Character Express

A twenty-something man in a waistcoat and matching navy overcoat steps on the train, tugging on his cravat uneasily. He finds his compartment and sets down his luggage to tidy up the part in his cinnamon brown hair and take a few deep breaths.

The compartment is empty, and he sighs.

Angelus only has two slim suitcases, and he stows them under the bed. He examines the compartment. The violet flower print on the curtains is lovely, the plush velvet cushions are in good condition, and the carpet also seems well-maintained. A single red rose in a glass vase sits on the table in front of the window. Angelus keeps one hand on the space next to him as he looks out at the station, even though Bianca is clearly not coming. She's never late to an appointment. Besides, Erica once told him that when you ask a lady for something and splashes her drink on your face and smashes the martini glass on your head right before pulling out her gun, she usually means "no."

Moscow wasn't a bad place, he idly thinks while watching more people arrive at the station. True, flipping through his phrasebook every few moments and pointing at what he was completely failing to convey was irritating, but he hopes that Father will spare the city itself from utter destruction. Especially while Bianca is still in it.

He checks his silver pocket watch again. Half an hour before they would be moving. Might as well familiarize himself with the layout of the train.

A few other people also came early. They give the man in Victorian garb a few curious glances, and Angelus stares back. Why are women with trousers so common in this world? It's unseemly.

The dining car is every bit as nice as the compartment led him to expect. The tables are already set with gleaming silverware, purple napkins, and vases of flowers. Elegant ironwork, designed like vines and leaves, is set around each booth.

Angelus takes a seat by a window. He's getting a bit hungry. Maybe he would ask someone to join him (if they speak the same language) and get a better idea of what humans of this world are like.

edited 19th Dec '11 3:26:57 PM by SnowyFoxes

Her eyes opened like bear traps in reverse.

She was yet motionless, however, for a few moments, as she took in what she could immediately see. Many things came to her in the five seconds she stayed still: it was silent; her face was against cold glass; and she was in a small room... no... a train car.

Slowly, as if her motion would break reality if she was not delicate enough, she straightened, and then she turned her head. Sure enough, she was in what she recognized as a train car—though it was not quite like any train she had been in. The doors of her car were closed, and she decided that she liked it that way.

She saw a strand of her light blonde hair in her eyes and blew at it, only for it to fall back down. She sighed and brought one of her thin, almost fragile hands up and pushed the hair back behind her ear again. Then she straightened her hat and pulled the fishnet veil attached to it down.

Rubbing her hands together, she felt strangely surrounded, even though there was no one immediately around her. She wouldn't have quite classified it as claustrophobia, though it was similar. It was also not like being watched. It was... something else. Something she had no name for.

She rested her elbows on the table which took up most of the center of the car and began to think, to try and remember what she had been doing before. Not that it mattered, though. In due time she would ascertain her own location, and get a line out to Washington. Until then, all that mattered was staying intact.

Of course, that was all too often easier said than done, for her.

Ling made his way onto the dining car of the train, hands stuffed in his pockets and an excited air about him. He had added an open purple hoodie to his usual jeans and globe T-shirt just to set his mothers at ease about the unforgiving European climate.

The young man went to the window Angelus was sitting near and took a final look outside. This was it. He had finally begun his quest to unite the world, even if it wasn't his per se. He let out a gleeful sigh. "Goodbye, Moscow." he said, more to practice his English than anything else.

Donovan Underwood◊ sighed through his scarf as he walked onto the train, almost disappointed at the assignment he was given. He didn't want this assignment, but he was given it, and so it shall be.

Shifting the weight of the duffle bag on his shoulders as he walked toward his compartment, he ignored the looks of people who stared at both his odd clothing and the tengu mask that covered part of his right eye, merely scoffing it off as the ignorance of people who did not know the true world. He approached his compartment and entered with another sigh, and placed his bag under his seat as he leaned back to relax a bit.

At the current moment, his katana was dismissed and his pistol was hidden inside his jacket. Not that he was going to use it, it made no sense to use his pistol when there were no monsters that threatened anybody to fight. He sighed once again as he ruffled his own black hair, trying to focus on the situation at hand.

