voidtreckerexpress | Event: Brace the Storm

Event: Brace the Storm

"Attention Voidtreckers. Brace yourselves for a voidstorm. Remember to stay strong and stick together. The Voidtrecker Express apologises for any distress this might cause."

It's not all that much of a warning, but it definitely explains the bouts of turbulence. The colours of the void outside the windows whirl and deepen, the train rocking unsteadily. A song usually confined in the spaces between carriages wails within their walls. Emergency lights switch on as the main sets flicker, and anything that could be a danger is shut down, locking the lab and armoury and limiting access to the medical bays to those who truly need to be there.

This may be for the best, as when the voidtreckers move through the train, they will find things to be... peculiar. The stream of choral singing has stuck around, bringing about a general feeling of unease in passengers. Stranger than this is when they move between carriages, and don't always find themselves where they were expecting. They know that the quiet coach should lead to standard, but instead, they end up in the music car, or library.

And within the carriages themselves, all is not as it seems...

The storm rages for three days, colours lashing at the windows, a ghostly song wailing through the walls. The train itself is able to steady after an hour or two, even if the bizarre effects throughout the carriages continue.

Be it as small as colour changing in the music room, emotions getting high over a board game, or even their minds being swept away into stories of other worlds, it will be all the passengers can do to follow the scant wisdom of the train. Stay strong. Stick together.

All storms eventually pass.

BRACE THE STORM

OOC NOTES. Remember that the event takes place during Orchestra 7-9 (13-18 November). The ooc information for this event is here. Have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He wishes the train would stop messing with him. The gardens are the hardest; a face he'd been so desperate to see, staring in twisted agony- the first time, he'd almost punched the carriage glass until it cracked. Only for her lips to shift, her eyes to take a cruel, mocking edge, mocking him for failing to reach her. She'd never been cruel for a day in her life, and though the knife twisted between his ribs, he... he couldn't think her here anymore.

A fleeting dream. A haunting nightmare.

'Dians, he'd thought he'd been getting better.

The train is taunting him, he thinks, rattled again. Every time he tries to reach the sports gym, he gets shuffled back here, either garden carriages just as dreadful as the other. Faces in the glass that he can't afford to look at.

Ghosts of people he loves and has loved.

It's hard to see another just as stuck as he is in this haze, and their sword sweeps sharply across thin air, blade sharp. He does not want to be caught up in it's next swing, so he calls, loudly to cover up the faint scratching of almost-there whispers; the shifting tension that something is trying to speak to him.

"Hey there!" He's trying to be bright, but it's a bit harder for him to be under the situation. "Maybe stickin' 'round isn't the best idea? Wanna come with me?" he offers, though he doesn't approach because that might get painful real fast.

Which, of course, she can't hear - she sees her sister in the shadows again, and sheathes her sword long enough to sign at the shadows, frantically.

What do you want?! Are you real?!

In her world, this is entirely possible. And very distressing.

Sarai, if you're in there, please, tell me if I can help you!

He wonders briefly if the ghost might have a different hold onto people than they do on him. It makes some vague sort of sense; his father did say he might have some resistance to forms of magic? But he's not sure. Still, he's not about to leave not when he can read such tension in her shoulders.

He's actually surprised when the sword gets sheathed. There's movement, her hands whipping through the space in front of her-- right handed. She's right handed. Okay. Okay, okay. He calls, one more time, briefly wondering if it's a matter of train shenanigans, like the quiet carriage, but he can hear his own voice, so he's not actually sure.

"Hey! Um, lady?" She's right handed. And she has a sword-- a sword she very much knows how to use. She's going to be quick, and probably lethal. Esteban can only brace himself for the fastest dodge he can-- or likely to get a new set of bruise. Just when the one from his arrival was finally fading.

He reaches to tap her left shoulder, hoping to the Guardian Spirits he has just enough reflexes to duck.

Edited 2021-11-14 15:44 (UTC)

It is, 100%, the wrong move to make. Working into her eyeline would have been much more effective - this just sets off all the instincts in her as she's been waiting for something like that contact - that whatever is behind the spectres would make an appearance.

So without hesitation, when she feels something on her shoulder, she wheels with a punch.

Usually, she knows when someone's behind her. But the spectres ensured that didn't happen - so instinct unfortunately takes over.

Fuck, she's fast!

He doesn't have the time to think-- he doesn't get the time to dodge entirely. Breath sheathed, limbs shift. Go with the flow.

