the orient express

During the 17 days applications are frozen, prospective and current players may play here. Please be aware that no points will be accumulated for logs or network entries made here. Please also note that nothing played out in this community should be counted as "game canon" as it would disrupt continuity. This is just a place for you to stretch your legs while you wait to be added to the main game.

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In the interest of nostalgia, the scenery is that of the very first dashboard. Way back when the game had a tenth of the membership it has now. My, how we've grown!

⚡ DASHBOARD

SYSTEM ALERTS: NONE
STATUS: EN ROUTE
SCENERY: STRETCHES OF FARMLAND AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE. THE MONOTONE IS INTERRUPTED BRIEFLY BY A MASSIVE FIELD OF COWS…UPON COWS UPON COWS, SPOTS OF GREEN PASTURE TEEMING WITH BLACK AND WHITE BOVINES MOOING IN UNISON.
WEATHER CONDITION: THUNDERSTORM
INTERCOM: MUZAK
NEXT STOP: UNDISCLOSED
ADVISORY: NONE

( open to all, random posting! )

It wasn't the first time that Steve had found himself in an unfamiliar place. In the last twenty-four hours, he'd woken to find that he wasn't deceased (a pleasant surprise), that he'd been unconscious for sixty-nine years (far less pleasant), and that all of his friends were long dead (he really didn't want to think about it).

It was too much to take in, so he'd shut down and focused on business instead. SHIELD had set him up with a room and access to the exercise facilities. In return, he'd quietly submitted to a barrage of medical tests.

Just like old times, Steve mused. The thought had a turn of bitterness, but he did not like to dwell. He wanted to do, to accomplish something, even if that 'something' was selling war bonds after being benched -- or forgetting frustrations by testing out a modern punching bag to see how 2011's options stood up.

He opened the door into the darkened gym only to find that it led into a lovely, vaguely art nouveau dining car. Steve blinked and turned back to check the hallway, only to find a parlour car behind him. The SHIELD facility was gone.

Steve had no experience with psychic manipulation, but his first assumption was that something had gone wrong in his head. Perhaps the whole thing had been a trick, from the botched deception in the recovery room to Times Square, Nick Fury, and the claims of seventy-years gone by. He was trapped somewhere and this was an interrogation of some sort. When he realized how preposterous that sounded - why change scenarios halfway through - he began to wonder if he was being subjected to some sort of test.

Well. There was only one way to find out. Steve ducked through the doors into the dining car, his eyes surveying the room for any sort of clues he could find.

Her first thought was that she was dreaming again. She'd been dreaming enough odd things lately that a train didn't seem too out of the ordinary.

Except, Sookie was positive that not a moment before, she had been walking back into her house with Amelia and Tara. And maybe she had fallen asleep and if she had then this was probably going to become one of those dreams in a minute and Eric would turn up and. . .

Sookie shook her head, grabbing onto the wall for support and pulling herself to her feet slowly. Okay. If this was a dream, then she should be fine. But if it wasn't -- and oh, jesus, she was starting to think it wasn't -- then she needed to figure out what was happening.

She cast about for a moment, trying to get a feel for anyone who was around. She didn't recognize anyone's thought patterns. She also didn't get the feeling that there was anyone she knew around.

She looked down at her phone, biting down on her lip as she thought for a minute. Either way, she probably should find someone who could help her. Get someone to tell her where she was or even better, get them to stop the train and let her off. At the very least, she needed to stop kneeling in the middle of the corridor.

Sookie looked up and down the hallway and then went left at random. She was bound to run into someone eventually.

Maxine woke up in a strange place. She did not like this. She did not like it at all. The room was too skinny and she could hear the noise of the train speeding along the track outside. It scared her. She felt the pale skull of Mrs. Pickles, the formerly dead skeleton of a cat, try to nudge Maxine at the collar of her shirt. She had no flesh or fur left, but was made of pale bone.

"I don't know where we are," frowned Maxine. She picked up the skeleton which weighed less than a few pounds and stuffed her into the purple backpack she'd packed with provisions. Important provisions like crayons and her pajamas. She was supposed to be showing her father the way to The Red. Except... The Red felt just fine here. It wasn't calling to her anymore like it had at home.

"I'll find you some milk later. You gottah hide in here first next to Mr. Woofers."

Mrs. Pickles meowed indignantly while Maxine zipped up the pack. Mr. Woofers was a stuffed toy and didn't care.

"Dad! Mom! Cliff!" Maxine pulled open the sliding door and started walking through the hallway. She didn't stop to appreciate the world outside the train. She didn't appreciate how fine the interior was. To her it just looked expensive like a museum, which meant she probably wasn't allowed to run or play indoors.

"DAD. DAAAAD?"

Mrs. Pickles meowed loudly from inside Maxine's backpack.

This was probably the weirdest thing that had ever happened to JD, even counting that time in college with Turk and the water balloons and-- that was so not relevant. He blinked, refocusing on his oddly-trainlike surroundings, and stamped one foot in frustration (that was what men did, right?).

JD looked from his cabin door to the window (cows? so many cows!), then sighed. Quite dramatically.

What had the Janitor done this time?!