voidtreckerexpress | A New Platform [Intro Post December]

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A New Platform [Intro Post December]

On the Train

It's only been a couple of days since the Voidtrecker Express took to the void once more, and many of the passengers are still recovering and recuperating after a very hectic end to their latest mission. Nevertheless, they are awoken by a familiar message.

"Good morning passengers, it is day sixteen of the month of Imagination. 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 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. It is warm outside with a pleasant breeze that flows down the platform, rustling the light spread of leaves that litter the floor.

As usual the first to leave the train notice nothing, walking silently, rucksacks on their backs, towards the barriers. Akemi Homura, Alfred the Poisoner, Donatello Versus, Chie Satonaka, Joscelin Fitzthomas, Ronan Lynch, Rose Tyler, Tangle the Lemur, Trowa Barton, Wester Mazaki and Whisper the Wolf 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. The second thing they will notice is the swirling leaves at their feet, moving in flurries and rattling against each other softly. As their eyes adjust, they will see they are on a platform, cement and packed earth forming a very practical, plain-looking shelter. 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 but then the steam begins to fade and they realise they aren’t alone.

The platform is not large and it holds eight figures all facing the tracks, all dressed in cargo trousers and hoodies. Both left and right the 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 into the gloom step a selection 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

The doors hiss open. 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 more jars of honey, the ingredient of the month of Imagination, as well as sundries.

A new carriage has been added right next to the luggage carriage. It is a second medical carriage, or triage carriage. Downstairs is more open with beds and chairs, upstairs are two surgical bays for those that need immediate attention.

For those intrigued by the claim of a parcel for every passenger they will find several large boxes filled with small blue bags. Inside each bag is ten dark blue coins imprinted on each side with a silver snowflake. Each bag has a small label with a passengers name. On the other side of the label it reads: Keep these safe for now.

Of course for any passengers that have bought items, these are also scattered around the luggage carriage as well.

New passengers will find their tickets allow 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 and you will hopefully find a pillow for your bed if it has not been nabbed by a roommate, there are also spare blankets for if it gets cold.

Departure

A second horn sounds to encourage any stragglers taking advantage of the pleasant weather 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. 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

Koumyou turns his head to take a long drag from his cigarette, over the bigger man's hand. He holds his breath in for a moment, then exhales the smoke away from Devero's face, too.

And then the cigarette is being held out to the side again, and the priest is back to watching Devero steadily.

"I wonder..." he says, after some thought, "if you mean that enough to not run away, anymore."

From him?

From whatever this tension is, slowly building between them?

Devero breathes in deeply, ~~slightly regrets it because of the acridity of the smoke, despite Koumyou's efforts,~~ and considers his response. He doesn't want to answer too glibly; he too feels the tension between them, weightier and more significant now than his initial creche-kid crush.

"I try not to say things I don't mean," he says finally. "Being around you is electrifying. You make me feel better than I've felt in--" He pauses, and is the one to look away. "--in a long time."

But he looks back a moment later, recalling what Koumyou had said to him earlier, and tells him, "You make me feel seen."

He releases the other man then, and steps back to give them both a little space. "I think... I think I've been lying to myself about... a lot of things, lately. And I think that maybe around you, I don't have to keep doing that? If you'd even let me."

It's an overwhelming thought, and his voice wavers as he says it. He has been lying to himself, but all those lies were defensive walls in a fortress built to protect his heart. The wounded creature inside that fort is gibbering in fear to even put it into words, this barest acknowledgement that Valdana has treated him badly. He's been hiding in the dark, trying to survive her abuse-- and Koumyou's been a light, lancing and insistent, finding its way in.

"I don't-- w-want to run away from this anymore. And I definitely don't want to run away from you."

A pause, and then a rueful laugh. Once more, he looks away. "If you'll have me, anyway. I don't want to impose or presume."

Devero's got a way with words, an earnestness with them, that makes Koumyou pay attention. He holds very still through most of it, not necessarily even breathing.

