he wanted to at least get her closer to the hole in the wall. That way, if something were to happen to create the need for a speedy exit, she would be within reach.
    -- prærieulv --

  10. #20
    The Grey Lady
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    "I'm not so sure..." Miranda responded quietly to the notion that they were all poor. Indeed at least poor in regards to their fate and the luck of their situation. "As you say, she is quite fortunate to have someone. That might just make her the richest one..." It was easy to see the point the woman had been making, nothing was lost on Miranda when it came to that. But she only met the woman's words with a genuine smile. "I'm Miranda." She found herself introducing herself more freely and without much thought.

    There was no need for mystery here, only kindness that had been shown to her. "Would you?" Miranda asked in regard to rebandaging her arm. She nodded softly at the suggestion that Alex likely had supplies. After all she had asked him to do so and he seemed to diligently hard at work. "I'll be right back." Miranda stood back up and moved quietly out of the row, her mind lost in thought and gazing backward toward the woman, the sleeping boy, and then toward the front of plane, which really was toward the back. Miranda approached Alex quietly, she called a polite "Hey" just as she had the first time. But notably she did not reach out tap him on the shoulder, or touch him. It seemed like an odd thing to do.

    It was with a brief exchange that he would surrender a small bottle of water, and a hard won but well deserved alcohol wipe. Miranda felt guilty accepting them, she wasn't even the worst off of the injured surely she was an unworthy candidate for the precious few supplies that they had. But she graciously accepted and returned to the woman, assuming a spot close enough to her to allow access to her arm. "Thank you... again..." Miranda's exhaustion was finally beginning to shine through, there was little that could be done to hide it, no mask that could be put on. Unlike earlier when she had simply refused to sleep preferring instead to drink the sight of the Scot, there wasn't much of a choice coming. She would eventually simply give way to her own exhaustion.

    "Did you lose someone?" It was a crude question, perhaps too soon, or somehow far too personal. But Miranda wasn't always the most aware of her surroundings, especially when it came to something like this. She often chose to sin first and ask for forgiveness later. In her own way Miranda sought to provide comfort where she could and perhaps could forget about her own suffering and her own unhappiness much of which stemmed from this situation but even more came from her life before, and how she suddenly felt she had wasted so much.

    "You don't have to answer that... is there anything I can get you?" As Miranda asked she had noticed the screaming and crying from further afield had stopped. Lennox had seemingly managed to calm his sister down. At least she hoped that was the case, rather than thinking she would have succumbed to her injuries. "She's gone quiet now... he's a good brother." Miranda remarked and the smile on her face could not be hidden either. The way the corners of her mouth ever so slightly upturned, her pale face with never a wrinkle, though it bore crusted remains of blood that had long dried. It was probably for the best that Miranda did not know how she looked. Even in the worst of times, she still managed to think of her appearance. How shallow.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

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