He removed the scarf covering his mouth and breathed out, but not sighing, as he remembered his mission: Relax. Yes, the assignment that he didn't want, was to relax a bit from killing the horrid monsters that could be anywhere, heck they could be on the train right now.

The young Donovan looked out the window as he tried to get his mind off of things, the white snow on the ground looking blissful as he tried to count until the train would get on with it.

A sudden jolt was all it took to awaken Noah from his sleep. He couldn't tell if it was the train starting, or stopping, or whether it was just a jerk on his part. He couldn't even survey his surroundings, as the book he had been reading was lying on his face. Pulling it away from him, he sat up in his chair, checking which poem he was on... The Wild Swans At Coole... hmm... he liked that one. Drifting between places was really taking its toll on him... Noah didn't have any idea where he was. Still, any excuse to get out. Oh well, the next person he sees will fill him in on his whereabouts, he figured.

Speaking of which, he might as well find someone who would tell him now. The windows of the train where covered in frost, so Noah was sure he hadn't yet gone into hibernation. He wondered if he had missed Christmas yet... it would make his family horribly disappointed if he did, especially since he had promised Alan that he would finally train him. As far as he knew, Brittany was already back at his house, and she likely wasn't willing to make excuses for him, after all he's put her through this year. If anything, she would only succeed in worrying his adoptive parents some more. He wanted be with them all... hell, he would have liked the rest of the group to celebrate with him... but this came first. As much as he hated it, he knew that The Prince's plans were far more important than one Christmas.

He removed the scarf that was wrapped around his neck, partly because it was actually quite warm in the Train, but also partly because with the rest of his get-up, it made him look like the Tom Baker Doctor Who. He leaned back in the chair, and hoped that this train would bring him to where he was supposed to be... wherever that was.

Marc looked up from where he'd tripped. He'd done it again. Maybe some people where just not meant to songwalk. He stood up hoping no one had seen his arrival, appearing out of thin air tended to cause some problems.

He smoothed his vest and paused at the unfamiliar feel of it. These weren't his clothes. His breeches had been replaced by some heavy blue trousers. His shirt still felt like linen but he doubted it would have a long life. His vest, signifier of his status as journeyman instrument maker was the worst, the careful embroidery had been replaced by dyes and paints.

It was only then that he noticed where he was. An odd little room, a bench on each side and a table sticking half way out. As Marc looked around he saw a bag sitting on the bench. It was a bulky thing, probably as tall as a child, and most noticeably, had a tag with "Marc Montafiore" written on it. Since it had his name on it he felt permitted to look inside.

Inside was just clothes and unimportant objects. Two things he did find were a flute, silver craftsmanship good enough for a lord's troupe, and a curious little "passport" with his picture and name in it.

Carefully he put everything back, except the passport which he hid in his vest. Hopefully he'd be able to find some answers elsewhere.

A pale, wiry man with sparse, scraggly blonde hair, wearing a ragged white suit — called Tomas, for the time being — looked about the train, eyes suspicious and sunken. Though quite alive, he looked like an animate corpse, perhaps related to how little he slept. He carried a white briefcase, and sought, with a tinge of desperation... someone. He didn't know who he sought, but he would know when he saw them. They always had that... nature about them.

This place made him uncomfortable. It reminded him of unpleasant times, in a way he could not quite place. It was not within his nature to be in a place such as this. And to deny one's nature... no, such a thing could not be. Simply could not be. Thankfully, the ambiance that so disturbed him was specific to his own psyche. But still, it only served to heighten his already sharpened senses.

He paced about the train, ostensibly looking for an empty seat, but always managing to reject the ones he passed, his nervous energy almost palpable.

She put her gloves on.

It wasn't unduly cold—and, truth be told, she preferred it colder to warmer—but something about the place made her want to feel covered. Protected. She didn't like it, somehow. She wasn't sure why.

She reached back and gathered her hair up, pinning it into a loose pony tail. The long, golden hair went down to the small of her back, curling naturally. As she finished, she scanned her surroundings. She had seen people walk past her room—their outlines passing the window—but she had heard nothing discernible. Her stark, bright blue eyes took in every detail of the relatively small space she occupied, resting on one place for only a moment or two each, before moving on to some other area.

