[ There is a young woman in a school uniform sitting on an empty seat bench in third class. Her bookbag is squarely in her lap, both hands covering it as the train jostles a bit over some older stretches of track. She looks out the window thoughtfully and watches some of the scenery go by. Every so often, she fiddles with her tie distractedly. ]
[ Perry returns from his expedition to the dining cart with two buns, one in either hand. He's stashed a little packet of butter in his pocket too, but it's only when he arrives at their car that he realizes that he didn't bother to snatch a knife so that butter won't do a lot of good.
When he reaches where Pasi is sitting, he holds out one of the buns and nudges her gently in the shoulder with it. ]
[ Pasi is busy thinking about things that are decidedly not school, not her parents, and not the possible end of the world. She doesn't like traveling (she blames her parents for that, having kept her cooped up for most of her life) and even having Perry with her isn't doing much to keep the edge off. So many strangers in such a small space. The family reunion their traveling to doesn't make arriving at their destination any more appealing.
When she's nudged she turns in his direction, her expression absent. ]
Eh?
[ It takes her a moment to snap back to attention, reaching up to brush the shoulder of her blazer. ]
Oi, mind the crumbs, Perry. Mom and dad said we're s'posed to look presentable, whatever that means.
[ Perry shakes the bun at her again, undaunted, and waits a few moments for her to take it. Eventually, he wanders over and sits down on the bench across from her and starts tearing his own bun into pieces, popping each piece individually into his mouth. ]
Does it matter? Everyone's gonna look at us funny anyway when we get there. They always do. It's a fact of life.
[ There is a man appearing somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, pale skin and very blond hair, occasionally looking out the window, occasionally saying hello to passers-by when they least expect it.
There's a good chance Hemi hasn't decided where, exactly, he's going. He might be here just for the ride. ]
[ A prim looking young woman is trying to make her way down the aisle to the next cart. However, she seems to keep running into people milling about, fiddling with their luggage, harassing the lady with the small food trolley. The young lady seems very apologetic about it, her glasses constantly slipping to the end of her nose. ]
[ Hemi smiles to himself briefly before he stands and manages to make more headway in Gungnir's direction than she's made into the entire aisle since she got here. ]
Hello, Gunny. Excuse me, thank you. [ There is something slightly amusing about the fact that she is definitely more powerful than he is, yet he is more physically imposing. ] This way?
[ At first, she does not hear his greeting over the sound of her own apologies to the people she attempts (and sometimes fails) to squeeze past. Heimdall's physical presence, however, is difficult to miss -- a pale, almost luminescent smudge moving towards her in the blurred edges of her peripheral vision. When she turns towards him, her glasses slip again. She squints at him over the lenses with a smile. ]
Heimdall! It is good to see you, friend. Do you travel? [ She laughs and waves a hand through the air, tugging a small suitcase behind her. ] Of course you travel, you are on a train. Ignore my silly questions.
[Trains are a rather novel means of transportation to her. Beatrice is pressed up against the window, doing her best to be Small and Unoffensive, while watching the scenery flash by in complete awe. The older man who's with her isn't paying much mind and in fact he's gotten up and left her behind for a more attractive blonde in a dress that actually suits her age.
[Freddy's always had a love for trains, their back and forth sway, their rumble, their scream. Never has much of everywhere to go, 'cept for Up. So he let's it pick him up deep underground, enjoys the rattling ride on up to the surface, hangs on a while in third class, watching all the folks.
Never the most civilized, even at his best, he lights a cigarette inside the closed up car, leans back, arm stretching out over the back of this bench in the back he's claimed as his own.
He watches. This one arguing with her husband, that one asleep against the window, another pale knowing he'll be late for his morning classes. Freddy taps his fingernails on the glass absentmindedly, playing chorus to the roar of the train. Click. Click click click.]
hopefully this is okay let me know if it's not and i'll change it :VeveryblackdogDecember 3 2009, 21:47:33 UTC
[ The black dog has never had much use for trains. In the past, his four legs would take him wherever he wished. Nowadays, however, he must travel by more human means. Until he finds another master, he is earthbound by his own two feet; a tedious exercise, but necessary.
