Play@YSDC

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.

Ilona wraps her arms around herself as she makes her way through the next car. "Mr Alden, does it bother you at all? All those peoples belongings but we haven't seen a soul besides that piano man. This train is as eerie as inside the station. I just... I just want to go home."

"Same here. I'm sick of this God-forsaken place. But we don't have much choice at the moment, do we? I'm just wondering what the others are doing, out here..."

"Yes, they sure are taking their time... That man did say the train won't leave without them, which is good I suppose."

There's a terrible sound of crashing weights and splintering wood outside. Perhaps they've found their own way out of the railway station? Perhaps.... They might be able to catch a glimpse of someone's flashlight if they go to the window and pull up the blind.

"What the...?", Jonathan screams, as he rushes towards the window, trying to look outside.

Ilona jumps at the sound and when Jonathan looks out the window asks "What happened? What's going on? Can you see?"

The fog is heavy, shrouding everything in darkness, and they are so far forward on the train that the platform likely doesn't sit beside their carriage. There are no signs of probing flashlights. No signs of.... WHAM!!! Something slams against the train further back.

"I... I can't see anything. We're too much ahead, I can't see the platform... or the station. There's something crashing on the train. God help us... something big".

"Some-something big? But I could have sworn I didn't see any machinery around the place! The car maybe? Oh no, how's a car going to get onto a platform to drive into a train? That can't possibly be it! Perhaps if we checked a car back, you might be able to see something..?"

"Yes... let's head back. There might be someone in need of help". Jonathan heads back to the Lounge Car.

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.

At least in the Smoking Car, Jonathan thinks, there should be a window that can be opened. He starts searching for it.

The windows open easily, revealing the whirling fog outside. He can barely see more than a few arm lengths in front of him.

Jonathan looks at the fog with a disgusted look on his face. No way they're going to hear me... but I've got to try and warn them, at least.

He screams: "ARTEMIS! CAN YOU HEAR ME? ANYONE?"

A moment passes, then some heavy weight slams up against the train. Long mottled hands reach for his face, tipped with sharp edges like shards of broken glance that swipe madly at him. He pulls his head back into the train by instinct and....

[dice]0[/dice]

...the hands miss him and retract too fast for him to see the thing clearly. He was too focused on the hands, he didn't quite make out the face but it didn't quite seem like human. Flesh like melted wax, mottled, a stench that flows off and around it of brine and rotting meat.

4 Stability Loss if this fails: [dice]0[/dice]

Jonathan screams as he falls to the floor, then dashes for the door to the lounge car, still screaming.

The hands withdraw, but he still crawls in a panic, screaming all the way, toward the door.

OOC: Wait for a response from the other car.

Jonathon reaches the door unaccosted, swings it open and then heads into the connection between compartments. He reaches the door to the lounge car and pulls it open without incident, only to find Charlie standing a mere few feet away from the door, as though he'd been on his way to help you but stopped for some reason. (Note: Post in the Lounge car).

Ilona cautiously and slowly makes her way through the car, staying as much as she can to the centre and trying not to look at much.
She can only imagine the horrors if she looked outside, or through the missing peoples belongings through the cart. Isn't that bad enough? What good would she do snooping? Mr Alden must have been snooping and *something* scared him out of his mind. It couldn't have been a person, nothing followed him back! Or maybe it was the monster outside? No, there can't be such a thing! Surely...
She doesn't realise she'd been holding her breath while trying to stay quiet and pauses to take a deep breath in before continuing.

The Smoking Car lies as dark and silent as a tomb. All of the belongings scattered here and about lie dejected as though long abandoned by their owners. It really does seem like the site of some dread disaster ... yet where is the blood? The gore? Why did all of the people here simply decide to get up and leave?

"So far, so good." Ilona whispers to herself, stopping as she reaches the end. She takes a moment to mentally brace herself before cautiously entering the next car.

Still quiet. So quiet...

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.

Charlie enters and remarks "Well, this place is creepy, betcha a quid those tables have weird symbols and some other language them."

Jonathan looks warily towards the window, then says: "Stay away from the window... I almost lost my head there", he shivers, then looks around the room with renewed interest. The writings on the tables capture his interest, and he picks up the candle to shed some light on them. As a writer, he's curious to know what people would write in that strange train, in that strange room.

The quid looks like the easiest money he's ever made as the lines aren't fancy symbols but some rather odd words: Back again here again always again got a light but the light draws them and makes them run but which ones? have to go out there again no I won't but they have tickets need their tickets each time the final car FINAL car thats so long how long do I need to wait for them to come again? The curving lines depict faces, but only ever half of the face, though not always the right half. The carvings are quite tight and small, requiring much squinting to read all of this, as the entire set of graffiti could be hidden beneath a single dinner plate.

"Creepy... this place never fails to impress me", Jonathan laughs, but it's clearly a nervous laugh. His hand moves to the pocket, where he holds the ticket he bought the previous day. He makes sure it's still there. The strange man was talking about the ticket earlier, and now these writings... better safe than sorry, as they say.

Charlie squints down at the writing. "Guess I'm not as good as I thought. Whoever wrote this was a different sort of loco than piano guy back there."

Jonathan places the candle back where it was, then heads for the next car: "Let's catch up with Miss Aston".

