voidtreckerexpress | A New Platform [Intro Post February]

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A New Platform [Intro Post February]

On the Train

Three days after the Voidtreckers return to the void after their adventures on the biosphere world, they are awoken by a familiar announcement.

"Good morning passengers, it is day Sixteen of the month of Jelly. Points have been updated on the system."

They have indeed, and everyone can spend the morning shopping. Those who have been on the train for a while will also be expecting the second announcement that comes a few hours later.

"Shortly arriving into a designated void platform. Exit from void in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one." A lurch and a jolt and the windows fill with the fog that means they are at a platform. The fog seems thicker than usual and as they step out onto the platform they will find it is cold, very cold. Icy fog sticks to their clothing, makes it hard to see very far; the atmosphere is dark and gloomy.

As usual the first to leave the train notice nothing as they walk silently, rucksacks on their backs, towards the barriers: Alexis Rhodes, Elfnein, Itsuki Myoudouin, Ken Ichijouji, MT, Neku Sakuraba, Nike Lemercier, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Rainbow Dash, Rei Saotome, Taichi Yagami, Tsubomi Hanasaki, Yuri Tsukikage and Zechs Merquise all pass through the platform, not looking back before they disappear through the barriers and into the fog beyond.

But on the platform itself there are new faces. Wearing hoodies in all four colours, in various states of confusion.

For New Passengers

At first all they can see is steam, billowing around them as they come to their senses. As their eyes adjust, they will see they are on a platform, glass and dark stone rising in sturdy arches around them. Behind them is a set of barriers, and in front of them is a single track extending both ways into thick fog.

They are standing, in clothes that are not their own and a style they might not even recognise. They are carrying a rucksack on their back. For a moment it seems to just be them, alone in the white haze; then the steam begins to fade and they realise they aren’t alone.

The platform is not large with sixteen figures scattered around, all facing the tracks, all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies. To both the left and right, tracks disappear into the mist. Then there is a roaring sound and out of the fog arrives a train. Jet black with gold writing on the side. The Voidtrecker Express. There is a hiss as the doors slide open and out step a strange assortment of people. Some are human, some are less so. Most are wearing the same hoodie in one of the four colours, red, orange, blue and purple, though some are sporting different clothes in a variety of styles.

The Train

After a short time, the doors hiss open again. Those from the train may encourage those on the platform to board. It’s not like there's anywhere else to go and even if there was, you feel a pull. A need to board, a feeling that staying on the platform would lead to something terrible. If that is not enough, there are plenty of people on the platform now, to encourage them onto the train.

Each ICP shows the same message and next to the screens there are stacks of leaflets written by those on the train, with further information (see
'Publications'). The store rooms have been restocked with fresh ingredients, including several crates of avocados, the ingredient of the month of Jelly, as well as all sundries.

For passengers that have bought items, these are also scattered around the luggage carriage in various suitcases and bags.

New passengers will find their ticket allows them into their cabins. They may need to negotiate for beds, especially if they want a top bunk!

Room is tight but there are storage cubbies at the head of each bed, beds fold up and the bottom bunks double as benches for the small table. There is storage under those benches full of spare blankets and pillows.

Departure

A second horn sounds to encourage any stragglers braving the freezing fog, and the doors slide shut. Veteran passengers know what will happen next, but they may wish to brief their new companions.

The train sets off, the fog obscuring the view again as it picks up speed.

"Welcome aboard, passengers of the Voidtrecker Express." A female-coded artificial sounding voice echoes throughout the train. "Please take the time to read the passenger information displayed on the Information and Communication points and familiarise yourself with the layout and emergency exits."

The train begins to tilt, leaving the ground and rising up into the fog-filled sky.

"Entrance into Voidspace imminent. New passengers are advised to remain seated. Entry into Voidspace in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one."

A shudder, a jolt, a lurch to the left. A flash of light, colourful and blinding. As quick as it happens it is done. The train seems to steady itself. The fog from the windows is gone now, replaced with a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours.

Welcome to the Void!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's only met a handful of nigh on immortals in his life, most of 'em had delusions of universal domination. His experience pool isn't the best.

After trying to find the right concoction of sweet and creamy so the bitter bites taken out of it, he tries it again. He guesses that he does get to have higher standards than usual.

"Well, I guess that's for them to deal with when someone gets pissed off. How long you been around? This operation seems to look new. All Terran styled."

Time is hard for Crowley to judge in a place like this, he's sort of stopped counting.

"Ahhhh, months, I'd guess." he answers, setting his coffee down, "It's probably been about a year since I woke up in a world I didn't recognize. Spent a half that time stranded there before the train pulled me out, though."

Crowley tilts his head toward Yondu, "What about you? First stop?"

"Not my first time bein' press-ganged but the first time I got press-ganged to somewhere where they got cream an' sugar at the ready."

