all aboard [whether you like it or not]

The day began just like any other would, the sun broke the horizon and ascended into the sky. People of all ages awoke to another snowy day, awoke to hours of opportunity, struggle and surprise. Bustles of people went about their daily lives, off to work for the gentlemen, the children and their mothers staying put in the houses for chores.

Little did they know that rising out of the banks of snow all around the island were large entities created entirely of snow. Snow, and something else all together.

One of the banks of snow began to form itself into a man-like shape, taking a form that closely resembled a regular villager save that it bore very sharp teeth, the same kind given to carnivores.

Unsuspecting, a farmer and his horse plowed through the snow on their land.

A scream and a hard neigh were cast out into the day and then silence. Blood coated the fresh snow and that was the last of it.

Here and there screams could be heard. The hoards of carnivorous snow people were attacking at random, like a plague of snow covered zombies they devoured flesh and coated the streets and buildings with blood.

No one was safe from the attacks. No one. Not even those that barricaded themselves in their homes or places of work.

This was not a day like any other day. It would forever be known as the day the snow attacked.

The train had finally stopped after what seemed like ages aboard, though was likely only a couple of weeks. Time moved very slowly when one was forced to be idle for most of the day. And there wasn't even much room to keep up her training, though she'd made do in her room as best as she could.

She looked for any of the people that she'd met while on the train as the passengers disembarked. But her search for a familiar face or two was truncated as she caught sight of where they were. London. And judging from the provided clothing and the locals milling about in their best Victorian finery, it looked like London of centuries past. She drew in a deep breath and took in the sights and the scents of air that was cleaner than any she'd breathed in Star City. And some sort of food smells wafted her way, making her mouth water. The food on the train might have been good, but she'd grown tired of seafood.

She finally tore her gaze away as she spotted Matt passing by her.

"Matt," she called to him, rushing to catch up to him. She wasn't sure if he'd be open to it, but she liked the idea of exploring the city with some company and Matt certainly had proven to be pleasant company in the past.

Name: London, England (Victorian Era)
Weather: Snowy and dreary
Temperature: Low 15F, High 30F
Precipitation: 50%
Humidity: 80%
Wind: 15 MPH
General Forecast: Snow and cold temperatures ahead
Description: London is a growing city with all the excitements one might expect of a city that's become one of the brightest stars. There's art and music and theater and shopping. And on the grimier edges of the city, there's poverty. London is truly a picture of the haves and have nots at this point in time. However, money will not save anyone from the danger that's coming for London.
Points of Interest: After a day or two of being in London, carnivorous snowmen will start to come to life all over the city and our heroes will have to defend the citizens of London and figure out how to stop the snowmen from coming to life and devouring everyone.


-----

The ocean had been a wonderful sight to behold, the sun had always shone bright and warm, welcoming the passengers aboard the train eagerly to behold what it touched. The tracks seemed endless against the expanse of water, and on occasion if one were fortunate enough, pods of dolphins could be seen guiding the train, leaping alongside it and swimming through the idle waters.

As the sun set against the exponentially vast waters, something changed. A shift in the space-time continuum. None of the passengers sleeping aboard would have known the change had come, those tucked neatly into their beds would never have felt the shift of the atmosphere as the train exited the water and boarded dry land. Only those awake and alert would have the knowledge had they the opportunity to glance out of the window at the exact moment the train broke on to the land.

Chugging along at exactly the same pace that it had been keeping before, the expanse of countryside would greet the passengers as they awoke for their breakfast. Snow covered hills, small farm houses and livestock at the edges of the city. As they moved further inland, the countryside would give way to the concrete jungle. Darker, seedier parts of the city met them first. Houses of the poorer families, those less fortunate than others that dwelled along the outskirts. During the daytime, even the darker parts of the urban dwellings seemed alright enough for travel, it was what lurked in the shadows that kept the more fortunate away during the night time hours.