Go forward into the Dining Car.

Charlie quietly slips into the smoking car and presses his ear against the door to the dining car.

"Help!" shouts Artemis from the Dining Car.

Charlie clenches his fist as he considers his options, then rushes back towards the lounge car.

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.

Charlie strides through the car and slides the door open to see into the dining car.

No one and nothing prevents him from entering or seeing into the next car ... and there's no sign of the recent kerfuffle.

Is there blood anywhere? are there doors in either the dining or smoking car that lead onto the platform?

Kate enters from the Lounge Car and looks around.

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.

NOTE: Charlie Hagan is in the connecting bit of the train between this car and the dining car, peeking in through the door. Once you enter that part (which will still be done through this thread), you can speak to him.

Charlie Hagan,everything seems calm and orderly there. Nothing of concern whatsoever.

Artemis followed Ms. Kate into the Smoking Car and looked about. The room was disconcerting. As he walked down the aisle, he looked about and moved towards the ornate clock. He shivered as he moved towards the clock trying to figure out the period of its manufacture and its origins.

The clock is clearly very well-treated and dates from the late 1800s, likely the mid 1880s, and looks to have a resolutely British design. Perhaps it just needs to be wound again in order to get the seconds to click correctly but it's missing the key.

Kate advances through the car and opens the door to the connecting section. "Mr. Hagan!" she says with a smile. "It's Miss Lacey. Do you know where Miss Aston is?"

Charlie glances behind him quickly but loosens up when he recognises Kate. Sliding the door into the next car closed he gestured back towards the smoking car and says "We can talk in there."

Kate nods and leads Charlie back into the Smoking Car.

Artemis followed behind, a bit surprised to finally see someone that he actually recognized.

Once inside the smoking car Charlie quickly starts explaining without pause or preamble. "Okay first of all assume everyone on this train you haven't met yet is bonkers because they probably are, the guy you probably just met basically seems unable to care about all the fucked up stuff going on, I don't think he's dangerous but he's not helpful either and there is dried blood on his shirt so be wary." Growing faster and more panicky he continues to say "The conductor is some sort of serial killer who murders anyone on the train without a ticket so I'm just a teensy bit worried about heading into the next car because that's where he is but that's also where the others were but now they're not there but there's no blood or signs of a struggle so I hope they're alright and maybe that thing is still outside and we can pit it against the conductor and if it's not we can just leave this damn train and try and catch one that isn't all messed up." He finally stops, completely out of breath.

"Are you saying the conductor killed off our colleagues?" Artemis looked about with a bit of nervousness. "So, what does this conductor look like? And, I agree we don't want to proceed forward if getting off this train is a safer option."

"I refuse to believe they're dead," insists Kate. "I haven't seen their bodies. While there's life, there's hope. We have to save Miss Aston and whoever was with her, and there isn't a moment to lose!"

"He's dressed like a conductor, can't miss him."

"Well then, Miss Kate, do you have any plan on how we deal with this Conductor?" Artemis asked as he looked at Miss Kate and then Charlie.

"Not as such," says Kate, "but we haven't time! If he is some sort of Jack the Ripper, we have to hurry before it's too late! We'll just have to wing it. At least there are three of us and only one of him."

"Charlie,do you have any idea as to how we can subdue the man? Artemis asked as he looked at the next door up ahead. "I think we can overpower the man, if necessary. Alright, let's do this."

"I've got my first aid kit," says Kate. "I think there's a tranquilizer in there. Let's go."

OOC,The first aid kit is part of my equipment. If it wouldn't ordinarily have a sedative, I'm willing to spend Preparedness to have some, and I'll get it ready as we proceed to the next car.

"Yeah tranq should work, right? I mean sure he's crazy but he's just a man. Could always kick him in the whatsit." He laughs nervously as he slides the door. "Well, here we go." And Charlie leads the way into the dining car.

"That's my backup plan," says Kate. Once she has a syringe with a sedative prepared (if she has one), she follows Charlie into the next car.

Artemis followed along with the others. His walking stick taped out a constant tempo.

The room smells heavy with exotic cigars and foreign cigarettes. There are no lights in here bar a single candle stuck to the table top with melted wax and which casts everything in a desperate flickering gloom. On one side, a set of wicker chairs with leather backs and seats face off over a blue-covered table. Many pairings have sat in those chairs, their intimate discussions staining the wicker with words left unsaid and deeds left undid.

On the other side, similar chairs face couches over similar tables so that three might sit and converse. Luggage racks sit near the ceiling beside each table on gilded, handwrought brackets, so that passengers may place small items up there and out of reach. There are some items up there now, their silhouettes heavy in the flickering candle light. Someone has also carved shapes and lines into a few of the tables, always furthest away from the candle. The carpet is a pattern of depressing browns, whites and greys. There are no curtains here, only peach-coloured spring-loaded blinds.

A small shelf by one of the doors carries an ornate golden clock who's furtive ticking removes moments from lives, threatening revelations and too-soon destinations. The golden clock is ornate and expensive, and it seems to be slowly winding down as it ticks the seconds on a much reduced and slowed down scale.

This room disturbs the mind. It turns sounds back on themselves. It's also cold in a cloying, heat-sucking sort of way.

Go backward for the Lounge Car.
Go forward into the Dining Car.