A New Platform [Intro Post December]

[voidtreckermods]

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!

Comments

minor injury warning

[its_dad_sanzo]

"I..."

Only one hand had done the squeezing, and it had still been squeezing for an instant after the cup had shattered. There are nicks and cuts, and a shard of ceramic has been stabbed into the meaty base of Koumyou's thumb. The remnants of his tea is starting to mix with red as the cuts and stab start to well with blood, the latter around the piece of mug still in him.

And the priest just... stares at it.

"...I squeezed too hard, it happens."

He's a lot stronger than he looks.

cw blood

[subcircuits]

Devero takes the injured hand into both of his own, hissing between his teeth as he sees the damage. Thank goodness for long arms; he reaches down the table and grabs a napkin out of a stack waiting to be used and immediately starts dabbing it at the blood.

He glances up at Koumyou as he does. "Not for no reason, it doesn't," he protests softly, before he asks again, "so what happened?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

"We've all got land-mines in our minds, don't we?" Koumyou asks, watching him fuss over his hand. He helpfully reaches with his other to pluck the shard of sharp ceramic from his skin. The blood wells up a lot faster, after.

"I just touched one of mine, that's all."

[subcircuits]

Devero folds the napkin over a couple of times and places the pad against the upwelling blood at the base of his thumb. He sandwiches Koumyou's hand between his own and applies a firm pressure.

He doesn't look up at the other man, but he does ask diffidently, "Would it help you to talk about it?" Because he certainly understands what it's like to have mental land-mines-- a few of his own had already been triggered just earlier today, hadn't they? He doesn't want to pry into something raw.

But he does want Koumyou to know that he doesn't have to bleed alone among the shrapnel.

[its_dad_sanzo]

"I don't know. I've never..."

Talked about it. Old or new mines.

And some of it's so new, or so newly-noticed, why would he have? And he's touched on some of it, on muichimotsu, once so far with someone else. He had managed to keep his composure, but otherwise... never there, either.

His mind is a swirling, chaotic storm.

"I usually just pretend they're not there. The mines. And just kind of... dance around their locations."

Avoidance, it's great, right? Except if he stumbles.

[subcircuits]

Very softly, Devero huffs. Now he does look up at Koumyou, if through the curtain of his fringe, fallen over his eyes. "Take it from me," he says with an almost absurd graveness, "that's not going to work forever."

[its_dad_sanzo]

Koumyou reaches up with his free hand to brush Devero's hair out of his eyes, fingertips skimming against his forehead.

"I wouldn't even know where to start," Koumyou says with a quiet little laugh. "Honestly."

[subcircuits]

Oh, it's tempting to lean into that stroke like a hound into an affectionate pat. Devero resists that urge, but his eyes do close briefly in appreciation.

He opens them up again soon enough, though. "You could tell me what you were thinking about, when that happened," he suggests.

[its_dad_sanzo]

The problem with Koumyou's problems is that they're so deep-seated, so context-heavy, that... can he really just drop any of them out into the open like that? Without it being a whole process?

Koumyou is deeply uncertain, and it's right there on his face.

And he hasn't said anything out loud, he realizes belatedly. It's been a few moments.

"...I was thinking, I hope Kouryuu finds a better teacher. Now that I'm gone."

Gone, you know, on the train. Obviously. Here and not there.

Definitely not gone in a spray of blood and severed limbs to fall at his son's feet.

[subcircuits]

Perhaps it's been a few moments, but Devero's been waiting patiently the whole time. He sees the expression on Koumyou's face, and he's intuitive enough to realize that the priest has been carrying more burdens than just the number of deaths he'd been witness to.

He'd meant it, when he offered to share that weight. And he'd meant it when he said he wouldn't run.

"Did you think you were... failing him?" he asks slowly. "I can tell how dearly you loved him; how could you have been a bad teacher for him?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

"How could I not?" Koumyou asks softly, knowing it gives Devero next to no context to work with, but...?

He's at such a loss.

[subcircuits]

Devero can tell. He can't help but feel a little adrift right now. After all, he's no counselor or therapist, no doctor. He knows how to offer front-line support for someone in the middle of a panic attack, but this? Drawing this deep current of pain up and out of Koumyou? That's something else entirely.

Still, gamely, he tries. He squeezes Koumyou's hand between his palms gently. "Tell me why," he urges. "Please. I want to understand." Perhaps earnestness can make up for what he lacks in training.

[its_dad_sanzo]

Koumyou looks down at their hands, and then glances around them at the dining car. This is too exposed, too open, too bright, too likely to be overheard, even huddled over his wounded hand as they are.

His pain isn't some dark, important secret. But it's personal.

"Not here," he says finally, and reaches with his free hand to scoop up the sutra and his comb from the table. Koumyou doesn't try to reclaim his hand at all, he just moves to get up, jamming the sutra and comb into a back pocket of his jeans.

[subcircuits]

Devero nods, and gets to his feet with Koumyou. He takes a moment to peel back the makeshift pad of bandage and peek at the wound-- still bleeding sluggishly. Hrm.