The punch burns, even as a glancing blow. His head snaps with the movement. He tries his best to absorb it, to minimize damage, but Fuck!

He's backtracking blindly, feet shifting quickly, so that his center of balance remains low. There's training in his footwork, but his eyes are closed and he curved inwards to protect his face, where she's hit him. His cheek and eye are already red, but he blinks rapidly, and there doesn't seem to be any damage to his eye per say. Still, that fucking hurts!

"It's okay!" He's shouting, both hands held in front of him even as he hisses and quickly reaches to block the wound from view again. The pressure helps numb it down a bit, but not by much at all, and Esteban's hands are shaking a bit as he swallows breath after breath down. He hopes as all hells that this is just going to be a single attack-- if she's still lost to the ghost--

If she is, he's seriously fucked.

Her hands go to her face, shocked and upset. It's more than enough to snap her out of things - she'd been expecting an attack, and he clearly wasn't Viren or...anyone she needed to worry about really.

And it's not like her at all to make mistakes like that - the expression on her face relays her feelings on that, backed up by her hands starting to move, signing rapidly, her SCA racing to keep up.

I'm so sorry - I was expecting an attack from the ghosts or...or whatever they are. Here, let me take a look at it - we'll get you some ice to put on it.

It helps, in moments like these, that she can't hear the spectres around her, trying to pull her back in.

[ooc: Oh, I didn't know the SCA translated her sign language! In retrospect I should have thought about it, but it adds to the credibility, tbh]

Her hands are slashing through the air again, blinding fast, and Esteban can't help but flinch a bit, but again comes a mechanical voice that fills the gaps and-- oh! Oh!

It takes him a second to understand, to catch on, slow as he is, but he straightens up from his crouch carefully, and lowers his hand to allow for her inspection. It still burns, pulsing with his heartbeat, and the area is red-- it'll definitely get swollen later on. His eye seems fine at least; a little bit unfocused for now, and there's a few veins that burst, giving him an odd pink colour, but it moves with the direction of his gaze and he can focus it through the pain if he tries.

"All good!" He tries to reassure, a quick uplift to his lips broken by a hiss again. He has to cover it up all too soon, and then feels dumb for speaking aloud when he's just caught on that she hadn't heard him. 'Dians, no wonder she'd swung out. The gardens were spooky enough to begin with-- and she hadn't heard him call out. He must have added to the delusions that plagued these walls.

They had to get out.

"We should--" he starts again, before pausing as he realizes that he's doing it again. Oh, 'Dians, how is he--? No, he has to try.

He waves his pointer finger between the two of them quickly, trying his best, before pointing at the door and tilting his head. There's a furrow of concentration between his brows, but it loosens and his one visible eyebrow rises in an unspoken worry. He hopes he's clear enough and not... messing up again.

He's not, but he's laboring without full information, which of course he can't be blamed for. She points from his lips to her eyes, then vice versa before signing again.

I can read lips, I can understand you. Let's get you out of here.

The wording is pure Amaya. Now it's all about him. For now, get him to safety - the guilt. Guilt definitely second.

There's something eerie about the voice in its mechanized tone, filling a carriage that is otherwise silent, but where the whispers scratch at the stone. A shudder runs through Esteban's spine, but he's still thankful that the woman can understand him-- he tries to grin, but it comes lopsided when the pain flares again at his cheek.

He does go first through the stones-- keeping in her line of sight is definitely a must, now that he knows-- but he breaks his stride at the door, glancing back to make sure she's following. He's a little weary that the door might just shift again when he passes, but if they're quick about it, it should be good. He gives her a nod, hoping this dice roll won't flip on him again and bring him to the wrong carriage-- and the doors part under his hand.

He does not linger between carriages. There's too many voices that scream, too many voices that whisper already, too many voices that want to be heard. Best move along quickly.

Games carriage. Okay, yes! Games carriage! There's a soft sigh of relief as Esteban glances at the plaque, making sure that they are if a step closer to... well, he'll take a step further away from there as a win either way. Here, he allows himself to pause, turning to his companion with a smile again.

"Made it!" He sure as hell hopes they both did; but he's ready to run through all of the train if it dared hiccup right behind him, storm be damned.

She follows after him closely, keeping her eyes focused. If she can't see it, it can't distract her, right?

The second they're through to the games carriage the closes the door behind them, leaning against it and exhales deeply.