It was only when the train reached the station did it stop. In the heart of the city it idled, and finally ceased to run. The doors opened to a platform bustling with people out of the Victorian Era, ladies and gentlemen of all sorts could be seen as they went about their daily lives. Cobblestone streets were lined with shops of all kinds, goods and wares, cobblers, tailors, blacksmith...even the more cultural buildings such as museums, music and theaters, anything that those with fortune and wealth could dream of.

But what the people here do not know is that no amount of pocket money will keep them from the danger lurking about. The grey, cloudy skies are foreboding with rain and snow. Flakes of the purest white dot the streets and people alike. What awaits the passengers and residents of the city is unknown, but it is to fall upon them in only two days time.

Posters of the London Opera can be seen plastered on the Station's walls, advertising a new play to be performed to any willing to pay the cost. Formal attire is expected for gentemen and ladies alike, the better the thread of the clothing, the higher the status. Horse drawn carriages tote the wealthier, horse drawn buggies carry the lesser.

A toot from the horn of the train was all the means of transport gave to its passengers to encourage them from the cars should they wish to venture outward. For those that wished to stay, it would idle there in the security of the Station until it was time to move on to the next destination.

What new adventures lay ahead? Nobody knew yet but the potential was enough to draw those curious enough to take the risk to find out.

"...fascinating.." Peggy breathed, studying the large, iron door.

The agent had explored every part of the train, with respect for the passenger quarters and their occupants, searching for anything that might be considered a clue to what a possible destination might be, or anything that might allude to whom their actual captors were. So many questions remained unanswered and Peggy Carter wasn't one to go without answers if she didn't have to. Nor was she the type to require assistance in obtaining those answers if it wasn't necessary.

She doubted Bucky and Steve would approve of her snooping about in effort to uncover more information, but of course that was what she did. She gathered Intel and used it to her advantage when the chips were down.

The Conductor seemed a valuable resource, Steve seemed to think very highly of the woman, but Peggy would save that resource for later when all other paths were exhausted.

Making her way to the very front of the train, the Agent stood in front of the closed iron door that lead to the very front of the locomotive. The door was hot to the touch, not unbearable but curious just the same. It told her that someone was there running the train. But whom? And why wasn't there a hinge to the door? Or a handle...not even a lock was to be found. It was fascinating. How was anyone supposed to get in and out of the front of the train itself? Was it operated mechanically? It was a theory to tantalize but a machine like this functioned normally with human operation. It seemed strange to have such a vessel operated solely on mechanical means because of the age of the thing itself.

Her fingers traced lightly at the edge of the door, testing the seam. It was warm, uninviting and oh so curious. With a sigh, she pulled back, placed her hands on her hips and further studied the door to see if there was anything she had missed on the first go around.

( We are all monsters )

Cosima had taken to spending her afternoons in the Observation Car, curled up with her laptop or just staring out the window dreamily. She loved the look and smell of the ocean and had begun keeping a journal of her stay on the train. Cosima was no writer, but she was a big believer in records, and every now and then after a drink or a joint she could find herself on the poetic side about something not genetics.

Today, she sprawled out happily, taking up as much space as she pleased, like a particularly indulgent cat. The sun was warm, the air was clean, and since she was alone she had turned on an EDM playlist on her laptop, playing tinnily over its speakers.

There was no way that Sera would eat lobster, but keeping them around? That was another story. The wiggly legs and wiggly front bits were funny to watch, and the pinchy parts would make for excellent use in pranks. She managed to wrangle a pot full of salt water and hide it under her bed and kept Snippers in it until she could figure out something more permanent and comfy. What she needed was more seabugs. Lots of seabugs. Seabugs that were better used scuttling about pinching arses than they would be boiled red and dipped in butter.

It was the bees all over again, only with seabugs instead of airbugs. And maybe less explosions. Maybe.

