the train ||

M

Maybe

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Original poster



chapter one || all aboard!

some volunteered. some... well.
the train. will the idea of being stuck upon thrill them. will they power against it in attempts to free themselves? we don't know. they don't know.

thudding of booted steps fill the stopped train, unconscious bodies being placed within the second car. all recently collected, stabbed with a needle to stir them into a deep slumber. letting one see the train before the wheels began to turn just.. wasn't part of the deal. and just isn't any fun. they would be careful of course, these snoozing bodies were very important. the boss would only grow angry if harm had been done to them. they were scattered, placed along the booths. to sit in booths as if going to properly ride a train. how fun!

this second car had many a purpose to fill, to ease the passengers into their surrounds. surely they had been on one before, whether one as a child. or one in daily life, subways were similar. sort of. the booted figures neatly placed them within booths, gloved hands pulling open windows just wide enough for a hand to slide through. that was as far as they would open, can't have anyone jumping out of them. can we? these booted figures were dressed with every inch of them covered. thin fabric pulled over their faces, just in case any waking eyes may catch sight they wouldn't be identified. an odd sight as the finishing touches were applied. a damp mop dragged along the center isle, cleansing away any dirt they brought in. the squeeze of spray bottle, wipe of rag to dust the tabletops.

jiggling of the door leading towards the first car, lock clicking into place. shuffling within the third car, last minute items being settled within the awkward kitchen space. all neatly set into its place, all the means to survive, all the means to bicker. the mop too, dragged through this cart as the bodies swarmed into the fourth car. its lock to grind into place. soon the train would be empty, silent. the heavy door in the last car dragged to a close. another lock, the faint rustling of chain. whistling wind to gather against open windows, the wheels settling to work, guiding the train along the tracks. this adventure to begin.

mourn what was once a normal day to day. flee from a secret you cannot bare to set free. become a savior for those in need - what will come of thee? as they wake and stir, what reaction will they hold? violence? uncontrolled sobbing? perhaps they will be dull, uncaring to the change of surroundings.


Secrets to keep. Tasks to complete.
  1. all passengers wake up in car 2. each in a different booth.
  2. maybe the drugs had begun wearing off, maybe one saw the dozen of them shuffling around, when one couldn't quite move~
  3. Car 1 & Car 4 are locked. can the lock be picked? can a key be found?
 
Clary:

Steampunk-girls-21.jpg


As a dim fragment of awareness began to emerge from the void, Clary became vaguely aware that her body was posed uncomfortably. Asleep...at my workbench? she thought. She was just about to climb the rest of the way up from darkness, at least long enough to fumble her way to her cot for a proper nap, when she became aware of the cla-clack, cla-clack of a train, gentle rocking motion, and the sussuration of wind coming through a partially-opened window.

She jolted awake to find herself in, of all things, a train car. "The hell?" she muttered. Six booths, some of them occupied, but nobody was up or moving around. There was some dude slumped in the booth across from hers unconscious...or maybe dead. She didn't feel like checking that out just yet. Dreaming? She rapped on the table in front of her with a knuckle, feeling its solidity. How the hell do I end up on a train? Her mind still seemed to be full of cobwebs, but even at her sharpest she didn't think she could imagine a scenario where a kidnapper buys his victim a train ticket and carries her unconscious form aboard, where there were sure to be witnesses and potential allies for her.

She got unsteadily to her feet, shaking her head to clear the remaining dizziness. Personal inventory, she thought, patting herself down. Dressed in a billowy linen blouse, caramel colored leather doublet and kilt, bison leather belt with capacious utility pouches, matching calf-boots with rows of gear-shaped brass buckles running up the front, flowing white aviator's scarf, and of course, her brass goggles, Clary looked like she'd just stepped off of a pirate airship, or maybe come in out of the Wasteland. All of her pockets and pouches were empty however, except for the one holding her Leatherman multitool. Her ocarina still hung from a leather strap over her shoulder like a miniature canteen, but she was otherwise bereft of everything she'd been carrying.

Alright, now what?
 
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Dmitri was vaguely aware that he was sitting up and his first assumption was that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. So when he heard the rap of a fist on wood he assumed someone was at the door and tried to sit up only half awake. He overcorrected and ended up slumped over a table the edge digging uncomfortably into his stomach.

"Mm" he groaned trying to pull his thoughts together. Opening his eyes and slowly sitting up Dmitri spent a moment taking in his surroundings.

A train?

Oh yeah, the train. Dmitri couldn't remember getting on the train or falling asleep, but there was no forgetting the deal he'd made. So he must have gotten on at some point. Right?

