primrosella | 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/]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, I can imagine it hasn't been. It's not been pleasant for anyone, I daresay.

Does it bother you, all this racket?

It does, of course. But it's all a curse, of course.

I keep trying to tell myself that.

[But it hasn't stopped her hands from shaking yet.]

Now--

--stop that.

[She's grateful, really she is. But she still ducks her head.]

I just hate it. The gears, the noise...I can't stand it.

You do hate machinery--I should have remembered that.

As if the things outside the window weren't bad enough. The noise is just making it worse.

Well, as though the madness that seems to strike the train periodically weren't making it all worse, too.

I haven't heard much of anything, except that we oughtn't move around in case we...in case we crash. Why, has something happened?

I've been hearing a few things.

It's always something, isn't it.

In the City, it generally is.

We'd best keep together, then, and try to manage as best we can. What else is there to do?

Nothing, I suppose, though I want to know more of what's going on. Yes, it's a curse, I know, but there's more to it than simply that, somehow. In a strange sort of way, this whole ordeal feels like something that would descend on us in October, not November.

It wouldn't be the first time we had trouble like this around this time of year, though.

[Which just kind of slips out before she really thinks about the implications of it--last year's boxes, and the barriers coming down. And yet it's funny because in comparison, being trapped on this train almost doesn't seem so bad.]

... ... ...

I suppose we did have a bit of trouble last November as well, didn't we?

That was a bad time of year in general, really. It wasn't just November.

There are few times of year here that could actually be called 'good' by any standards.

Well, yes. But there's bad, and then there's awful.

I'm not sure which this is at the moment.

Well. When some stranger appears and tells us not to worry, that we're locked in for our own good and he's taking us all home...then it'll be awful.

We're not quite to that point as yet, I suppose.

Quest 234

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