My Name is My Weapon. [IC]

[Hellis]

Trains are massive, metal beasts guided by rails. The sheer speed and force of a train is hard o match on land. They demolish cars and anythin else that gets in theirr way. Trains are surely mans greatest achievement. Then agaian, there was one thing that held the power to change the world and create these behemoths: It was imagination. That fantastic, raw feeling of creation. Man imagined flying, so they built planes. They wanted to travel the world so they built boats. Cars and trains came as natural progression from the horse and wagon. All because man imagined how it would be to tame the world.

But this train. This train was nothing like the scientist from the old world had ever imagined. It was impossibly huge, the locomotive built to resemble a skull. The bumpers were massive grinning jaws of metal, laughing as the juggernout of livin metal chugged along the rails. The oven which burned the coal was a massive pulsing heart. And the coal itself was strange sentient beings who happily threw themselves into the fire. Its body was the many carts, each of them different from the others. Inside there could be a landscape several times bigger then it's outwards appearance. Logic did not apply here, the shapes here had no names, no distinguisble anchor that let you make sense of it. Here the mind shaped everything.

And lord and master of this machine snake was The Conductor. The oldest of the Inspirations, nobody knows when he came here. But when the dust settle; it was Human Namer who had given him his purpose.

“Take the Train. This world needs a faster way to travel.” With those words the Conductor Was borned. Before he had been a insane, starved merger of a human and the Figment known as The Boogyman. Now he was the Lord of the Rail, The Conductor, The Old One. And currently, the Lord of the Rail was amused. Amongst the passengers aboard was a young girl and Old man who had dared to hijack his control of one of the carts.

-------------

Onboard one of the carts:

A hunched over, rather spindly figure sat on a seat seemingly custom made for him. When stepped aboard only a day or so and yet he had already incurred some memory loss. He had to drag himself trough a artificial swamp in the middle of one of the carts, battled a living bull and almost los his arm to some shark thing. The purple haired abnormality sighed as he conversed with the Inspiration in front of him. Establishing his identity was hard when his name was a question. His fellow inspiration was a living core of magnetized iron that hid inside a very life like metal shell. His name was Iron Mimic. One of many onboard apparently.

“So...” The metallic creature began. He eyed the strange tall man with some hesitation, A myriad of clocks hung from his cot, all of them out of sync and showing different times of day. When himself seemed oddly hard to focus on. It was almost like he flickered back and forth.

“Yes?” The time anomaly spoke. His teeth were like a million tiny needles.

“You are When?” The other inspiration inquired

“Yes.” When nodded. This was progress.

“When? As in.... A Question. That is your name?” Iron-mimic seemed hesitant.

“That is right” When nodded again

“..I see..” Iron-Mimic tried to not be taken aback as the anomaly laughed. His laugh was childish and old, like a myriad of voices at once. And then When seemed to properly materialize. Many of the clocks vanished and he appeared to be somewhere close to his early 20's.

“You get it now don't you? The question is not who I am. But When I am.”

Just then the PA system of the train. Which was made up off actual mouths attached to the ceiling.

“DING DONG. This is the Conductor speaking. Wagon 1103, also known as Winter Heart, has gone silent. Be aware. Bye”

[Feanor]

Stonegaard.

Mighty fortress of living stone, its walls and rooms were without a seam, smooth and strong as if the whole thing had been made on some mammoth potter’s wheel.
The outer walls were several yards thick and inspirations patrolled the top of the walls.
The fortress had three levels; the only entrance to the next level being on the opposite side of the entrance of the previous level. So any attacking force had to either breach the walls or fight their way to the opposite side of the fort to ascend to the next level. Along the granite walls watchtowers of opal rise, trebuchets mounted atop each.

In the center of the fort a giant crystalline spear of obsidian stands with veins of gold marbling its surface.
The Obsidian Keep. Stronghold of Stone-Made-Soft.
The interior of the keep is a labyrinth of rooms surrounding the giant throne room. The throne rooms vaulted heights are completely shrouded in shadow outside the glow of the braziers and lamps.