There's a girl standing in the aisle looking flustered and confused. She makes Dmitri feel underdressed. Standing there like she'd just strolled out of a steampunk novel while Dmitri was there in just a plaid shirt and an old pair of jeans.

Honestly his spotty memory combined with her outfit was making it hard to believe he was awake right now. Dmitri tried to bring his hands to his face. While he manages to dig his left palm into his left eye the other side of his face remains empty.

"Fuck..." he muttered glancing down at the empty sleeve where his right arm used to be. It'd been a long time since he'd gone without his prosthetic. It would take some adjusting.

Dmitri glanced back up at the woman, and decided that the outfit was too interesting for him to make up, meaning that he must be awake.

"Um... hi?"
 
Clary:

Dunno how long I got before whoever put me here comes back for me. Better look around, find out-- Clary was pulled from her thoughts by a moan from the guy in the other booth. By the looks of things, he was either waking up from the biggest bender ever...or the same thing she had. Unless he's puttin' on an act. Gotta be more likely that just one person got shanghaied an' put on a train than two, right? Then he buried his face in his hands--well, half his face, 'cause the other hand was missing. On the... An image of the guy trying to carry her unconscious form onto the train one-handed, give tickets to the Conductor, then schlep her to the table all without drawing attention flashed through her mind, too preposterous to really believe.

Then he looked up at her, offering a rather dubious greeting.

"Hiya," Clary replied. "Name's Clary Shae," she said in a Texas drawl. She started to reach out her right hand, caught herself, and offered her left. "Uh...this might sound a bit weird, but...would you happen t' know what train this is, an' where it's headed?"
 
MARTYN PHELPS
The darkness that swelled in his mind was disrupted by the sudden movement below him as well as the voices that had begun to swirl around the train compartment. Immediately upon opening his eyes a crack, he felt a sudden pain in his temple that signaled to him that maybe he wasn't in the best of shape. Martyn breathed out sharply and turned onto his side only to find a tough surface below him stop him from properly turning. The illusion that he was in a bed vanished when everything around him alerted him to the reality he found himself in. The dark blonde narrowed his eyes against whatever light source was above him, grumbling to himself only to suddenly slap his hands against his body. He felt for his pockets, feeling moments of panic when he could find his wallet or his pocket watch. Had he been robbed? Kidnapped even? His hazel eyes opened in full at the realization that he wasn't home or anywhere nearby his house. Martyn looked at his hands quickly to see if he was hurt in any way, pulling up his sleeve next to see if he'd been tied up or anything. But alas, when he found nothing he felt a small amount of ease pass over him. However, this was removed when he saw the very different looking individuals before him.

Looking down at himself, he was wearing the suit he had last put on before some outing he was to be apart of. The black color was a familiar sight that he was glad to have. At least he looked presentable... well minus his hair that probably looked worse than anything. He didn't speak immediately but rather rubbed at his face and woke himself up a little bit more. He felt himself inwardly groan at the company he had found himself in. Despite never having spoken with these two individuals yet, it was still hard for him to process the possibility that he had to speak with them. Martyn straightened his tie and flipped his collar, standing up finally on shaky legs. He felt as though he had to inspect his surroundings immediately after waking up, to know just where he was. But the train interior didn't help him in the slightest. Thinking to himself, he leaned down a little bit to check if there were any cracks in the booth he had sat on, looking around for his wallet or any of his personal belongings in case they had fallen out while he was moving about.

Alas, nothing.

Pushing off from the booth seat, Martyn finally decided to make his presence known toward these other people locked in conversation. He tried not to seem like a closed off person by not crossing his arms. But who was he kidding? He looked very skeptical of everything around him. "If either of you know where we are, it would be much appreciated if you let me know. This is a ridiculous situation we've found ourselves in" he spoke up in a less than amused tone of voice. He felt no need to introduce himself just yet and instead talked business before anything else. These two sets of character were far different to what he was used to, so he was uncertain of how to handle them. In his mind he decided that he needed to take this in small strides... but that didn't mean he was going to be able to be completely positive about it. "And, I would like to know what happened to my belongings. Theft isn't greatly appreciated" he added, his eyebrow cocking upwards as if by habit. The suspicion dripping from his voice was evident as he began to try and piece together everything that was happening here.
 
