Gerda's head melts into the side of the cushioned seat, the popping sensation left a few hours ago, after the lift off. Dilyla's pane is modern - a present from the ex-headmaster, when he made her do his bidding, like an evil mastermind in old James Bond movies. It's just ironic how they're technically agents now... Gerda smirks at this thought.
"Atten passengers," Dilyla's voice is muffled through the speekers. "We are now making our decent," typical Dilyla, pretending to be an airline pilot. Gerda hears her voice crack slightly, she sits bolt upright, uh-oh.
Iris sits seat belted safely in the seats, her hands bound in eachother, her eyes are squeeze shut and she is humming tunelessly to herself.
Next thing she knows, Gerda and six others are flung around the plane, even Iris's belt broke making her smash to the side. Gerda manages to get to her seat, pulling her gloves out. She feels flames outside, her own flames inside her burn inside her wanting to fight back. She knows that she cannot do this, though. Can you imagine what would happen, fires combusting everywhere?
Instead, she tries to calm the fire down using her power, her muscles ache incredibly, prickling against her skin. She spreads her feet shoulder length apart keeping her balance whilst everyone stumbled around.
The fires die a little bit, but as we fall the flames get more oxygen making the flames get stronger and wilder, munching up the wing. An idea pops in her head, "Finaly," she screams, grabbing hold of a seat as the plane jerks.
"What?" he screams back, attempting to pull himself up.
"Use the, whoa!" she exclaims jerking back, again. She gulps, sweat beading on her forehead, "Use the moisture in the air and wet the flame out!"
"Does that even make sense?" Iris yells.
"I don't know," she screams as she is flung back against the side.