Humming off-key, Sera walked nonchalantly out of the kitchen car. Sort of nonchalantly. If anyone could call hauling a huge luggage swiped from who-knew-where that left a drippy trail and whose insides made a slight clacky sound "inconspicuous."

L'Hiver probably wasn't one of Matt's favorite cars, the view above all was lost on him, but it was the atmosphere. It felt false to him, but he couldn't place as to why. The car itself was welcoming enough, the gentle expanse of decorated tables coated in linen and the displays of tea cakes and cookies. It seemed far too elegant to his tastes. He wasn't exactly the spitting image of pristine. But that wasn't for a lack of trying.

In spite of how he felt about the car, Matt was sitting comfortably within it. The threads covering his frame were nicer than he was used to. There was a formally here that seemed suitable of earlier times, perhaps more civilized times. Though he could have followed everyone else's suit and wore whatever he wanted to whatever car he was in, Matt decided to play along.

His jacket, for instance, was appropriate for the car. Despite his condition he had an uncanny knack of being able to coordinate his attire properly. Any bystander might inquire to themself how such a thing was possible. Matt wouldn't have had an answer suitable enough to quench the inquiry. Honestly, it probably would have just stirred up a good many more questions.

He hadn't been the most forthcoming with the group when that Captain guy asked them for help. But if he had to help some place he figured defending the train was better than nothing. It made him uncomfortable to show all of his cards up front without a good reason. The less people knew about him, the better for everyone aboard.

Selecting a cookie, Matt nibbled on it and found it delightful. A sugar taste met him, with a dash of citrus from an orange. It was quite good and unlike anything he'd tastes before. Almost as if it had sprung from nowhere, the indulging aroma of hot tea met him. He sighed, frustrated just a touch, and sat back hard in his seat. He wasn't going to get used to this train any time soon and it was a bit overwhelming.

Lady Emma Pole was sick to death of dancing, and she had been sitting in her chair fighting drowsiness all day. She had been sick of it, it seemed, forever now; once she had loved it, but she could not imagine again ever dancing, even with her husband, and experiencing anything other than horror. She had wanted to dance with him once -- perhaps in those days she had loved him, too, and he had seemed genuinely fond of her, and not only of her money. But since Lost Hope, it had been nothing but dances, endless dances, with Stephen if she was lucky, or without him, if she was not, and she was so tired, of dances, of dresses, of music--

But it was curiously quiet. Not the echoing empty quiet of Starecross Hall, but a soft quiet repetitive noise she did not know. Emma got out of her chair and went to the window. The view out was water -- endless rolling ocean waves, deep at sea. She couldn’t recall ever seeing water like it. Dreaming then -- for once, blissfully, dreaming of something other than Lost Hope. When she turned around, the sad bleak rooms of Starecross were gone. She was standing in a narrow concourse, a hallway of some sort, in a room full of doors. Lost Hope looked nothing like this -- everything was bright and clean and in good order. She had never experienced anything like it; Emma could only stand stock still. She strained, for the ringing of bells. But she did not hear music.

( Read more... )

[Backdated to before Cap recruiting Avengers/Defenders.]

Sam wasn’t the only one eyeing the top of the train. Eggsy had three sets of clothes. Two tailored suits, and a set of street clothes. He took as meticulous care of all his clothing as he could. Whether they were oxfords he kept polished, or the kicks that were pristinely white, a suit jacket or a hoodie, Eggsy took care of what little he had.

In his baggy jeans, baseball cap and casual clothing he was barely recognizable as the dapper gentlemen in glasses. He’d favored his street clothes to, without the safety of a flight suit, hop up on top of the train while between cars. It was patently stupid, and while Eggsy could be accused of being fiercely brave and loyal, he could also be just as impetuous.

It was a better view, though, and much less claustrophobic.

( Read more... )

Samus' fingers gripped easily at the edge of the fancy menu.

Her eyes swept back and forth at the text, a language she was familiar with and knew in spite of being unsure of some of the words. She could speak English, she could read it very well, but some of these things here listed were not some she knew. Some were familiar because of the books, the sea creatures she had seen in illustrations and described by text, but some she didn't know at all.