Clary:

The guy she was talking to left her hanging, but it didn't look like he was being rude, just a little out of it. Meanwhile, another guy stirred, patted himself down, stood on shaky legs to search his booth for something, then finally turned to them. On closer inspection, his suit looked expensive and tailored to fit. A few rungs on the ladder above the average salaryman then. He was certainly looking at Clary and the other guy like they were lower forms of life. Yeah, buddy? My outfit's bespoke too--by me. Finally, he managed to speak, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"You know what, Mister, I don't approve o' thievery neither, 'specially when what's gettin' stolen is me. If you must know, my money an' I.D. are gone too." That was rather disconcerting, but Clary had gotten through worse. "Hell, they took his fuckin' arm," she said, hiking a thumb at Dimitry, "so I guess you an' I should count ourselves lucky." Hang on--three people kidnapped an' put on a train? "So...you're sayin' that you just woke up here, with no idea how you got here, an' most of what you had on ya's been taken?" This don't make a lick o' sense. Sure, some psycho might nab an off-grid vagabond like me, but Mr. Brooks Brothers there? He'd have a wife an' co-workers an' lawyers an' who knows what all wantin' t' know what happened t' him. People that could get the FBI to make his case a priority, an' the money to hire detectives.

A smaller conspiracy is more likely than a bigger one. So what if only one of us has actually been kidnapped? Clary thought, feeling a chill zip up and down her spine.
 
Dmitri had meant to introduce himself. He really had. His mama raised him to be polite and he'd started the conversation after all. But it had hit him quite suddenly that this was really happening.

He was riding this weird train with unconscious strangers. These people could be dangerous. Were probably dangerous. And here he was trying to start a casual chat? Dmitri glanced at the front of the car. Trains had conductors right? And the conductor had to know where they were going didn't he?

Suddenly a man was speaking to him and Clary. Accusing them of being thieves while standing tense and suspicious in his suit. Honestly was everyone on this train going to be better dressed than him? When Clary jerk a thumb toward him, he raised his left hand in an awkward wave. Then, plastering on his best customer service smile Dmitri stood up.

"Sir, I can see you're upset, but maybe we should all take a deep breath and try to think this out." He held his hands up in a placating gesture. This was a clearly stressful situation and Dmitri wasn't going to write this guy off as rude or stuck up until he'd seen him calm. "I'm Dmitri and this is Clary, I think we're all in the same position here so we should work together." That position being drugged and on a train going who knows where. Honestly it was all very bizarre even if it wasn't as out of left field to him as it seemed to be for the others.
 

bell

ringa-dinga-dinga-dinga-dinga-ding.

how wondrous. such a thrilling noise of a bell gone wild. ringing to ruin what was conversation.. or would become argument. such ringing did not come from within the second car. perhaps the third, perched upon the wall just beyond the door. a neat little sign posted below it, scribbled in a crook handwriting.

Smile.

ringa-dinga-dinga-dinga-dinga-ding.



You could ignore me. But I will ring until you come and find me~.

 
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Clary:

The other guy--Dimitry--snapped out of it and turned into Mr. Reasonable, advising calm and cooperation. Too reasonable maybe? Like he's not as surprised to be here as some of us? Clary wondered. She was just about to settle in for some street anthropology when somebody rang the tardy bell. That's what it sounded like at least; loud, jangling, not meant to be ignored. And it kept going too, not like an old-school phone.

"Some staffer's gonna have t' answer that. 'Scuse me gentlemen, I got questions," she said, then squeezed past Mr. Businessman to head toward the rear of the car. Outside the windows, trees and hills whipped by, but without stopping to try and examine the scenery, she couldn't see any obviously recognizable landmarks. She went through the back door and passed through the join between cars. The sound insulation was good--not only did she not hear much more outside noise here than in the car itself, she could of course still hear the bell on the other side of the door. The walls were sections that slid over each other, like an airport jetway rather than something like a folding accordion section that might have been easier to bust through in a pinch.

"Huh," she said, as she entered the next car. This one was a proper Dining Car with comfy-looking couches and an Art Nouveau aesthetic, like something Rose and Jack might have run through if they'd been on the Traintanic. The contrast with the stale Modernist look of the car she'd been in could not have been more striking; which was odd because wouldn't a train keep the same aesthetic throughout, except maybe for a Platinum Elite Special Bonus Club Members' First Class section? At any rate, Clary immediately liked this car better, except for the annoying racket.

Diagonal to the door was what had once been an elegant little bar, now modded into a mini-kitchen. Why would they go an' do that? Wouldn't they have a dedicated scullery car? Some kinda stupid budget cuts? This don't look up to the task of feeding a whole train of...hang on, where is everybody? A quick second glance, and she didn't see anyone, at least not the crowd the car could accommodate. Maybe somebody could be sprawled out on a couch toward the back, hidden from her view by the armrest or some such--

--and where was the steward or attendant or whatever they'd call the person meant to answer that damn bell? She looked toward the sound with a scowl of irritation. The bell was there on the wall just beside the top of the door. And underneath it hung a little sign. But in place of a stylish old-fashioned typeface, one word in creepy-crooked handwritten scrawl:

smile