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[center][color=Burlywood][h1]Cyrus Saenz[/h1]
[img]http://i.perezhilton.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/this-is-us-jack.gif[/img]
[b]Location:[/b] Flight BAW229; Los Angeles to London.
[sup][b]Interacting With:[/b] Lavena Keelia Ó Faoláin ([@Caits]).[/sup][/color][/center]
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He had been taking a nap. 

Rudely jostled awake by the plane’s turbulence, Cyrus’ wide, surprised eyes looked around the plane, watching as everyone around him seemed to be alarmed at the same thing. The atmosphere was deathly quiet - an ominous silence that was always awkward given any situation, but he could practically feel the fear radiating off his fellow fliers as the unknown moments continued to tick on; everyone wondering if it would be their last.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea in the world to try and finish off a bottle of scotch before getting into the taxi for the airport. But in good conscious, Cyrus couldn’t simply toss it out, either.

He had left home. Selling everything that his greedy (soon to be) ex-wife could get her hands on, Cyrus spent every last penny to his name on the one-way ticket to London, England where he was throwing in his last-stitch effort to still be something. His company had gone bankrupt and his wife cheating on him with his own cousin - all for the sake of money. He stopped bringing home the cash, and she stopped putting out and found it elsewhere. He couldn’t blame her for that, but it did strike a bit of a raw nerve that she had decided to hit so close to home for it.

So as he went through the house that they had lived in for twenty years one last time, Cyrus had the slightest amount of intuition that told him to check the liquor cabinets and lo and behold, his special bottle of scotch that hadn’t been opened since that New Years remained safe and snug. He couldn’t take it with him, and he couldn’t pour it out. So deciding to help self-medicate the emotional pain of his situation away, he finished it, called a taxi, contacted what little contacts he had left for confirmation, and set off for London.

It took him a considerable amount of time to get settled once in the air. He was anxious, and hot. The girl he had been seated next to wouldn’t stop fidgeting which kept him on the wake of sleep and consciousness for hours until finally the alcohol had won out in the end. The young red-head could continue to fidget nervously with that stupid cube all she wanted and he would have been none the wiser.

But turbulence, it seemed, had other plans in store. He would not be sleeping the rest of the way to London.

Shifting in his seat awkwardly as the plane lurched suddenly, sending the young girl’s face into his lap, Cyrus simply stared down at her during the rather awkward (and who was he kidding, somewhat exhilarating) situation as she desperately tried to scramble out of his lap. 

The downfall of the aircraft didn’t wait for the young woman to have her moment, however, and Cyrus watched, absolutely helpless as to what was going on as the plane became more and more unstable around him. The plane was going down. Now. That much was certain.

He listened and observed as those around him went into a panic - some screaming, other’s crying or shouting… even praying. But Cyrus remained completely silent. If the plane’s end were for it to crash, then what could any one person do about it? What could [i]any[/i] of them do about it?

The young girl attempted to leave her seat at his side, though he was unsure as to why. Even for her luggage that she was trying to chase; it wasn’t like she, or it, had anywhere to go, really, other than out. And then the plane tore.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched her grab onto the arm of the closest seat to her, hoping that it would be her saving grace as gravity and the sheer wind force were determined to suck her out of the plane. It got… painful to watch, really, and before Cyrus really even knew what he was doing, he was unbuckling his belt, got down onto his hands and knees and anchored himself as best as he could by rolling onto his side, hooking his knees under the plane seat and reached out, grabbing her hand just as she slipped.

[color=burlywood]”Hold on.”[/color] he told her, realizing just how obvious his words were. [color=burlywood]”We’re going to ride this one out.”[/color]