She adjusted her white scarf and re-tucked it into her waistcoat. Something was odd about the train, she thought. It seemed normal, but still off, in a way that she could not articulate.

She debated getting up and leaving the room, but thought better of it. She would let someone come to her. If no one did, then she would simply wait.

She rested her chin on her hand, tilting it slightly and pushing her fingers out to the side. She then began to trace shapes on the table, in patterns that were both alien and recognizably uniform.

He continued to pace, slightly frantic, his already pale fingers turning chalk-white as he gripped the briefcase. No, he couldn't wait for someone to come to him. He had to take a risk on a stranger. If they weren't the right sort... someone else, someone else could do. Well. Perhaps he could knock on a random door? Not yet, not yet.

Ah. There. Two strangers sitting by the window. One in a purple hoodie. One in a navy overcoat. An odd pair. They made no effort to communicate. Timidly, he approached them and squeaked, "excuse me?" Then, slightly louder and with a tinge more confidence, he repeated, "excuse me?"

"Excuse me?"

Angelus turns to the speaker and gives him a dazzling white smile. His blue eyes seem to sparkle. "Yes?"

The timid old man looks like a pauper. This, combined with the anxiety radiating from his being, makes Angelus a bit uneasy. He isn't really sure if he wants to talk to him for very long.

edited 19th Dec '11 5:28:09 PM by SnowyFoxes

Carefully, Tomas said to Angelus, an upper-class East Coast accent now audible in his voice, "I just need to know one thing." He sat, close enough to speak easily without making Angelus uncomfortable. "Am I the only one who feels like there's something... off about this place?"

Noticing Angelus' expression, he added, "oh, good God, of course! I must look like a wreck!" Some of his pride returning, he stood up straighter (relatively speaking) and said, "don't worry, I am not some beggar come to beg money. It's just... well..." his eyes darted nervously about, as he clutched his briefcase tightly to himself, then he turned back to Angelus. "Actually, never mind. You don't need to hear my problems. I won't drag you into them. So. The train, what do you make of it?"

The door to the empty compartment slid open and a tall, thin man stepped in. He was fair with neatly trimmed blond hair, a thin face and high cheekbones, and wore a nondescript ash grey suit and blue tie. He smiled to himself. Good. Empty, just as he'd arranged. Taking a seat nearest the window, he withdraw a small bit of folded plastic from his suit pocket and unfolded it to about the size of a standard A4 sheet of paper. Pinching a corner, a screen came to life on the sheet's translucent body. A few finger touches more and the man had opened up an app to help pass the time.

The tinny sound of rubber being stretched taut followed by breaking glass and explosions soon filled the small space.

It was a few minutes more before two other men arrived, similarly dressed. One was holding a briefcase. No sooner had they seated themselves than the first man checked his watch and snapped, "You're late." There was no response from the other two, who merely continued to look the part. After they had discreetly determined nobody was looking in on them, the three of them pulled the curtains shut to the compartment and the man with the briefcase opened it and slipped out three identical cards and handed them out, each identifying it's holder as a senior official of the WTO.

"The train?" Ling said curiously, only now noticing the newcomer. "I haven't noticed anything particularly odd about it. Then again, I'm a bit too excited about my work to notice much at all!" he said with a nervous grin.

The youth stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "I'll spare you the perorar concerning my calling. I'm sure Lojban is enjoying his time without me babbling about it."

Something visibly clicked in the boy's head. "Oh, I've managed to ramble anyways without even an introduction! Name's Interlingua, but an amica would call me Ling. And you?" he said, unwittingly mixing in words from his birthlang.

Ling sheepishly scratched the back of his head, ruffling his rosewood hair. He was sure his excitement had made a fool of him.

edited 19th Dec '11 6:30:46 PM by Aniventerie

A few people entered the train a few minutes from each other. All sensed something astray.

Alexia flitted her eyes around as she entered the train. The inside looked familiar enough, with its red fancy decor. However, she didn't recall it being this cold several minutes before.

Am I in a dream? she thought.

She pushed the notion aside and went toward one of the compartment. She better not had fallen asleep at the wrong time. She didn't want her secret getting out, especially among a bunch of strangers.