That last bit, though, about imposing or presuming? Koumyou laughs lightly, and reaches out to give one of Dev's shoulders a playful poke with one finger.

"Don't overthink it," he suggests cheerfully, "I'm just glad you're not running."

Leave it to Koumyou to boil it all down to something so concise!

"But right now, I have to get dressed."

And just like that, Koumyou pierces through his self-counsciousness and punctures his uncertainty. Delighted, he laughs. "I'd better warn you now, I've been accused of being a chronic overthinker.

"R-right!" He's not as sheepishly flustered as he's been around Koumyou before, but he definitely had sort of tuned out the fact that the priest had conducted his entire side of all that in swim trunks. "I'll leave you to it-- oh!" He pulls the purple drawstring out of a pocket and holds it out. "Here, for your hair."

"Oh! That's very sweet of you," Koumyou accepts the cord, beaming. "It should only take me a few minutes to get ready to go get ice cream with you."

Because that's still the plan, right? Right. Ice cream is important, especially after spilling so many complicated and heavy feelings all over the place.

Koumyou wanders over toward the laundry bins, accordingly. He's still not the least shy about changing around someone else, thanks to his own background with shared baths. So, his swim trunks go into the laundry along with his discarded towel, the priest slipping back into his train-issued blue boxers.

A flash of light from his arms band vanishes his soggy sleeping robe from his hand, and produces his uniform, all wrapped up in a tight bundle.

The jeans go on relatively easily, at least. Koumyou pockets the cord Devero gave him and has to set his cigarette down somewhere to fight the form-fitting black top, and manages to get slightly stuck with it half on. All that damp hair--!

"--Ah."

Help.

Edited 2020-12-08 23:54 (UTC)

Devero's actually not terribly body-shy himself, not after his time in Guard, but he still turns away. For one thing, it's polite; for another, dat ass. The first blush of Devero's infatuated ardor has been undeniably cooled by all those feelings they spilled, but he still finds the sharp, spare lines of Sanzo's body alluring.

Only that little sound makes him peek over his shoulder-- and he bursts out laughing. Sorry, Koumyou.

"Are you stuck?"

"It's not funny!" Koumyou whines, from somewhere inside that shirt. "Help!"

It's super funny, and he knows it. There's definitely a laugh hiding somewhere in that pathetic tone of his.

But also, help!

Devero, very kindly, manages to stop laughing, but he definitely his to clamp his lips to keep it in as rejoins Koumyou. He examines him for a deliberately long moment, humming thoughtfully.

He steps up behind the Sanzo and grips the hem of his top. "Brace yourself," he murmurs in wicked warning--

Before he yanks, straight down, with his not-inconsiderable strength.

"Are you going to help?" Koumyou whines, as that long moment drags on, and then, "Brace myself against wha--!"

Down goes the shirt! Koumyou's arms and head all manage to come out the correct openings, though with the nature of all that loose, damp hair, the priest's head jerks back as far as it can go. That's so much pulling on his scalp!

His face is even flushed from all the struggle! Long bangs all mussed, too, from the shirt, half in his face. The priest looks like-- maybe--

"My hero," Koumyou says only, with a breathless little laugh, his bony hands immediately darting to the back of his neck to start pulling his hair up and out of the obscenely tight shirt by the handful.

Oh. Oh, isn't that a lovely sight, especially at so close a vantage? Devero can't help but pass a faint, reverent breath as his eyes roam the curve of Koumyou's jaw, trace the sweep of his neck, admire the fall of his hair across his face.

His arms are already halfway around the smaller man and oh, how easy it would be to wrap them the rest of the way. To be close, oh, to be close--

Steady, Devero. He steps back and jams his hands into his pockets, lest they betray him. Koumyou's comment makes him smile, and if it's crooked and a little wistful, well. There's myriad reasons why it could be, right?

"At your service," he says, sketching a sarcastic little bow. "Shall I help you with your hair next, good citizen?"

Koumyou tugs the rest of his hair out of the back of his shirt, and gives Devero a quizzical look as he reaches for his arm-warmers, next. "Do you want to? You've already helped me a lot with it..."