The throne room was shaped like a cut diamond with the point being a sliver of open sky. The back wall was completely open save a fine net to catch birds and keep them from entering.
The effect of it being that any supplicant could only see the silhouette of the giant hunched there against the bright sky. The effect was even more unsettling when there was a thunderstorm.

At the center of the room was a pile of treasures, heaped around the stone chair upon a dais of malachite that was the Granite Throne. Stone-Made-Soft sat in a bored pose, his fingers absently tracing the patterns on the hilt of his sword which leaned as always on the arm on the throne.
The dais itself was just out of the glow of the lamps, so one could see the feet of the Lord who sat there and the faint glow of his sapphire eyes.
Next to the Granite Throne, at the foot of the dais and still within the glow of the lamps is another chair, this is the seat of Stone-Made –Soft’s most trusted lieutenant and slave to his will, Translocation-of-Self.
The fortress itself was situated upon a thin jut of stone that branched out and rose above the sole mountain upon the fields of translucent dreamgrass that stretched to the very tracks of the Nowhere Express and the pockets of settlement that dotted the course of the train.

The Watcher-on-the-Wall, a figment that Stone-Made-Soft had encased in stone up to its multieyed head, renamed, and mounted above the inner gate of the third level sounded the approach of a raiding party that had been sent out a few days past.
The Obdurate Gate of the keep swung open and a single inspiration stumbled in. The aptly named Doghead.

Stone-Made-Soft stood warily.

When he spoke it was with a clear resounding voice, one that spoke with cunning and the underlying power to bend mountains to its will but not as menacing or gravelly as one would expect, it was a voice that you wanted to trust. The voice of a friend.
“Tell me dear Doghead, where does the remainder of my company lie?”
The inspiration fell to its knees panting.
“Lord, we were set upon by-b-b-by…a Jack. It to-ook our wagon and all t-the loot.” Doghead barked. “Killed, kill-killed ‘em all.”
Whatever passed for blood in the body of Stone-Made-Soft’s body drained from his face.
He grabbed his sword and stepped from the gloom of the dais into the glow of the lamps, quartz and other crystalline minerals glittering set in his skin.
He crouched and locked Dogface’s droopy brown eyes with his piercing crystal gaze.
“Which,” He cleared his throat as Dogface whined “Which, Jack?”

“Hijack.”

Stone-Made-Soft hissed and backpedaled away from the doomed inspiration.
A disembodied chuckle rose seeming for every corner of the room and yet from inside his head as he drew the stone sword.
How could they have not seen it before?
Because it didn’t want to be seen.
That is how.
Upon the back of Doghead was an emaciated greyskinned thing. It’s hips merged into the small of Doghead’s back, it sat erect while the inspiration slumped to the ground. One set of sinewy arms hooked under the armpits of the inspiration, absurdly long fingers drooping down and merging into the muscles of Doghead’s legs. The second set of spidery arms raised high above his head in the pose of a puppeteer but instead of strings the fingers of one hand lead down and merged into the back of his skull and several vertebrae, the other hands fingers merging into the muscles of Dogheads arms.
Above the sunken chest of the dread puppeteer mouthless head supported by a long and oddly jointed neck.
The head bore a crown of three sharp horns and four glass smooth eyes black as the depths of the Ebb Maw.

Hijack. The Dread Puppeteer. The Taker.

The Taker had come to the Keep of the Bandit King. Just walked right in.

“Do not use your gift. He will take it and we will die.” Stone-Made-Soft growled at his second in command. “We have to leave now.” He slowly circled towards the door keeping the glass sharp edge between him, Translocation-of-Self, who moved with his master, and the Jack.

-Leaving ssso ssssoon? Bandit Kking?-The voice came from within his head and Doghead’s mouth aped the words soundlessly. The black eyes tracked his every move.
“Bandit I may be but no fool am I.”
A gleeful laugh of pure malice.
-Yesss, you havvve been at MY game for ssa-ho long, bandit king. Now I tttake that which you tttake. *I* am the Taker of Takers, the Thief in in the Night.-

The spindly hands twitched and Doghead pulled a steampistol and fired in one smooth motion.
The shot grazed the ribs on the right side of Stone-Made-Soft as he and Translocation-of-Self dashed through the door as soon as they broke line of sight with the Jack Translocation-of-Self teleported them outside the walls.