The lobsters, crabs and muscles she could identify. The rest...

Samus sighed hard and furrowed her brow at the options. Her stomach growled, a low, uncompromising sound. She would have to choose something but what she wanted she wasn't quite sure of.

The gloss of the menu wasn't helping.

A tilt of her head and she supposed lobster wasn't a bad choice to have. It seemed a miserable creature where it was, cooped up in a cage of glass with its claws bound so as not to harm another. Was it simple misunderstood? Was there more to the lobster than was shown to her?

Maybe.

She had not opted for the finer clothes that had been offered from the closet, sticking with what she knew to be comfortable. So, in spite of the decor of the dining car, Samus was clad in a white tank top, grey sweats and socks. She was the only one in the car at present, so she felt as though being dressed down was fine.

Another sigh and she closed the menu, unsatisfied with her choices.

[Mod note: I have plans in the future to add complications in the travel periods between destinations. For this first bit of traveling I chose not to, because the complication is showing up on the train and everyone getting to know one another. However, I thought it would be fun to have another group post, so have a bit of hastily put together bit of plot.]

Bucky and the Conductor were having words. The shorter woman found herself almost jogging to keep up with Captain America's longer strides as he knocked on doors and let the other passengers know he was going to be holding a meeting at the Observation Deck.

"This really isn't necessary!" the Conductor whispered. "The train is perfectly safe--"

"Yeah? How long you been the conductor here?" Bucky challenged.

"Long enough." The Conductor looked both ways before straightening the hat on her head a little defensively. Bucky stared, arms crossed, watching the Conductor fidget, before he resumed collecting all who were interested. It seemed the Conductor's concerns would be ignored, even as they continued to disagree, amongst one another. The Conductor was careful to avoid disagreeing too loudly.

Once Bucky had a handful of people gathered at the back of the train, he spoke. The Conductor let him. What was she supposed to do? If she argued, if she did anything but shrug her shoulders and look very apologetic, she worried she would only make things worse. Through the entire speech, she did her best not to fidget with her fingers too much.

"Hello," he addressed the crowd. "My name is Captain James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky. Some of you may know me as Captain America. Some of you may know me by another name. Back home, I led a team of people called The Avengers, to protect the Earth from anyone or anything that threatened it. I know I'm not the only one. Some of you are heroes, and while I hope the Conductor is right and our services won't be needed, I thought we should organize now in case anything dangerous or unexpected comes up.

"I want volunteers to form two teams. The first will be my Avengers. Any stop the train makes, we watch over the passengers who leave to keep an eye on things, make sure everyone makes it back before this train leaves. Nobody gets left behind. The second team will watch the train in shifts, to defend it. We can call them the Defenders, if you want. This train is our ticket home, and nothing can happen to it.

"Now not all of you have the kind of skills needed for the Avengers or Defenders. That doesn't mean you're not important. Some of you may have medical knowledge or experience. Docs, nurses, whatever we got. I hope we don't need you for nothin' serious, but it's better to announce yourselves now. We also need information. About the train, about how we got here, any patterns between stops, whatever you can come up with. We put our heads together we're bound to figure it out.

"So..."

Bucky squared his shoulders and looked over the gathered passengers.

"Any volunteers?"

( Spoilers for a Doctor Who Season 9 character behind the cut. )

Bucky didn’t hope that Peggy Carter was bedridden, but it was going to make things easier if the nonagenarian was confined to her room. He certainly hadn’t seen his aging, silver haired friend up and about anyway.

Then there was what Bucky was supposed to tell her. Sure, he could tell her the truth about Steve and the train, but then there was no telling if she was going to actually remember it or for how long.

Bucky sucked in a breath and knocked politely on the door with Peggy Carter’s name on it. “Peg?”