He pulls a face that's a sort of disgruntled kind of bewildered. Not much of this is making sense. Pretty high captivity standards.

"Guess I figured I should ask how long's this been goin' to see how stable it is." He's paranoid. He doesn't know how bad things can go wrong if the wrong people try to bust this thing up. And he's been the wrong people before.

If it made much sense, Crowley would argue that none of them would still be there. Still, this sort of reaction isn't abnormal, it's just not the demon's first rodeo.

"Mn. Longer than I've been here, to my understanding." he offers, if that's any sort of measure of stability, he doesn't know. Paranoia he gets, he's been paranoid for nearly the whole of his existence, at least as long as he's been a demon.

"Every time we think we get answers it just seems to give us more questions."

"Well that's probably just life anyway." Because he's not actually expecting to get answers, real answers.

But if this has just bein goin' for a few months, who knows what's to expect. It'd be nice to be prepared but the little bit in the brochure he muscled through wasn't telling where it needed to be.

"So what's your story, slim? Since you're used to this in a differ'nt way than I am. Figure you had to come from somewhere before all that."

Crowley nods in a way that acknowledges the truth in that statement. It's not wrong. Crowley’s entire existence has been asking questions, why should that stop now?

"My story?" he huffs, "Mn. Before coming-to on that platform, you mean? Some months before, I'd found myself similarly confused on a vacant beach. Spent a good amount of time roughing it and trying to stay alive, then poof-- I'm boarding a train."

He shrugs, takes another sip of his coffee, sucking it through his teeth as he contemplates sharing more. "Before that, life was pretty mundane." is what he settles for. Perhaps mundane is the wrong word, but it wasn't outside of the norm for him.

"Alright, we talkin' 'paperwork' mundane or are we talkin' one of your coworkers shot 'imself in the foot during his sleep mundane? Because even among the space-farin' and grounded community I find that there is a similar scale of common."

He makes a so-so gesture with his hand. Bureaucrat boring or rogue boring are two different types of humdrum.

Crowley's lips purse slightly, head tilting to the side with a groan, "Mnnn, is there a third option for 'I melted my coworker with a bucket of holy water'? Because if so, that kind."

Crowley might look somewhere between bureaucrat and rogue, but the supernatural aspect of him far outweighs the rest.

"Did they dick you over or were they just stupid?"

Considering what he'll do to crew that fucks him over? He doesn't blame him at all. But if they're just an idiot that seems like a waste of resources.

Oh, wait.

"What's Holy Water again?"

Centauri has the concept of hell and angels and demons and a god, if a god by a different name. Even having left as a kid he'd get that. They just don't have a savior or anything of the fashion.

Technically Crowley was the one to dick hell over on their plans, Armageddon and the destruction of Earth and humanity, a great war between Heaven and Hell... they thought it was all in the books, except they left the delivery of the Anti-Christ to a demon who really wasn't feeling it.

Crowley's head bobs side-to-side, and then he settles on "Aahhh... self-defense."

Right, the holy water thing. "It's blessed. You know... smites evil, that sort of thing."

"I ain't a guy to judge evil. I always figure sometimes people make fucked up decisions."

He doesn't get it, but he'll take it that these guys are weak to whatever this holy water is. That's all the context he needs.

"I feel ya, though. I just had the longest goddamn day of my life. My crew mutinied an' went and killed half my other crew, kicked me around, then I had to clean out what was left of the traitors. Then I had to go fight a planet." He's not even joking. He looks tired saying it. "Few other bad things happenin' an' now I'm on a Terran styled interdimensional labor train."

He makes a face and gestures at the air. This is the first time he's said it out loud and who knows, maybe this guy gets how shit a long day can be if he's off melting people in self-defense.

"People are people." he repeats, sated enough in the sentiment. He sips at his coffee a bit more while listening intently to the man's tale, which is just as grandiose as everyone else's aboard... likely the reason they're all there.

"If it helps, nothing is forcing us to do the labor. I won't even wear the uniform." he replies, gesturing to himself. He's dressed in all black, more stylish than the weird silicon-valley polo tees he'd been assigned.

Crowley not only doesn't wear the uniform, but he doesn't do the chores, acknowledge his 'team' at all, or participate in any world-saving missions. A veritable barnicle on this train, nothing more than wasted space.

Hey, sometimes it wasn't all that grandiose. Sometimes it was just going to a space tavern. In fact, that's how the whole mess started and if he knew it was going to go this way, he'd have paid for another two hours with that hooker.

"I gotta pay to get my old clothes back, though, right?" He's still in the hoodie over the failure of a polo shirt. He will absolutely pay to have his old gear back.

"I don't know. I've never tried. The spider will trade clothing for snacks, though." he shrugs, his own clothing he miracled into existence, so that really didn’t help.

This guy did seem to be having a rotten time, though. Crowley looked side to side to make sure no one was listening im before he spoke, voice lowered. "If you can tell me exactly what you want, I may be able to get it for you... Assuming you can keep quiet about it. I don't need the entire train thinking I'm here to help."

