Princess Rosella of Daventry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
primrosella) wrote2010-11-19 06:36 pm
primrosella) wrote2010-11-19 06:36 pm
Entry tags:
- a bit tied up at present,
- affected,
- augh seriously wtf,
- bad memories,
- curiosity killed the princess,
- curse: midnight express weekend,
- curses suck,
- daventry represent!,
- developing abandonment issues,
- everything is ruined forever,
- i'm attacking the darkness!,
- little princess in a terrible mess,
- next time be more careful,
- optimism level is dwindling,
- plot,
- really need a hug kthx,
- something wicked this way comes,
- steampunk princess?,
- the perils of being rosella,
- trauma time is go,
- what is this i don't even
Quest 234
[Accidental Video Post]
[It's just a bit past noon when the video flickers on--then off--then on again, wobbling in and out of darkness before finally bringing into focus the sight of a train compartment, and a slightly rumpled-looking girl sitting on the soft blue cushions, gazing intently out the window. Her own silence makes the noises of the train around her more pronounced--the rattling, the clanking, the whispering rush of air--and careful observers may notice that this girl's face is a shade paler than it normally would be, that her fingers are twisting in the fabric of her skirt in rhythm with the noise.
She hates this, the roar of the engines, the hum of machinery. There's a reason she never goes down to use the subway system beneath the City, even if it means a much longer walk above ground to get to the same place. There's a reason she has avoided this at all costs. She hates it here, buried underground in these tunnels, surrounded by the sound of the machines she loathes so much.
Her fingers twist again, the knuckles turning white, and the video dissolves into static.
But then, a few seconds later, it flickers back in again, and now Rosella's hand is pressed against the glass of the window as she leans toward it, as if that extra few inches will somehow give her a clearer look at--whatever it is she sees. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet--and a little anxious.]
It's...it's a trick. It can't-- [A crackle of static; the video flickers.] --al. Can it? No, it can't, it's not...
[She slides closer, both hands cupped against the window now, her face pressed close with her fingers curled to reduce the glare off of the glass.]
They did this last ye-- [Static. But a bit of audio filters through, even if the video is still obscured.] --re we going?
[And then, after another few seconds, the video clicks on again--just in time to see a faint shape, deathly white, SLAM against the window from the outside of the train, and to witness Rosella jumping a mile at the sight, recoiling with a shriek that is half from surprise and half from horror.
Another flicker of the video, and now she is curled on the bench with her knees pulled to her chest, her hands over her ears, and she is mumbling frantically under her breath.]
It has to stop sometime. It has to stop. It always stops, don't look, don't-- [Static.] --ere, it's fine, it's fine, there's nothing there, it's nothing, it's--
[The train rattles, the door creaks, and the video flickers once--twice--and then finally cuts out.]
[OOC: So, to review: Rosella hates machinery. Rosella is currently trapped on the Death Train™. Rosella...is not a happy camper. :(
Please assume this post takes place shortly after noon in Compartment #3; word hasn't reached her about the deaths yet, but please feel free to carry word to her! Action is welcomed from anyone on the train; if you'd prefer not to find her in her compartment, feel free to assume she's wandering the train a short time after this post and run into her wherever you like.]
[And mods, if I've gotten any of this wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it. o/]
[It's just a bit past noon when the video flickers on--then off--then on again, wobbling in and out of darkness before finally bringing into focus the sight of a train compartment, and a slightly rumpled-looking girl sitting on the soft blue cushions, gazing intently out the window. Her own silence makes the noises of the train around her more pronounced--the rattling, the clanking, the whispering rush of air--and careful observers may notice that this girl's face is a shade paler than it normally would be, that her fingers are twisting in the fabric of her skirt in rhythm with the noise.
She hates this, the roar of the engines, the hum of machinery. There's a reason she never goes down to use the subway system beneath the City, even if it means a much longer walk above ground to get to the same place. There's a reason she has avoided this at all costs. She hates it here, buried underground in these tunnels, surrounded by the sound of the machines she loathes so much.
Her fingers twist again, the knuckles turning white, and the video dissolves into static.
But then, a few seconds later, it flickers back in again, and now Rosella's hand is pressed against the glass of the window as she leans toward it, as if that extra few inches will somehow give her a clearer look at--whatever it is she sees. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet--and a little anxious.]
It's...it's a trick. It can't-- [A crackle of static; the video flickers.] --al. Can it? No, it can't, it's not...
[She slides closer, both hands cupped against the window now, her face pressed close with her fingers curled to reduce the glare off of the glass.]
They did this last ye-- [Static. But a bit of audio filters through, even if the video is still obscured.] --re we going?
[And then, after another few seconds, the video clicks on again--just in time to see a faint shape, deathly white, SLAM against the window from the outside of the train, and to witness Rosella jumping a mile at the sight, recoiling with a shriek that is half from surprise and half from horror.
Another flicker of the video, and now she is curled on the bench with her knees pulled to her chest, her hands over her ears, and she is mumbling frantically under her breath.]
It has to stop sometime. It has to stop. It always stops, don't look, don't-- [Static.] --ere, it's fine, it's fine, there's nothing there, it's nothing, it's--
[The train rattles, the door creaks, and the video flickers once--twice--and then finally cuts out.]
[OOC: So, to review: Rosella hates machinery. Rosella is currently trapped on the Death Train™. Rosella...is not a happy camper. :(
Please assume this post takes place shortly after noon in Compartment #3; word hasn't reached her about the deaths yet, but please feel free to carry word to her! Action is welcomed from anyone on the train; if you'd prefer not to find her in her compartment, feel free to assume she's wandering the train a short time after this post and run into her wherever you like.]
[And mods, if I've gotten any of this wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it. o/]
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[Because, of course, only one of them in this conversation happens to know that the dear fellow is blind.]
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[and sob, he's sure not telling]
A touch of movement- have you?
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It's the same sort of thing now--visions of home. Or at least, that's what it seems to be showing me.
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[Oh, he can barely make out some movement, some figures- but he might be glad to be blind, for just a moment]
- Your name, miss?
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Only polite to get the names of our fellows in captivity.
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And it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even if the circumstances aren't exactly the best.
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I shall have to pay more attention to my window.
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Don't look too much. It's really not pleasant, and I'm certain it's all lies and tricks, anyway.
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I don't fancy missing out on my hints here.
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