They ran for the Nowhere Express, Stone-Made-Soft holding his side, through the dreamgrass which shimmered and changed colors at their touch.

“We will return.” Stone-Made-Soft vowed.
Once we learn how one kills a Jack.

--------------

The multilimbed horror that was Hijack left the body of Doghead on the floor and ascended the throne and cackled.

[InkedWolf]

A mousey girl sat alone in one of the massive train cars. She seemed to be absorbed in her own thoughts, many fantastic and wondrous creatures were on this train. Yet, she was so...boring. She nervously hugged her bag of art supplies as what looked like a walking marionette puppet walked past her.

Suddenly, the creature stopped. It opened it's rusted maw, a rusted voice leaked out, "Lost?" Ink didn't respond, the marionette laughed as it reached a spindly hand out towards her bag.

"Leave that alone!" She muttered as she grasped the bag tightly. This seemed to interest the Marionette more as it drew a knife with it's free hand.

"Give to me little girl, or I'll take something far more pretty then that..." She shook her head, and began nervously scratching her arms. Ink began to flow from her fingers, the scratches, everything. The thick black ink began to pool about the seat, then the floor.

"No, no, she's awake now...I don't want to..." The marionette cackled as he lunged towards the girl's throat, knife in hand. Suddently, a skeletal arm shot from the ink, it grasped the marionette's wrist. It looked surprised as the rest of the skeletal man emerged from the ink. The marionette tried to pull itself away, realizing the man had an iron grip on his arm.

The mousey girl was gone, now sat a beautiful woman, "That was stupid, you upset her. Now I'm here..." She grinned as the skeletal man broke the marionette's wrist. It began to pull away from the woman, who now stood up. "You should be more careful picking on little grls," The marionette realized that the thick black ink now barred his escape. The skeletal man reached into the pool of ink, drawing out a massive sickle.

The marionette began to beg, "spare me? I didn't know," The reaper said nothing further as he sliced the marionette's head clean off. He looked quite happy with himself as the woman watched the scene from her seat. "Beautiful, perfect technique! Now be a good boy and keep the other me safe." Her body began to melt off the girl, much like the same black ink that adorned the floor.

The mousey girl looked at the Reaper, along with the dead marionette. She sighed, the reaper seemed to dry out, his body turning into black ash before crumbling to the floor.

The mousey girl was alone again...as before.

[Aegis1650]

Growth lazily strode through the interior of the car he was in, soft moss on the floor padded his steps, and thick strong vines grew on the walls. Entangled in the vines on one wall was a strange mechanical man. His body was rusting, the air in the car was foggy and hot, like a jungle. As Growth approached it, he spoke, "Now explain to me, why is it that you wish to destroy what I have created here, surely you can reason, is in not better to create than destroy?" he said is a creaking voice.

The clockwork man uttered a shrill cry, no meaning behind it. He sighed, "I guess not having an Identity or sanity has robbed you of your reason, fine then, I will destroy you as you set out to destroy what I have created, and put you out of your misery." With that final word the vines constricting him tightened, to the point of bending his body and contorting it, the thing gave off another shrill cry, this one seemed to have a meaning behind it, pain. He grimaced a little, suffering was not the intended purpose, he misjudged the things strength, and it was now suffering for that mistake. He quickly produced a seed in his hand, then smashed it into the things face, with a quick gesture, it exploded into a think tangle of vines like the ones covering the walls and demolished the things head instantly.

"I apologize for the suffering I have caused you, not that you would understand why it happened or even that I'm sorry," he said to it's remains. He turned his back to it and strode away back to one of the seats of the car and plopped down in it, a thick cloud of spores shot up into the air as he did, this seemed to neither bother or startle him, as it settled, it began to grow rapidly into varying mushrooms and fungal patches. As he curiously watched them grow and how they formed he pondered the mechanical thing. Why was it so destructive, why would you want to destroy anything, the only reason he did was to stop it, to protect what he had created, surly a worthy cause.