Oh, oh hey this guy might be able to do something about it? Best news he's gotten all day. It gets a smile out of Yondu, and considering that Crowley's a demon that might not be as bad for him as it is for most people.

"Yeah, I could tell ya. Not that I have much to offer in pay but I could do somethin' for ya later."

"It was a leather uniform. Long coat, waistcoat, pants, boots, silk button-up shirt with a silk scarf." He motions around his throat, more like it was a cravat. "I had a holster for my arrow."

He reaches under the table and then settles the arrow on it where Crowley can see. He's still had the thing awkwardly jammed into a large pocket. "Right now I feel like I'm walkin' around in pajamas. At least they didn't take that away."

"I'm feeling generous at the moment." he shrugs, "Call me a bleeding heart."

Crowley tries to imagine the outfit in his head, but it's definitely a bit skewed from whatever Yondu is describing. Thankfully, Crowley is well-versed in fashion.

"Let's start with the jacket." he muses, "What color was the leather? And how long, knee-length? Longer?" He motions to his own jacket, it's just a blazer, but has a fairly exaggerated collar, a bit edgy but still a standard shape. "Lapels like this?"

"Collar kinda like this-" he motions about the shape it was. "No lapels. Come down to just below my calves." He does his best to describe it. "It was this reddish-brown color. Had some stitchin' along the arms." Again, more motions. He'd been thinking of ordering one in blue just to avoid confusion but if he could have something even close to his original, it'd be a relief on his mind.

And hell, looks like Crowley's were pretty damn good quality.

Crowley scrunched his face trying to imagine it just right. He had a pretty clear picture in his mind, but who knows of it was close enough to the original. If anything, maybe nicer quality. His arm reaches forward after setting his coffee down, and he snapa his fingers right in front of Yondu's face. There's a jacket instantly on the man's body matching the description given. It happens so quickly that anyone looking on could probably be fooled into thinking it was there the whole time.

"Well?"

Yondu catches sight of his changed sleeves and stands straight up, surprised as hell. But he breaks into another grin at that.

See, Ego could pull some stuff off, but he'd rather have this guy teaching his boy. At least he's upfront. Yondu laughs with about as much delight as a mean old pirate can laugh in. This has been a terrible godawful day but Crowley has proven himself the best damn part.

"Hell yeah you did a good job! This ain't gonna turn to dust on me out of nowhere? It's real, right? Permanent real?" He smooths out the front of it.

Here's Crowley trying to act real casual about it while this smurf is making a whole scene. He clears his throat, tapping on the table. "Relax, yeah?" he mutters, then finishes his coffee, fingers snapping again to send the cup back where he'd found it, miraculously clean. Crowley may not do his chores, but he doesn't leave a mess.

"Real as anything else on this train." he finally answers, stretching slightly in his seat with a series of soft groans. "What's next, some sort of quiver?" he gestures to the arrow that had ended up on the table.

"Yeah, right," He sits down again, having recovered from nearly jumped out of his skin.

(It was a good surprise, but still a surprise.)

"Yeah, I had a sorta holster for it. I really only use the one arrow. It don't break easy, I don't need a bow, and I can get it back." He's been keeping his own info to himself since he got here. But if Crowley cooked him up a coat, he can share his info just in case the man should need some help.

He resituates himself in the chair, brow furrowing up. "That planet I mentioned? He had a man-shaped form, had powers a lot like this, except he was slower about it. I like knowin' he weren't as special as he thought he was."

"There's always something more powerful." he huffs, "There's certainly plenty more powerful than me."

Crowley doesn't have trouble admitting that. He has a pretty glaring weakness too, if the holy water story was any indication. The irony of Crowley having all of this power was that he really only used it for conveniences, at least not since he helped make planets.

"This holster, where did you wear it?" Crowley asks, tilting his head. He's seen his share back during times when they were much more commonly worn, but there are so many types it really depends on what Yondu wants.

"Yeah, but I'm still gonna enjoy the fact that someone could show 'im up."

He considers it. "It was a drop leg holster, right-handed." Even if it wasn't hand-related, when he used a gun too he's a righty.

"Fair enough," he smiles. "Keep that to yourself, though. I like it better when people underestimate me. It makes it more fun when I banish them to the luggage car."

He's only done this once, some hotshot that thought he was running the place that was getting on his nerves. Crowley smiles in fond reminiscence, then refocuses on Yondu . "Anyway, where was I..."

Another snap, another item appears instantly. Easy peasy.

"I'll keep it to myself." And he will. "And I hope you tell me next time you do somethin' like it."

He's surprised, but hell! The holster's perfect. This time he takes the arrow and puts it away, and it feels much better to be able to cover it with his coat than just have it hanging out of a cargo pants pocket for everyone in creation to see.

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