"You okay?" His words are casual, but he genuinely does stop, watching his companion closely, and there is the furrow between his eyebrows again. He tries to speak a few times but... words are difficult to come, regarding the ghosts of someone's past. He can't question or soften their blow after all, and it might be better if he doesn't try.

He knows he would not appreciate it.

So he goes for something completely different, completely out of the blue. A grin breaks the worry away, and Esteban drops his hand to allow the tender cheek to be revealed, pointing at it and then at hers before speaking.

"We match! Does it look cool on me at least?" he asks, even though he really should be tracking down some ice to put on it at the minimum. It still feels as though his left eye is burning, and he doesn't quite dare to open it, but the worst of the bruise seems to be on his cheekbone, luckily. He'd done his best to minimize the damage, even with as short a time of reaction as he had.

Edited (accidental repetitions) 2021-11-17 03:34 (UTC)

I'll get there, she signed, with a deep breath. It's just...never seen anything like THAT before.

But then at his latter statement she frowns, looking around.

Seeing the hurt I inflicted on someone, even accidentally, is never cool. We need to find something cool to put on that.

Oh, he didn't-- he just wanted to...

The half-elf deflates a bit, but his grin doesn't leave his face, though his hand comes up to cover the wounded eye again. The pressure really does wonders, at least for now, but the warmth also makes it itch a lot, and he briefly wishes his hands could get cool once in a while. He definitely does need ice.

"Well, there's always a risk with adventure? But I betcha you've seen some pretty cool stuff too!" He cheers, walking backwards so that she can still see him while they're conversing. She definitely doesn't seem shiny-bright to the train as he is sure he is projecting right about now.

He's pretty sure the ice is going to be in the kitchen? That's... five? carriages away?

"Oh! Am I talkin' too fast?" He suddenly realizes, pausing in his path as he is more concerned about the question at hand. His one opened eye does seem to follow her hands more carefully now, right side most especially.

She gestures at the scar on her face and nods in agreement to the risk part, then shakes her head in the negative, signing again.

No, I'm used to this. So where is the ice?

"I was gonna bet on the kitchen," the half-elf mentioned, glancing behind himself before he started walking backwards again. It's a wonder he hasn't tripped up onto someone else yet, but he's pretty determined, and the thin hallways of the train do at least ensure his trajectory isn't super complicated at least.

He briefly considers telling her she doesn't have to come with him, but he knows he'd never be able to leave someone hurt without fussing like a mother hen himself, so he's not going to try. So blabbering it is.

Wait-- did he introduce himself yet?

"I'm Esteban by the way!" He will not let their rather catastrophic first meeting remove any truth from his smile as he assures her "It's nice to meetcha!"

Amaya, she signs, before setting off in the direction of the kitchen, making sure to reach back for his forearm, to make sure he's there and the train weirdness does not separate them.

Oh! Oh that works! Bit silly, but Esteban hasn't thought about it on his own-- and though he tenses a bit when she reaches across between them, he doesn't mind it once he catches the intention behind it. It breaks their line of sight when they fall side by side like this, and after a moment, the hand covering the wound falls away.

He... hopes he hasn't upset her more. Seems like so far, the only thing he's managed to do is make things worse. But he'll try his best to help, even though he's not sure how he could make any of it better.

At the very least, their stride make the trek to the kitchens a pretty brisk walk now that he's not being an idiot and walking backwards.

He hadn't made things worse - her brain was, right now, entirely capable of doing that on its own, really. Violence against civilians, the undeserving? Right at the top of her list of 'not to dos', really - this was something that could weigh on her, and had to be redressed as quickly as possible.

Which did lead to her immediately working through the kitchens to get a bag of ice together - ignoring, for the moment, the small marvel of having ice that just...turns up, made by a machine.

Esteban stays back as she busies herself in the kitchen, covering the wound again. The pain doesn't flare as much anymore, thankfully, though it still itches and burns something fierce, and careful prodding reveal the bones at the corner of his eye are definitely tender. His eye had been weeping lightly from the pain, and the eyelid definitely prefers being closed, probably as a protection from more inflammation. He wipes the tears away gently before approaching her again.

He is far more obvious now that he knows, waving a hand far into her peripheral vision before stepping into her line of sight. He's grinning again, his eye covered, and tries to speak up-- blabbering lines of utter gibberish that have a happy, uplifting rise to his lips.

And not a single word of it makes any sense.

