Dylan was still spiraling out of control, flailing, while clinging onto his blue meteor...It was warm, even through the glove. It wasn't unpleasant, though...So, the Slytherin was prepared to get the second one...

...As soon as he could get up to the ceiling again.

Ugh....!!

He had no control over his own body as he sailed through the air. There was nothing around him that he could push off of or used as leverage. To be honest, he felt rather helpless. How did astronauts deal with this kind of thing? Didn't they have jet packs or something?

"I need a jet pack."...because obviously the Captain sucked at this so hardcore that he needed extra help!

Suddenly he was crashing into something or someone, he couldn't be sure...and he was propelled in the opposite direction again...UP he was going, again. The Slytherin was attempting to dog paddle...to stabilize himself...It was working some...but then he was going too high. What if...there wasn't a ceiling...? Would he just float out into space?

Dylan was obviously a hypercondriac...

"Help. Me."