Mayt -- Middle of Nowhere
Foul Language WarningMayt grunted as he tried to pull the door to the front of the train open with his good arm, but it was stuck fast. After a few long moments of pulling on it mayt groaned and let go, stumbling back a few steps and gently pacing his hand over his right ribs. Damn that hurt.
"Need a little help getting that open?" The voice surprised Mayt so much that in his earnest to turn around and see who it was that had spoke he almost fell off the locomotive. It was a woman that seemed very familiar, though he couldn't quite place her, other than that she was one of the other survivors of the train.
"Yeah, would be appreciated. I figure they probably have a lacrima to tell the company they had a problem in there, hopefully it isn't broken like everything else that was on this train when it blew," Mayt replied, stepping to the edge and holding his hand down to help the woman up onto the side of the vehicle. She took it, though used it as little as possible to get up over the edge, knowing he was injured.
"I guess there may be a shred of decency in you," she would say as she approached the wedged door, looking down at it and trying to determine how they should get it open.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Mayt demanded, furrowing his brow slightly.
"Remember when you killed that guy four or five hours ago?" she mentioned, before kicking the door near the handle. It practically flew open, and Mayt couldn't help but blush at his mistake. It had a handle, so he had just assumed it opened outward. At least he remembered where he recognized her from now.
"Oh, right, you were the woman who came to my room to yell at me about how much of a bad boy I was," he said semi-sarcastically, shoving his arm in his pocket.
"Indeed," she would laugh before climbing down into the locomotive, having to fall a few feet to the far side of the vehicle before beginning to look around. Mayt followed her only to the edge of the door. He realized that if he went down it would be an ordeal getting back up and out of there with a broken arm and damaged ribs.
"By the way, I never caught your name," he called down after her, decided to just carry on the conversation as if they weren't worried about dehydration.
[color=lightlblue]"Just call me Sam, Mayt. Ah, here is the lacrima you were talking about,"[/color] she would yell back in response to him, before disappearing from the small window of sight Mayt had through to door to approach the lacrima. He sighed inwardly and sat down with his legs hanging into the cab of the engine while he halfheartedly listened to Sam explain to the person on the other end of the lacrima what exactly the trouble they were experiencing was. Apparently, they didn't have very many protocols about terrorist attacks on trains in the middle of nowhere.
After what felt like hours, Sam finally finished with the conversation and Mayt had almost dozed off lying back against the cold metal of the train. Getting hit by a fireball then blown up really wore a person out. Especially after all the adrenaline finally stopped circulating into every ounce of one's being. Sam climbed back out of the train and headed off after only a few more short words with Mayt, determining he had all but decided that he was going to sleep where he was for the night. His dreams that night were troubled, to say the least.