06-17-2016, 10:40 AM
Carmelita was sorry to say that she was terribly familiar with the situation she found herself in. Not the unconsciousness, that was something of a novelty, but she’d been in more plane crashes and descending and disintegrating aircraft than she could shake a fist at.
Some of them she could attribute to Sly’s adventures, some of them were accidents, and one or two had been her own fault as she wrestled with pilots for control of their craft. Nonetheless, it had reached a point where she had built up a routine for checking herself over.
Her tail was in good condition, as was her hair. She could wriggle her toes and fingers and aside from a crick in her neck, her head was fine too. She wrenched open her eyes, only to slam them shut again, the bright light burning her retinas. Easing open her eyelids, she found herself two inches from a very sharp, very pointed tree branch.
In fact, she was still in her seat. The plane, after splitting in half, had been descending, and whatever had been in front of her seat in the tail section was now nothing more than metal shavings. Smatterings of blood and gore from the unfortunates who had been in front of her still rested on the surrounding greenery, along with slowly sizzling embers. Turning her head, she could just about see back behind her seat, other figures in their seats unconscious or deceased, she didn’t know.
As if on cue, oxygen masks hissed and dropped from the ceiling, the punchline of a terrible, horrible joke. Carmelita bit back an urge to laugh, knowing that if she started it would be hours before she could pull herself together enough to properly respond to the situation she found herself in.
A wheezy chuckle came through the air, and she had to check to make sure it wasn’t her. To her right, she saw one of the flight attendants in a similar situation, staring at the oxygen mask with something of a manic glint in her eyes. Carmelita’s urge vanished, and she began wrestling with her seat belt, hoping to cross what remained of the aisle and calm the crewmember down.
It wouldn’t budge. The seat buckle was stuck, and upon closer inspection the thing had been dented by some debris. Without a blade on her to cut it, Carmelita was forced to begin working at a scrap of metal within reach, pushing and pulling in time to her neighbour’s manic laughter until a sharpish blade snapped off and she could begin slowly cutting through the belt itself.
The rasping of the improvised cutting tool against the plastic was not enough to drown out the crew member, but it was enough to draw their attention. The poor woman tried to stop laughing, but as tears dripped down her face that only turned to sobs. Carmelita broke the belt after a moment of work, carefully eased herself out of danger of being impaled on a sharp branch, and gingerly stepped over an unidentifiable mass on the floor to pull the crew member into an impromptu hug, calmly rubbing the woman’s back and murmuring soothing noises into her ear.
The sobbing died as the crew member clutched Carmelita like a lifeline. She took the opportunity to look back down the tail end of the plane, looking to see if anyone else had survived.
Some of them she could attribute to Sly’s adventures, some of them were accidents, and one or two had been her own fault as she wrestled with pilots for control of their craft. Nonetheless, it had reached a point where she had built up a routine for checking herself over.
Her tail was in good condition, as was her hair. She could wriggle her toes and fingers and aside from a crick in her neck, her head was fine too. She wrenched open her eyes, only to slam them shut again, the bright light burning her retinas. Easing open her eyelids, she found herself two inches from a very sharp, very pointed tree branch.
In fact, she was still in her seat. The plane, after splitting in half, had been descending, and whatever had been in front of her seat in the tail section was now nothing more than metal shavings. Smatterings of blood and gore from the unfortunates who had been in front of her still rested on the surrounding greenery, along with slowly sizzling embers. Turning her head, she could just about see back behind her seat, other figures in their seats unconscious or deceased, she didn’t know.
As if on cue, oxygen masks hissed and dropped from the ceiling, the punchline of a terrible, horrible joke. Carmelita bit back an urge to laugh, knowing that if she started it would be hours before she could pull herself together enough to properly respond to the situation she found herself in.
A wheezy chuckle came through the air, and she had to check to make sure it wasn’t her. To her right, she saw one of the flight attendants in a similar situation, staring at the oxygen mask with something of a manic glint in her eyes. Carmelita’s urge vanished, and she began wrestling with her seat belt, hoping to cross what remained of the aisle and calm the crewmember down.
It wouldn’t budge. The seat buckle was stuck, and upon closer inspection the thing had been dented by some debris. Without a blade on her to cut it, Carmelita was forced to begin working at a scrap of metal within reach, pushing and pulling in time to her neighbour’s manic laughter until a sharpish blade snapped off and she could begin slowly cutting through the belt itself.
The rasping of the improvised cutting tool against the plastic was not enough to drown out the crew member, but it was enough to draw their attention. The poor woman tried to stop laughing, but as tears dripped down her face that only turned to sobs. Carmelita broke the belt after a moment of work, carefully eased herself out of danger of being impaled on a sharp branch, and gingerly stepped over an unidentifiable mass on the floor to pull the crew member into an impromptu hug, calmly rubbing the woman’s back and murmuring soothing noises into her ear.
The sobbing died as the crew member clutched Carmelita like a lifeline. She took the opportunity to look back down the tail end of the plane, looking to see if anyone else had survived.