She traversed the hallway, looking for a compartment.

"Off?" Angelus shrugs. "This is the least 'off' place I've been in since I left home."

Even the human world from his universe didn't feel as strange. This is simply devoid of energy, the presence of magic. He hadn't even noticed the blanket of magic until he left it behind, and he sorely misses it. He can still use magic in this world, drawing from his own through the very same means that he ended up here, and it's a small comfort, but it doesn't stay.

Donovan continued to lean back on his seat as he examined the various individuals that were passing to and fro. He shifted his wait up a bit, trying to find a comfortable position so that he could examine his surroundings better.

He decided that it was better to explore in favor of sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs, doing nothing. He walked the halls and searched for potential conversation, whistling a little tune. The eyes on tengu mask on his head seemed to faintly glow, but it was hardly noticeable.

He noticed a girl, who seemed rather confused. He shrugged his shoulders as he approached the girl, "Excuse me? Do you need help?"

He's talking to Alexia

"Maybe I'm just paranoid," Tomas said. "It's... a habit. Casting light into dark crevices makes you enemies." He cleared his throat, and offered an introduction. "Tomas M. Lux, freelance investigative journalist... but, uh, don't look for my work. Sadly, the only people who believe me these days seem, by and large, to also be convinced the CIA killed Kennedy and fluoride in the water is a mind control plot." More to himself, he mused, "somehow, that's worse than being ignored..." he stopped, realizing he was rambling, and said, "sorry. I'll spare you." He sat, sighed, and said, "well. I suppose I've done everything short of waste your time with my life story..."

He opened the briefcase to reveal a sleek, brushed aluminum laptop, and opened it up. He then turned it on, quietly humming Onward Christian Soldiers to himself as it started. "A pleasure to meet you, Ling, and..." he glanced at Angelus, awaiting an introduction.

"Angelus Pallone." He reaches out to shake Tomas's hand, his gold signet ring stamped with the image of a blue jay in flight glinting in the winter sunlight. "What brought you to Moscow?"

Tomas sighed, shook Angelus' hand, and said, "an excellent name! But I digress. Many things bring me to Moscow. Remember, I am a journalist, and Moscow? It's a city of shadows and sinners... meaning no offense to anyone who comes from there, but surely you see it's decay?" His voice began to grow impassioned. "It must infuriate you!" Then he stopped, and said, apologetically "I'm sorry. I get a bit carried away about some things. It's in my nature..." his last words were to nobody but himself, "...and who can deny their nature?"

edited 19th Dec '11 8:07:32 PM by KillerClowns

Ling took a seat as well. "A pleasure for me as well." he said as the men shook hands. "Er, how's my English so far? I was told it was the closest thing this place has to a worldlang, so I've been doing my best to learn it well."

edited 19th Dec '11 8:10:44 PM by Aniventerie

Tomas replied, "quite excellent, save for a few words here and there... but a tiny quibble, really." Then he paused, and added, "...pardon me? A 'worldlang'? A one world language? Hmm..." he opened up a text processor, and said, "please, if you don't mind, do tell more."

Ling's face brightened. "Oh, gladly!" he began, "See, where I'm from, everyone learns Moncu as a child. It's been that way ever since the Linguistic Reformation of 1883, which incidentally began as an effort to classify those with polysemous birthlangs as demente. Insane."

Humans seem very, very busy.

"Ling, where do you come from?" Angelus checks his pocketwatch again. Time is passing rather slowly.

Outside his little room was busy, Marc lost his way in the crowds. No one was speaking his language, mostly a harsh forceful one, and weirdly another that he understood even though he'd never heard it before.

His aimless wanderings funneled him to a larger room filled with chairs and tables. Marc looked around, and his attention was drawn to a trio talking near a window. He hadn't finished learning to Listen but he tell there was magic around at least one of them. Maybe a bardmage who knew something useful.

"Excuse me, I'm Marc, could any of you tell me what's going on?" he asked, mostly of the more formally dressed man.

The question confuses Angelus. He's on a train. He must be going somewhere.

"Er... this is the Trans-Siberian Railway. Moscow station. You must have a place to be, right?"