It mattered not now, it was destroyed and his creations were safe, that was all that mattered. so he sighed, his breath smelling like freshly sawed pine. As he continued to watch his creations grow and thrive on their own, much like a parent would watch their children.

[Noel]

Down the isle of one of the more ordinary train cars of the Nowhere Express stepped an almost sickly thin girl draped in white, her skin, hair, clothing and the bandages she wore of such a similar shade they were almost indistinguishable from one another at a glance, causing the yellow of her eye and tarnished brown of her hands to stand out starkly. On either side of the isle seats were filled with all manor of strange beings, a man with his torso only connecting to a floating orb, a purple colored scaly amphibian like creature which sat with legs crossed giving it an almost dignified look, a contraption of strange metals which walked on all fours and housed a variety of smaller beings within its back. Each of them were absorbed in making their own unique kind of racket giving the train car a lively and noisy atmosphere.

The inspiration Rust casually made her way to the end of the car without sparing a second glance at the passengers behind. The door at the end was sturdy and composed of aging bones with only a small gap near the middle to serve as a window. Cautiously Rust leaned in to take a peek through the slot. The light on the other side was far dimmer and a faint mist seemed to waft around. She stared for a long while, earning a few glances from other near by riders which did not linger long. Someone peering intently through a door was a little odd, but as things went it was certainly less odd then half the activities the rest of the passengers engaged in. Slowly and quietly she pushed the door open a bit, the bony barrier cracking slightly at her touch. and slipped into the next wagon.

Before her was now a slew of cages formed of bone and resembling bird cages of varying sizes, each with some sort of figment or inspiration trapped within. Rust looked around a moment before bringing her gaze upward to see another inspiration hanging from the ceiling, suspended by a length of muscle and flesh. He was quite literally flesh and bone, resembling a human skeleton with only flesh drooping over the bones, but most strange was his rip cage which extended down into literal cage, this one being the only one within the room left empty. The exasperation was known as BoneRot, and it was quite obviously one which enjoyed locking up anything living it could get its grimy little hands on. Fortunately for her, it was hanging up there sound asleep.

A wryly grin played across Rust's lips, a single short sentence following. “Found you.” She said in a dryly, almost mockingly melodic tone. With that she began to move through the room, stopping at each bone cage and gripping one of the 'bars' tightly. Like the door before they began to crack and brown, parts flaking away as the rust overtook bone making it brittle and easy to break. One by one she released the captives, some of which were simply wild or frantic fleeing immediately, others stopping to give quick thanks before exiting the train cart. When each was released Rust looked back up to the peacefully slumbering BoneRot who was oblivious to each of his prizes being released. She looked around the room for anyway to get high enough to get a good grip on his neck, with him sound asleep it was a perfect opportunity to do away with the wretched fiend. Unfortunately, there was no such prop around to allow it. With a final reluctant glance Rust exited the car from where she came.

A few minuets later BoneRot would awaken, followed quickly by an shrill enraged scream at the sight of each bone cage thoroughly ruined, and the room empty of his captives. Rust simply grinned and laughed lightly while casually taking a seat a few cars away.

[kingdomkeylight]

The soothing sound of a electrical current, thats what people of the current modern car on the snaked train were listening to, as well as watching. Near the end of this victorian styled car was a gothic dressed man wearing a smaller version of a top hat. HIs appearance screamed the idea of what a gothic music conductor would look like. Yet the music his hands directed was nothing, but soft and mellow the sound of a piano as were the circles of electricty being displayed in front of him following every command his hands gave. When his hands rised so did they, when they lowered they followed in suit when his hands closed the circles got smaller as did they get bigger when he opened them. The small notes that came from the numerous electrical circles grew softer with each passing moment as he seemed to try and tune them to what he wanted to hear.