"Wherever you want to go, can we stop by medical so I can dress this for you?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

It's starting to hurt in pulses, too, each sharper than the last. But Koumyou is as stoic about pain as ever, even when an area full of so many nerve endings has been punctured. The only sign that it's hurting is how his fingers twitch at each pulse of pain.

"I suppose."

So, off to medical they go.

[subcircuits]

Those twitching fingers have Devero just a little bit concerned. Given how extensive his Implants are, he knows just enough about the way a body is put together to be worried about an injury to a tendon or ligament. (And little enough actual anatomy to be sure if that's actually something to worry about in the specific location where the ceramic sliced into Koumyou's flesh.)

Off to medical they go, as fast as Devero can chivvy Koumyou along. His worry has made him officious by the time they actually arrive. He shoulders his way into the first examination room-- glad to see it empty-- and makes Koumyou sit.

"How's that feeling? Can you still move your thumb?"

[its_dad_sanzo]

And Koumyou sits, no argument there.

"Yes, everything can still move," though even Koumyou can't help but suck in a sharp, sharp breath when he rotates his own thumb in demonstration. "Haaaa... there are... there are a lot of nerve endings in there, you know?"

The twitching, of course, only gets more pronounced after he just pissed the wound off all over again. Tiny muscle spasms in his fingers and palm. It's only through force of will that he hasn't clutched at his hand the way instinct says he should, as if that would actually help any more than the pressure Dev's been applying in his stead.

Which he will definitely take over on applying, if the other man needs to step away at all. Just because he's stoic about the pain doesn't mean it's fun!

[subcircuits]

Devero's hands close about Koumyou's again for just a moment. Applying pressure, yes, keeping him from moving his thumb further, yes, but also just to offer a moment of commiseration. "I know," he says quietly. "Hang in there, let's see what I can find for you."

He does have to leave him then, so he can ransack his way through the supplies in the cupboards. He's obviously looking for something (or somethings) specific, because after a few minutes he slams his hands down on the counter beneath the cupboards. "Where the hell is the r-jelly? Where's the synthskin?!"

[its_dad_sanzo]

And Koumyou indulges instinct for the moment, not only putting pressure on his hand, but curling it in close to his chest, too. Like that'll help, somehow.

"I've never heard of either of those things," the priest offers, "that might be a little too advanced."

[subcircuits]

Devero freezes with his hands splayed on the counter, staring into the back of one of the cabinets like it hadn't even occurred to him that the medical conveniences he took for granted wouldn't be present. But they wouldn't, would they? If this virus-riddled excuse for a transport didn't even have a proper net, why would it bother with civilized medicine?

His fingers dig against the countertop as he struggles to wrest down the surge of anxiety and straight fear that inspires in him. Now is not the time, not with Koumyou needing his head clear so he can render first aid.

"Fine," he says-- through gritted teeth, but he says it. "That's fine. We'll make do." And he starts to go through the cabinets again this time, actually looking at what's there instead of what he wants to be there.

[its_dad_sanzo]

Koumyou, meanwhile, works on getting his arm-warmer off while not letting go of his own hand for more than a second at a time. He'd rather have any bandaging under the hand part, instead of over it.

The priest peeks under the napkin to gauge if it's still bleeding. It is, but not much.

"What is r-jelly?" Synthskin seems pretty self-explanatory, probably some kind of super high tech bandage.

[subcircuits]

Supplies assembled on the counter, Devero returns to Koumyou's side. He helps him get the arm-warmer the rest of the way off, if he needs it, and then brings him over to the sink to wash away the blood.

"It stands for regenerative gel," he explains as he does so. "It's made specifically for shit like this-- it disinfects the wound, numbs the pain, and stimulates the cells on either side to heal it up quick. I wouldn't need all of this shit--" He waves a hand angrily over the bandages and supplies on the counter. "--if we had some fucking r-jelly here!"

[its_dad_sanzo]

Koumyou continues to be an easy patient, at least, moving where he's directed without fuss.

"This isn't exactly a dire wound, you know," Koumyou has to point out, "you've seen what I look like."

He's had much, much, much worse.

Everywhere.

[subcircuits]

Devero gives him a look. "Does that mean I shouldn't care that you're hurt now, just because you've had worse in the past?"

He doesn't wait for an answer on that, focusing on the work as he pats Koumyou's hand dry and starts to tend it with the supplies he's found. For all the sharp anger in his voice, his hands are gentle-- if a little clumsy as he tries to put what he knows theoretically into use practically.

It's as he's winding a bandage around the priest's hand to hold the dressing in place that he speaks again. "You wouldn't have scars like that where I come from. No one does, no matter how badly they've been injured."

[its_dad_sanzo]

The priest takes that reproach with a soft laugh, and no further argument. He wiggles his fingers as the bandage goes on, partially to test his range of motion and partially just to be silly.

"My scars don't bother me," Koumyou responds that last bit, "they're just proof that I've lived."

They seem to bother Devero, but otherwise they wouldn't be of note at all to Koumyou.