WEEK 1

[strangerpeople]

WEEK 1

[The train wouldn't stop. Not until very early the next morning. The few who might have been awake would be able to exit the train, entering the cool twilight of the dawn. The star is dark, and few stars can be seen in the sky as a cold breeze begins to blow from the mountain beyond. You can see some chunks of rock floating idly nearby, far away from the station that it won't hit trains, but near enough that one can see they are larger than the train they just disembarked.

Lastly, laid out in front of them, the first port of call: Menahoven. The mountain: The Throat of the World.

But which world? Who knows. Not any of yours. Maybe it doesn't matter. Not when you are so far from home. Not when you have no way to get off this rock without the aid of the trains-and they will not let you pass.

It looks like you're stuck here until the Conductor decides to leave. In the meantime, everyone will need to get comfortable.


There are fifteen strangers left in this place.]

Comments

[charmingheroine]

[That is not a mix of smells she is comfortable with. It's a mix she can identify but it is not a mix Charlotte is remotely comfortable with. She should have been able to tell, damn it, she should have been able to sense that kind of thing, she's powerless, she's blind, she's -
alone -
shaking -
and she can't seem to stop - ]

The book said a child... it said...!

[Vampires don't age, do they? They don't where she's from.

She's well aware she's just whimperedmurmured something at empty air. She is also very aware that she needs to find some place to sit down. Somewhere else. Maybe the lounge, there should be people... unless, of course, another one of their blinding purple captor's friends heard that.]

[disregartist]

[Actually.]

Well then. What are you doing?

[charmingheroine]

[Charlotte knows better than to use her partner as an example of what to do. She really, truly does.

Most of the time. Right now she's scared half-senseless, and that seems to be his default setting most of the time, so really it's inevitable - ]

Right this instant? Trying to figure out what business someone who hides his face and reeks of blood would have with you.

[Her full height is anything but intimidating, but for her dignity's sake Charlotte stands as straight as she can manage. Her voice is back to its usual sound - no point in maintaining false affect now, after all.]

[disregartist]

[A chuckle. She is, indeed, hardly intimidated.]

Oh goodness, you weren't harassing my customers, were you?

[charmingheroine]

[Well, that makes exactly one of them who isn't, then. Charlotte's pretty sure she's only still standing because collapsing in a heap in a longline corset is something she doesn't want to try, on a very instinctive level.

Did she change all our clothes? She can't ask it out loud, but she's not going to be able to shake the thought....]

I asked exactly one question. I wanted to know if they worked for the railway company, that's all... if there is one associated with this.

[disregartist]

I see. Well...no. They do not work for any railway company. I of course cannot say who they work for.

[Folding her arms.]

Secrecy is essential for my clients, you see.

[charmingheroine]

So, then...

[The only reason her eyes are welling up is that eye-searing color. That's it. It's not that she's missing a sense she's always had, it's not that she's alone, it's just that her eyes hurt terribly. That's all.

(It isn't, of course, but even terrified the girl has her dignity to think of.)]

Then you're not going to answer me if I ask what it is you're providing them with, are you. Guns, money, information, blood... it could be anything, couldn't it?

[disregartist]

[At this, she laughs.]

Goodness no, not any of those!

Tattoos.

[charmingheroine]

[That is an answer that wasn't even remotely a possibility, but should have been. It wasn't oil paint and blood, after all, it shouldn't have - but she couldn't sense anything -

Her confidence cracked when she found that book earlier, this situation going from potential threat to complete mortification has just about shattered it.]

Tattoos? None of them looked like sailors or soldiers...

[disregartist]

Not all of my clientele are in those occupations, my dear. I do not turn anyone who needs my services.

But-you seem not to believe me.