As he pushes his way through one car to the next, the smell of cigarette smoke catches his attention. Turning towards it, he almost smiles. There is a familiar soul -- or lack of one. The hound of death and hell and the crossroads remembers every one he comes across. Very few, in turn, remember him. Or at least recognize him, in this body.
Once he's approached Blackie drops down onto the bench situated across from the man. Tilts his head and looks at him for a moment with black eyes. But says nothing. ]
IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL I CAN'T EVEN SPEAK BBpackof_liesDecember 3 2009, 21:56:53 UTC
[Freddy's so used to drawing attention when he don't rightly want it that he almost dismisses it entirely. S'what he does, plants the seeds, reaps the sow, but there's rules to it, gotta get 'em interested first, open up to him.
But hell. Might as well get an early start to his day, huh? He turns and looks, eyes narrowing slightly at who he actually sees there. Hard to forget it when the hellhounds run you down, even if he can't put words to it. Still, doesn't do no one no good to fuss. He drawls out a polite greeting, South'n slow,]
OH GOOD orz /t-touches him.everyblackdogDecember 3 2009, 22:18:35 UTC
[ Lifting his head, he gives the man a nod. His smile spreads slightly. Although Blackie remembers the face and that voice -- how could one forget it, honestly -- the details to this soul's specific story are lost to him in a sea of memory. He does, however, recall a name. ]
I suppose you could say that. [ He settles back in his chair again. ] Still not one for formalities, are you, Frederick?
[ Rafael does not do trains well. In fact, he does them so poorly that the poor Ratkin has to huddle up against one of the windows in the car he's in, face pressed into the glass so that the rattling of the cage car takes his mind off of being in what is essentially a steel metal deathtrap careening down on top of two very thin lines of iron in excess of a hundred miles an hour.
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When he reaches where Pasi is sitting, he holds out one of the buns and nudges her gently in the shoulder with it. ]
I come bearing gifts.
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When she's nudged she turns in his direction, her expression absent. ]
Eh?
[ It takes her a moment to snap back to attention, reaching up to brush the shoulder of her blazer. ]
Oi, mind the crumbs, Perry. Mom and dad said we're s'posed to look presentable, whatever that means.
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Does it matter? Everyone's gonna look at us funny anyway when we get there. They always do. It's a fact of life.
Reply
There's a good chance Hemi hasn't decided where, exactly, he's going. He might be here just for the ride. ]
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[ A prim looking young woman is trying to make her way down the aisle to the next cart. However, she seems to keep running into people milling about, fiddling with their luggage, harassing the lady with the small food trolley. The young lady seems very apologetic about it, her glasses constantly slipping to the end of her nose. ]
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Hello, Gunny. Excuse me, thank you. [ There is something slightly amusing about the fact that she is definitely more powerful than he is, yet he is more physically imposing. ] This way?
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Heimdall! It is good to see you, friend. Do you travel? [ She laughs and waves a hand through the air, tugging a small suitcase behind her. ] Of course you travel, you are on a train. Ignore my silly questions.
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...Best not to tell, Beatrice about that.]
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Never the most civilized, even at his best, he lights a cigarette inside the closed up car, leans back, arm stretching out over the back of this bench in the back he's claimed as his own.
He watches. This one arguing with her husband, that one asleep against the window, another pale knowing he'll be late for his morning classes. Freddy taps his fingernails on the glass absentmindedly, playing chorus to the roar of the train. Click. Click click click.]
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As he pushes his way through one car to the next, the smell of cigarette smoke catches his attention. Turning towards it, he almost smiles. There is a familiar soul -- or lack of one. The hound of death and hell and the crossroads remembers every one he comes across. Very few, in turn, remember him. Or at least recognize him, in this body.
Once he's approached Blackie drops down onto the bench situated across from the man. Tilts his head and looks at him for a moment with black eyes. But says nothing. ]
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But hell. Might as well get an early start to his day, huh? He turns and looks, eyes narrowing slightly at who he actually sees there. Hard to forget it when the hellhounds run you down, even if he can't put words to it. Still, doesn't do no one no good to fuss. He drawls out a polite greeting, South'n slow,]
Mighty fine day, innit, sirrah?
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I suppose you could say that. [ He settles back in his chair again. ] Still not one for formalities, are you, Frederick?
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Woe. ]
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