He wants to, but he knows that the reason he wants to is inappropriate. He may be attracted to Koumyou-- at the moment, incredibly attracted to Koumyou-- but he's not going to try to sidestep seeking the man's consent for physical intimacy by pretending he just wants to be innocently helpful.

"Your hair's lovely," he says, by way of indirect explanation for the offer, and then, "but I actually don't know how to braid, so I should probably let you take care of it. Maybe another time you can teach me."

He makes himself move a little further away, sitting on one of the poolside loungers, and takes his Interface out of his pocket. Opening it back up into its eye configuration, he fits it against his ear as a further distraction from how much he wants to bury his hands in that hair and taste that slender curve of neck.

"What? You don't know how to braid? But it's so simple!"

Sorry, Devero, Koumyou has no idea why you might hesitate to follow through on that offer. He follows the other man to the lounger, even as he's rolling -- yes, rolling -- the second arm-warmer up over his bicep.

"Here, I'll show you."

And now the priest drops down to sit seiza on the floor in front of him, pulling his hair forward over a shoulder. Lesson time!

"So first, you want three sections, right? As equal as you can make them. I should really comb it out before this part... makes it easier to divide, but, it's fine for a little demonstration, right?"

Oh no. Oh no. Devero did ask for this, he just hadn't expected to be taken up on it immediately. Maybe he should have known better.

But the thing about Devero is he meant it sincerely. He's always had a little bit of ah, ahem, fascination with hair, and the prospect of helping Koumyou with his is genuinely appealing. He's just. Going to need to not let the proximity get to him.

Right.

Concentrate, Dev. "Hold on just a second," he murmurs. He's got his eye back on, so he might as well take full advantage of the demo. His gaze goes distant for a moment as he looks through the screen and moves a finger through the air.

"Smile," he tells the priest with a quirk of his lips, "you're on camera. Go ahead."

Blink, blink. "...Oh! Right, you can do that video thing!" And Koumyou does indeed beam for the camera. Complete with a wave. "Hello, future Devero!"

It might be precious if there wasn't that underpinning problem of Devero's. And here's Koumyou on his knees on the floor, in the base layer of his uniform.

You know, as you do.

"Right, so, three parts...! Normally it'd be like, one on either side and one down the middle," Koumyou demonstrates as he talks, trying to peel his hair apart from itself. "But it's hard to get it started on yourself, you know? Even if you're really flexible."

Unspoken but perhaps understood; a martial artist of Koumyou's caliber was very flexible.

That is. so charming. Devero has to bite his lip to keep from doing more than smiling in return. He tries to keep his eyes on just Koumyou's hands, but the priest's hands are in his luscious hair, and his luscious hair is draped over his sculpted chest, and--

Fortitude, Devero! Virtues, not vices! Discipline!

He has to lick his suddenly-dry lips. "I-- I'm following you," he says, trying to sound normal. (Koumyou casually bringing up flexibility is not helping.)

And once again, the air is so humid, the material of that black top and arm-warmers has that extra... shimmer to it.

Koumyou glances up at him for a moment, and... okay, maybe on a later viewing, Devero might notice his eyes going right to the lip-licking. And a fraction of a second of interest in those pretty brown eyes of his.

But in real time, the priest is rather sneaky about it.

"Okay so, this is going to be harder to show because it's flipped around, but," Koumyou drops his attention to his own hands for a second, gathering up the three sections in his hooked fingers. "It's like this, right? And then you pass this section over to your other hand like... this. See how it went under? And then the part that hand already had goes like... this."

To his credit, Devero is able to force his attention to the actual task at hand, instead of just the hands alone. And the pattern is pretty simple, once he sees it repeated a few times.

"I think I've got it," he says shortly. He holds out his hands, palms up. (He also catches the corner of a lip between his teeth again, as if using the bright spot of pain to remind his libido to behave itself.) "May I?"