Then a noise came from the side as many passengers seemed to run pass him, as he barely pulled away the electrical circles that made his piano he watched in surprise as they ran out of the car. When the random chaos was over the other passengers in the car watched as he tried to reset the electrical circles were they were. He then noticed someone new walking calmly toward the end sitting a few seat away from him. It was a girl.... possible looks alone said nothing these days. She wore white clothes that reminded him of someone you would see in a not so happy place, though her facial expression seemed to turn happy as a sudden scream could be heard. Sighing a bit he waved his right hand in a traingle etch causing the circles to fuse together to form said shape. Yep Energy Conductor had somewhat lost his originally tuning... oh well. He started to tap the the triangle in front of him that released smaller notes of a more happy go nature. He looked over to the girl waving at her with his free hand as the other continued the song.

He sort of wondered whether the girl in question had possible caused the scream from a few moments ago, but its not like he could ask... okay he could, but using his energy to shape words was silly to him, and somewhat childish. And just because he came off as friendly didn't mean the girl would respond.

[Nekomancer]

A short, strikingly normal being puttered about one of the vast train's cars. The interior of the car was similarly fairly normal. Normal-ish. At least when compared to the most bizarre realms that could be found within the locomotive, it was all relative. A long, broad aisle down the center of the car, flanked on either side by wide bench-like seats; the whole thing seemed musty, made up of tarnished brass or fraying red carpet. All in all, it still seemed like a train car, even if it had been stretched widthwise a bit too much so that it had become a large square. It was only sparsely occupied, an odd denizen sitting here and there. Odd as in not common, as in not a lot of them; not odd as in peculiar. They were peculiar, mind. Their sparseness left many of the benches empty, though. Only one of the rows of seats held more than a single occupant, and that pair seemed very well acquainted. So much so that they were joined at the hip. It was a car that was for the most part full of strangers, all keeping to themselves. Except for the one that kept changing shapes, he didn't seem at like he could keep his self for long.

Down that center aisle the diminutive, suit-wearing person skated about as if on an ice rink with their hands clasped at the small of their back; the friction between the bottoms of their shoes and the floor conspicuously absent. Upon arriving at each row that housed a passenger, the gliding motion between the shoes and the floor suddenly cut out, causing the skater to tip forwards and have to reach out to steady themselves.

"Tickets? Have you had your tickets punched?"

Almost universally they were met with confused or unfriendly replies, with only a handful of passengers presenting any sort of ticket stub. Among those, not a one was anything like the others. One was the stub from a movie theater, one was a used airline ticket; there was a gum wrapper, and a business card with a number of holes already punched in it from taking the train a few times. On the plus side, they did get to punch a few tickets, which was a bit rare and always a treat. Most of the time people just plain didn't care about it enough to bother even making pretend with them, so finding people that let them do their 'job' was nice.

At any rate, that car was done and all of the passengers had their tickets punched now. Well no, that's not true, the ones without tickets weren't punched. The nonexistent tickets, not the passengers without them. Weren't punched, that is. Anyways, the passengers with tickets (the real passengers) had gotten their tickets punched, which meant that it was time for Zero to move on to the next car. Pushing open the door, it smelt of mold and sawdust. They thought it might be one of the gnarly abandoned warehouse cars, but were surprised to find that it was overabundant with greenery and fungal growth. Unsure of how much was passenger and how much was car, they voiced the obvious question to no one in particular.

"Got your ticket ready?"

[NoTime4Lube]

Throughout the course of Stone-Made-Soft and Translocation-of-Self's journey across the Dream grass that surrounded the keep at Stonegaard, Translocation-of-Self would teleport them occasionally, making the ten mile long foot journey just a mere two. Teleportation could be quite tiring for Translocation-of-Self and he wanted to save his energy. He decided to walk the rest of the way to the tracks.

"Well that was rather a nice surprise..." Translocation-of-Self muttered to his commander, his "Friend".....his slaver...