"I think ya missed anythin' major! Lucky~" He's trying to reassure her, really; downplay what has happened, because he really doesn't think she's taking this entire thing well. He's so aware that she didn't mean to do this, and it kinda makes him uneasy that guilt lingers like this. He's gotten hurt worse than this in bar fights.

It was an accident! She shouldn't be that upset! See? He's perfectly fine!

She can tell what he's doing, and the sudden lack of understanding the words - well, one more lovely little effect. But for the moment, she holds a finger up to her lips, before pressing the ice bag against his head gently.

He does flinch a bit to the cold, both relieved and startled by it, before leaning on more fully under the touch of ice. Both his eyes are closed, with his eyebrows pinched as he adapts to the change of temperature; taking deep breaths in and out in cycles. When he manages a bit better, his good eye opens again, and a little embarrassed, he reaches to hold the ice to his face himself.

"Thanks!" They linger for a bit in what Esteban considers a rather awkward silence, and he takes a breath to say something more, before he realizes that she had asked him to keep quiet. So he watches her instead, noting how straight her shoulders are when she stands, the way she carries herself.

But she communicates with her hands. There's something so strange and foreign about the concept-- something that Esteban struggles to grasp for a moment, but that is so incredibly intriguing. How does she do it? It leaves him staring at them, watching her movements without the weariness that had clung to him earlier.

She nods, keeping an eye on him for a long moment before finally checking her own knuckles. She doesn't want blood on them, and...that'd be a little bit extra guilt she doesn't need right now.

Finally, she just ends up watching him, too. Her look one of remorse.

It takes him a moment to notice her movement has stopped, and Esteban startles a bit, eyes rising back up to hers. Her previous request to remain quiet keeps for only a few more moments, but the half-elf has never been as comfortable with silence as most people seem to be, and he tries regardless, unaware that the words garble and trip over themselves when they cross his lips.

"You okay?" he manages at least, repeating his previous worry. If his words are not clear, his face at least is; eye round with curiosity, but his his head leaning lightly forwards in worry and the openness of someone listening intently. He brightens suddenly, trying again, this time to communicate using the same language as hers-- erroneous in his attempt, but at least trying.

"I'm okay!" he assures, pointing at himself, before rising his right hand in a thumbs up with a grin that tries to chase away any gloomy clouds.

The words aren't readable on his lips, but she can read the body language just fine. She just gives him a thumbs up, smiling a little bit, much as she doesn't terribly feel it.

He can tell there isn't much heart in her movement, and he wonders briefly why the translator-- or whatever it is that speaks for her when she signs-- didn't pick up on her movement, but figures it's simply because the gesture is pretty universal. Half a second more lingers between them as Esteban watches her, trying to see how he might help, but really, there's only one thing he's good at under these circumstances, and it's running his mouth.

Well, he hopes she won't mind.

He keeps his expressions bright and cheery, despite the ice pack still cradled at his eye, and there is a sort of clumsy attempt for him to move hands as if he could even try to begin to imitate her. Or maybe he's just being extremely mobile, as his gestures don't make that much sense. (Then again; he is one-handed right now).

"'Dians, you're really fast though!" he blabbers, leaning a bit forwards again, as if to express his admiration. "I kinda get in trouble sometimes, but never got to get this good; betcha you train lots!" Then again, a lot of people here seem to train... lots.

"It kinda makes me wonder, t' be honest, 'cause I don't know what to expect when we get out there, but I betcha you know yer way around. I've heard so many things 'but nothin' concrete an' I'm tryin' to track down some information, but at the same time, seems like everythin's different every single time, so it's kinda excitin'~ but also like, I don' wanna let anyone down." He really should consider training... more.

He'll take any opportunity that presents itself, he decides. Better than doing nothing-- and besides. He loves his spinning-- truly he does! But there's only so many times he can go through a dance before getting sick of the practice. Oh wait-- he's blabbering and not letting her in!

"Sorry-- here I go again~" He snickers at this, as a bit of an apology, before he nods at her again. "I noticed you got a sword!" Kind of hard not to, if he's to be honest. "Is that yer main weapon? D'you train in lots of different kinds or just the one?"

Briefly, he wonders if people tend to pick up weapons like he tends to pick up fire-spinning tools. First one, then another and a third. He misses his staff and rope-dart if he's to be honest.

Stone Garden

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Permission granted to hurt him, he's expecting it.

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Sorry for the swearing >__<

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