"Of course," Koumyou even lifts himself up on his knees properly, to put his braid in easier touching-range, and hands over the three sections one at a time. "See, the bottom part is trying to knot up, too, that's another thing that wouldn't be quite as bad if I'd combed it first."

Helpfully, he goes to untangle the bottom part once Devero's got ahold of the three sections. And then with a very slight wobble--

(Had that been a glance up? So quick, furtive--)

He catches himself with a soft laugh, putting both hands on Devero's knees for stability.

One of the things Madame made much of when it came to her boy was his willpower, his control. It's only by exercising that iron will that he comes so close to making it through this. So damn close.

But when Kouymou tips against his knees and glances up like that for just a second, it feels like Devero could shatter. He's-- he's projecting things now, and Koumyou's practically in his lap, and it's been so, so long since he's had his cock--

No. He won't do this, not to someone he owes so much to already. He's not going to-- going to prey on him, playacting that he's fine when he's longing for every touch. Bad enough if they were just two people, but Koumyou's a priest. Just because Devero doesn't understand such things doesn't mean he shouldn't try to respect their sanctity.

He drops the other man's hair and grabs his wrists instead, pinning them against his knees as if he's afraid they're about to strike. His eyes are huge and dark when he meets the Sanzo's, his expression almost hunted.

"I'm sorry," he manages, his voice hoarse with desire. He wets lips suddenly gone dry with a darting swipe of his tongue, and swallows. "Sanzo, I am very, very attracted to you right now and I think I'd better leave until I can-- can get my head on straight about you."

He releases his wrists and surges to his feet, putting several long strides between himself and the other man. "I'm sorry," he says again with hands pro-offered in plea, imploring the priest to understand.

Koumyou doesn't really react to having his wrists seized. If anything, he's surprised the grip isn't a whole hell of a lot tighter, like Ukoku does it when he's trying to make Koumyou react.

Not many others dare to grab Koumyou Sanzo, after all.

But the priest's focus is on those huge, dark eyes. That expression.

That voice. That's what nearly gets a reaction out of Koumyou, but he's glad it doesn't because then Devero's fleeing. Koumyou doesn't even get up, just twists in place to stare after him, one hand settling on the abandoned seat.

"I..." oh, well. Okay, then. "If you-- if you think that's for the best."

It's all so very confusing.

He's fleeing. Again. After just swearing to Koumyou that he wouldn't run anymore.

That's the only reason he doesn't turn tail right there. He stands frozen for a moment, his mind crowded with things he wants to say. Explanations, justifications, pleas: the words fill up his throat until he thinks he might choke. But this knot he finds he can't dislodge, because his blood is up and his heart is pounding and bad boys who talk too much get their mouths filled, don't they? Bad boys who think they know best, who dare to act up instead of waiting to be told what to do. Only a bad boy would want to bury his hands in that pale gold hair and claim those smiling lips and-- and--

The easiest thing would be to run until his head has cleared, and then to swallow every single thing churning inside of him until he can pretend they didn't exist. Keep his distance until he can act right--

He said he wouldn't run from his anymore.

There are two Deveros at war inside him: the wounded one pushing him to obey his Madame even in her absence, and the trapped, screaming one desperate to be heard. Caught between them, Devero closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. He still can't open his mouth, he daren't speak, he daren't presume...

But.

His hands start to move.

Koumyou just watches carefully, and levers himself up off the floor just enough to sit where Devero had been just one moment prior.

There's something... big, going on with the other man. The way he's frozen in place, the way Koumyou can actually see his pulse from here. It's pounding away in his throat like a trapped bird, as his blood pressure goes insane.

And his hands are moving. Mudras? No. Koumyou has seen sign language before, since not everyone who comes to live at a temple can hear, or speak out loud. But he's only ever learned a few key phrases, and none of them match what Devero's doing now.

But he doesn't look away, regardless. Maybe the pattern will make some kind of sense. Maybe not. Maybe Devero just needs something to be seen, if not heard. The silence hasn't gone unnoticed.

And it's fine, he's here.