The two kept walking on through the last mile of Dream grass, Translocation-of-Self running his mind at a mile a minute, trying to figure out just how they had been kicked out of the heavily guarded fortress so easily...and why would a Jack want all the material wealth of Stone-Made-Soft anyways? The thought of it rattled his mind, not to mention stunned him...he had worked very hard to attain most that wealth for Stone-Made-Soft so the idea of it didn't sit too well in his stomach. When they finally reached the edge of the tracks he kneeled down on the ground and put his ear to it. He heard a soft, light and albeit far but ever moving closer rumble of a train on tracks.

"We have about half an hour before the train is close by. Just let me know which cart you want to be teleported to my Lord. For now I'll go ahead and take a look at your wound." he said, removing Stone-Made-Soft's hand from his side. It wasn't bad at all, by far not the worst wound he had ever seen Stone-Made-Soft take, and back during their spree when they first became friends they both had taken their fair share. "You'll be fine." he said without uttering another word, still pondering on what had just happened. Where would they go? What would they do? How does one kill a Jack? Translocation-of-Self stood up from his kneeled position and brushed the dust off his crisp Grey suit. He liked that suit and would hate to have to get a new one, killing the last wearer was hard enough...

[Noxious]

The little girl, from her framing and on, had always had such a fragile façade wrapped about her. Her cheeks, still plump with the fat of youth, always seemed a little bit flushed and were outlined by mirrored curly chunked pigtails. Both were currently being fussed over by some entity that had stumbled into their car. It had been a long while -or a short while- since the tiny girl had known Nurturer, since someone had taken the time to pull out the knots developing in those bouncy curls or bath the pinkish cheeks that, while looking well fed, spoke of a Peterpan scenario that made her appear quite abandoned. All of these things simply added to the small child’s outward beacon that screamed alone and scared into the used and unused wombs of women who had lost their identity, lost their sanity, but could still cling to the motherly instinct that was inlaid into each of them like a bristling current they dared not turn their back upon. This entity, this “woman”, that stood before Dymphna was one such victim person of interest for the collective occupants, one that couldn’t help but kneel down towards the child instead of tower above her. And the “woman” seemed concerned, and while Dymphna was enjoying the attention, it truly was difficult for her mind to wander to far from the chain link that kept her grounded. The wandering was for the free, for the lonely, for the unknown and for the lost. She was none of those, even if she would, on occasion, momentarily try to convince herself that she was.

Dymphna knew, even now, that this "woman" was a goner. There was absolutely no evidence of this in the large hazel tinted saucers; no, those were filled with a different kind of emotion, an anxious fluttering that twitched about the recesses of light. It wasn't sad for the girl. Even in the child mind she had pieced together enough peace to know they were all goners. They were all in line for an inevitable extinction. And if you wanted to be chipper about it -which she wasn’t in the mood for today, any day, had she ever been chipper?- our death would lead to some re-placement on some other plane. She tried to focus on the re-placement ideal as the “woman” offered the girl a smile. It was meant to bring comfort. Dymphna thought she remembered the gesture and in her mind she reached out to it, attempted to cling to it, grasping like so many ideas out there to form and substance…

The train car that they were currently standing in appeared to be something of a childhood playroom turned nuclear testing zone. A quick glance afforded you little of the intricate details into the depths of the abused and the abusers, but created an awkward knot in lost sensibilities. A small giggle –to say giggle it should not be interpreted to be feminine or sweet, it was a hollow sort of noise, one that tickled across your bare neck and bristled each hair, a scratching sort of whistle that she imagined is what Lucifer sounded like at his crowning. Sick. Delighted.- leaked out from a shadowed corner, one in which the darkness and light seemed to flicker and fade in an unnatural tease at visibility. Dymphna and the "woman" both swung their heads in the direction of the noise.

The "woman" rose to her feet as the child was already backing up, one mary jane covered foot, and then the next, and even as her back pressed against the train car wall she continued to press her little heels back, there was no distance far enough.

