Train Quest
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:28pm
Thread Topic: Train Quest
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A jolt runs through your system, spurring you forward and away from the blank darkness of sleep. Any dreams you might have had earlier quickly vanish into the air as you're pulled out of dreamland and forced back into the light. A rhythmic clicking greets your ears; like metal running over wood, and you open your eyes, rubbing them for good measure.
You've woken up in some strange places before, but this one might just take the cake. You're on a train. The tile floorboards are chipping, and the advertisements on the wall opposite you have been torn off. Through a small window, you can see...nothing really. Just an endless expense of black.
To your left is a sack of flesh; another sleeping person, and to your right is a small letter. Casually, so as to not disturb the other passengers, you pick it up.
Three bottles slid out, freed from the oppression of the paper. A red one that reminds you a lot of strawberries catches your eyes, and printed on the surface of the vial is the word 'love.' You place it down as you examine the others. A green bottle is next, like evergreens, and the word 'lust' is printed on the surface. A blue bottle is last, but no less important, and the word 'luck' shines proudly forth. There's nothing in the envelope besides the bottles, so you place all three on your lap.
Leaning back, you take in the situation. What should you do next?
>Drink one of the bottles. Clearly they were meant for you.
>Wake the person next to you. Maybe they know something about what the hell is going on.
>Examine the cab further. Maybe you're missing something important.
>Other (write in a suggestion.) -
I'm an impulsive person. Drink one of the bottles. If we can be specific, I say drink the luck one.
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I say drink the luck bottle as well.
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>Drink the luck vial.
A quiet 'pop' echoed through the cab as you flicked the lid off the blue vial. Of the three choices, luck seemed like the most timid. Love wasn't a concern for you at the moment, and lust was just screaming for trouble to come out and stab you in the face. Besides, no progress was ever made by those too cowardly to take risks.
Holding the bottle at your lips, you pause for a moment, before throwing your head back and drinking the liquid quickly. It's empty before you even realize.
In a blink and you'll miss it moment, the world flashes a dark blue, before colour returns to where it should. A pressure builds in your stomach, like weights on your chest. The cab seems small as you panic. You clutch at your stomach, trying to stop the pain, but it only grows. Grows and spreads. Your hands burn with an invisible flame, and your eyes aren't faring much better. The only thing you manage to squeak out is a troubled gasp, and it's all over. The pain vanishes suddenly.
Despite what happened, you don't feel any different. But then again, you're not sure what you were expecting to feel like. More lucky, you guess?
The person next to you grabs your arm, but is still quietly asleep. You barely feel it through the shock your system is in. On your lap is the two remaining bottles, but you're not sure if you want to drink another one. You also feel maybe it's time to look around; after all, waking up on a train and being asked to drink three (most likely poisonous) liquids is hardly normal. What will you do now?
>Drink another bottle. Sure, the first didn't work, but who knows?
>Wake the other passenger. Maybe they know what's going on.
>Explore the cab further. Maybe you missed something.
>Other (write in.) -
Wake the other passenger.
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Drink another bottle. The lust one.
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Drink another one, the love bottle.
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Votes are even, taking first vote. I can't believe all four of you picked a different option. There were only four choices!
>Wake the other passenger.
Leaning back, you decide it's time to wake up the other passenger. There are questions that need answering, and it seems like this is the only way you're going to get an answer.
Removing your arm from their grip, you shuffle sideways to give them extra room. The bottles clink together in your lap, and you place them back in the envelope. The train lurches beneath your feet; perhaps hitting something on the track, and you waste no time to wake the passenger.
His body is cold as you shake them, so cold that you're surprised you didn't notice earlier. It wasn't even that cold in the cab, so you have no idea why their temperature would be so low. Finally, with what could either be a growl or a yawn, the passenger wakes up; pulling their head up from between their legs.
Getting a closer look at them, you decide to memorize their details. Who knows when you might see another person? So what do they look like?
>A pale girl with blonde hair. She shrinks away from your touch and shuffles along the bench.
>A freckled ginger teen. He looks just as confused as you do, but only half as determined.
>An tan girl with dyed red hair and a smirk on her face. A bruise runs down her face, but she pays no attention to it.
>You. The other passenger on the train is no other person than yourself. Both of you look at each other confused. -
A ginger teen.
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Yourself.
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The tan girl.
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Too slow, Luna.
>A ginger teen.
The other passenger isn't really anything special. His ginger hair runs down the sides of his head, though it's obvious he's at least made some attempt to tame it. It wasn't a successful attempt, but at least he tried. Besides, who could tame such hair? A crow could have built a nest in it and it would look better.
His face is also covered in freckles, neatly capturing the attention of anyone looking at him. He blushes slightly as he notices you staring, and you blush back. s---. This wasn't how your mom raised you to treat people. Maybe it's because you're a little out of it at the moment.
"Sorry, sorry." He stutters out, and you silence his concerns hastily.
His hand reaches forward, and you shake it. "Ryan."
You freeze for a moment. Something about that name is disturbing; and you quickly realize what. You can't remember your own name. You can't remember anything, in fact. For some reason, this fact is not as distressing as you thought it would be.
Reaching through the hollow cavern of your mind, you try to remember what you used to be called.
>Samuel. That sounds right, like the angel.
>Suzie. That was it.
>Andrew. Andy for short. That was your name.
>Lucy. Simple and sweet.
>Other (Write in) -
Other: Shannon
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Lucy
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Lucy
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