>start new: text document
>activate function: gsl-to-text transcription
>begin transcription

I don't think you understand how badly I want to

>select text
>delete

I'm terrified that I'm going to

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>delete

I know you're a priest and I know priests take vows but could we maybe

>select text
>delete

I'm not running. I told you I wouldn't run and I mean that, I swear I do. But right now I'm scared. I'm scared of how attractive I find you, and I'm scared that I'm going to act on it selfishly.
I'm scared of how important you've become to me in such a short period of time. I'm scared that I'm reading too much into how kind you've been to me, and how patient you've been with my outbursts. I'm scared that you see me as just another soul to shepherd, or do whatever it is priests do for souls. I'm scared that it would be inappropriate or insulting to ask you if you'd be interested in having sex with me, or that you won't want me to be around you when you learn how badly I want to take you into my arms and kiss you.
I'm scared, because I know that when Madame finds out about this, she'll take my unfaithfulness out of my hide.
If I were a coward, I wouldn't say anything, because the thought of my interest disgusting you or ending whatever it is that we have together right now is terrifying. You're the best thing about this train and I don't want to lose that.
But I wouldn't be able to stand myself if I kept my mouth shut and hung around you on the pretext of purely platonic interst and then slunk off to fantasize in private. I respect you far too much to lie to you and use you like that.
So even though I'm scared shitless right now, I need you to know this: I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. I want to play with your hair and map your scars and have all kinds of sex with you. I want to have fun with you. I want to make you feel as joyous and light as you have me in just this last week. I want to see you, all of you, and I want to let you see all of me.
I know this is intense. I know this is sudden. I don't even know if Sanzo priests are allowed to have sexual relationships, or if men who love men are accepted where you come from.
If, after learning all of this, you don't want anything to do with me, please know that I'll respect that. And I'll always respect you, even if you think I'm a disgusting pervert

>select text
>delete

And I'll always respect you, no matter what your response is to this utter garbage spewing out of my impertinent mouth

>select text
>delete

And I'll always respect you, even if your answer to the question I haven't actually asked you is 'no'.
Thank you for being you. I think you're wonderful. I'm sorry about this.

>end function: gsl-to-text transcription
>save file; destination: local storage

Devero is shaking visibly by the time he finishes his missive, his gestures by the end having become jerky and almost unintelligibly uncoordinated. He takes his Interface off and converts it to handheld mode, with the document open on the screen. Before his nerve can quit him, he closes the space between himself and Koumyou and thrusts his Interface into the priest's hands.

"Please," he says, voice strangled. His fingers tremble as he closes Kouymou's long ones around the little device. He's can't bear to meet Koumyou's eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't-- I know this isn't-- Just, please--

"Please understand."

He leaves the Sanzo there with his Interface and breaks for the far end of the carriage. He's not running, even if his steps are rapid, and he doesn't aim for the door. He just finds another chair on the other side of the pool and sits on it as heavy and boneless as a puppet with the strings cut. He puts his face into his hands, and unable to help himself, he starts to weep.

Koumyou isn't sure what he's expecting when Devero finishes signing, or when he closes the gap and pushes his device into the priest's thin hands. Not even meeting Koumyou's questioning gaze; back to the beaten hound.

"I'll try," he promises only, to that swiftly-retreating back. Only once Devero has collapsed onto his new seat, does Koumyou look down at the thing in his hands, starting to read to the muffled sounds of weeping.

He has to read it twice, and then a third time. It's a lot. Not so much the flattering bits -- though that's pretty new, too -- as what's in between. Taken in combination with his silence and now his weeping, across the room.

"Devero," Koumyou doesn't even mean to say it out loud, but there it is. His heart hurts for the other man, for the pain he's enduring.

He doesn't even know where to start, with all of this. Where the hell can he start with it? He can't brush this off with a joke, or by acting the fool. No spear-like single sentences of profound, blink-and-you-miss-it wisdom are going to encompass all of that.

"...I'm not going anywhere."

Maybe that's a good start.

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cw sexual content, abuse mention

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just assume the cw above is going to continue for a while

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