She would never be free from this. Her eyes, wide after the first quickly thrown glance now shut tightly about themselves until her youthful skin crinkled with effort. The "woman" didn’t seem to know this trick, most adults skimmed over the basic survival skills much to the little girl’s surprise. She could hear the "woman" take a few steps towards the corner, across warped and curled wood planks, a slow speculative sort of walk that showed an attempt at confident progression. The little girl raised her tiny fingers to claw about her ears, shoving the palms as close to her eardrums as she could. Her miniature inner world faded to black so that she seemed alone, pacing inside of herself with worry and anxiety until 2 breaths had passed and she dared to venture opening her right eye just a hair.

The "woman" was looking back at her from the corner of the room. She could make out the crystal white of her eyes and teeth as she, now more sure of herself, smiled back at the child triumphantly. Dymphna gradually began to raise her fingers from her ears, slowly allowed her eyes to begin to open as the woman’s voice, almost sing song spoke “See? Nothing to be…” The surge around the woman was creeping at first, fingers of blackness crawling about at her feet where she didn’t notice, but the child took notice. She knew the tricks the darkness would play with your mind. Dymphna quickly tightened her eyes and attempted to shove those palms back towards her eardrums, but it was already too late. The pressure she was applying to her ears did little but muffle the blood curdling screams that rang out like a madman’s choir, the sickening crunch of bones adding the percussion. The woman was screaming something fierce, then she heard the tell tale thump of dead weight hitting the rotted boards but the screaming didn’t cease. She realized she’d been screaming too.

Heavy breaths caught in the child’s throat as her own shrill screaming subsided, gasps, and then everything was still. The calm after the storm they would say, but who ever knew if the storm was over? Wasn’t the eye of the storm supposed to have the same lulling calmness? She stood there against that wall for what could have been a minute, could have been weeks, it had been so long since time had time had made any sense, or had time never made sense? Over the course a pseudo relaxation had allowed the girl to lower her hands back to her sides where they twisted at the fabric of her dress. Her eyes, now open, stared cautiously at the barely twitching foot of the dead woman. She stayed like this for another debatable time period, suspended as she waited for something to happen or tried to decide what she should do.

The body lurched backwards as if being hauled off into the nothing, back towards the shadows and out of her vision. This seemed to be a sign as good as any. The small girl ran towards the corner and grabbed at the tattered little bear and then ran into the door, pulling, shaking at the handle while a little fist pounded on the lock. The door finally jarred open and the little girl slipped through the thinnest of cracks before slamming the door with as much pent up aggression someone of her size could muster. Then she swiveled on her heel, back against the door and looked out of those eyes, panicked huge orbs that plucked at the heart strings of those who had them, staring at “When” as her lip began to quiver. She hugged tightly at Boo, breathing in what little comfort she could from the strangely smelling thing.

[Noel]

A ruckus could be heard from a few carts back, like something banging against the walls in a rage. Rust had exert a considerable amount of effort to keep from busting out laughing. No doubt it was Bonerot throwing a fit. She was almost glad she wasn’t able to snap his neck, the tantrum the vile thing was having now may have just been a worse punishment then death. The frail looking girl leaned back into her chair with a satisfied grin, looking around at the odd conglomeration of existences that had gathered on the train. It was then she noticed someone waving in her direction. A man who was playing some up beat music, or at least what looked like a man, one never really knew here, for all they did know it could have no gender at all. Well, gender was unimportant anyway, she thought. The music in contrast to the ruckus in the back cart almost made her laugh again and she had to cover her mouth to stifle it back. The skin around her fingers began to brown a bit before she pulled her hands away and it returned to normal. Rust took a breath to bring herself back from the almost painful urge to laugh before standing up.

With nothing better to do she stepped over to the man a few seats away from her, giving a casual, though slightly listless wave. “You were waving, did you need something?” She asked quizzically, tilting her head lightly. While she waited for the answer she began to look around the train car absently. The various existences were always interesting to watch. However her attention waned from them after a bit anyway, they were interesting but she saw interesting stuff every day. When she did so her gaze turned to watch the equally strange scenery passing by out the window.

“Wonder where I should get off.” She muttered lightly to herself. Where she got off would probably be entirely random anyway, so it was nothing more then an idle thought to pass the time. The train probaly didn't even have a set track anyway