( Read more... )

( Once in a dream.... )

Bucky still had the black eye and an interesting pattern of bruising around his neck when he sauntered into L’Oriental for breakfast. The food smelled amazing, but there were no chefs, no waitstaff. It was as if the food had been prepared by ghosts.

He wondered if the train worked like Christmas Eve - you couldn’t stay up and watch to see when the changes occurred and actually had to sleep at night, or at a minimum, leave the car, in order for the magic to work. Bucky sat at one of the tables that had a plate with metal cover on it to keep it warm and discovered a smoked salmon quiche with what looked like cream cheese in it. He didn’t complain. It was in front of him, it smelled amazing, might as well eat in case the train decided to ration them later on.

There might have been an ounce of guilt for not grabbing Sam first or checking in with Steve but neither one of them were going to like the bruises. For Sam there would be questions Bucky didn’t feel like answering and for Steve he knew the guy had enough to feel guilty over. Too much. Why remind him?

( Read more... )

Sam wasn't the only one feeling cooped up on the train. Kate didn't have a real change of clothes with her when she arrived on the Orient Express, apparently all her clothes room was taken up by superhero gear. So instead she was rocking an official blue and white pajama top for a shirt with her jeans.

(Shut up, Clint. The top was longer and clearly a woman’s cut so it totally wasn't supposed to be with the random pajama bottoms you found.)

The observation deck had the most space and so Kate, overachiever that she was, got up early. Even if she couldn't go running, she could at least do sit ups, push ups, jumping jacks, a few yoga positions -- whatever routine she could come up so she didn't feel like a sardine.

( AKA, Kate explains Avengers Volume 2 to Sam. )

( Read more... )

The Conductor was not a morning person. Her eyes opened blearily and she groaned slightly hearing the knock on the door. It wasn’t on purpose. The Conductor took her customer service responsibilities seriously, but her eyes couldn’t help but slide to the clock. The alarm wasn’t set to go off for another thirty-eight minutes.

Using her fingers to straighten her hair the best she could, The Conductor slipped her feet into blue slippers that matched her official blue and white striped pajamas before opening the door. Really, she tried to smile, but the best she could do was blink sleepily and let her eyes focus on the passenger in the hallway.

“Steve? Is everything alright?”

The Conductor yawned and rubbed at her eyes, hoping her hair didn’t look too ridiculous.

( Read more... )

( In which Steve still has bad dreams... )

Matt had awoken in the same comfortable bed that he'd had already a few times now, but that strange feeling had yet to wear away. Each woven thread was covered in the knowledge that he wasn't in his own bed, in his own apartment, all by himself. He sort of missed the nights when Foggy would come banging on his door at odd hours of the night, drunk and trying to get him to come out and drink too. He didn't mind Josie's, it just wasn't a place he saw himself drowning his troubles in. Not while terror haunted the streets. The Russians were had been bad, but Fisk was worse. Now though all of that was seeming like a distant memory. A past life.

The blind lawyer awoke, showered and dressed all while not running in to anyone. After finding and adorning clothes that weren't his, but that fit him too well, Matt shuffled down the cars toward where he knew the dining car to be. Once inside the car, Matt was instantly greeted by the aroma of coffee. There was no one else in the car, though, which was strange.

What was it that Alice in Wonderland always said? Curiouser and curiouser. He felt like that applied to this situation too well.

Moving slowly between the aisles, Matt found a comfortable, vacant seat at one of the linen covered tables and he set his baton to the side where it would be easy to reach should he need it.

The coffee aroma was overwhelming, however, and Matt gave in to the scent. He picked up the hot urn, carefully poured the coffee in to the designated cup and then set the urn back down. It was almost like magic, the coffee had just been there and been ready.

Careful not to upturn the hot coffee, Matt plucked a menu from the table and opened it up. The laminate was pristine, and it would keep him from his task. But he was resilient and with a small, knowing smile, Matt slipped the paper part of the menu through the natural slit in the laminate and set the menu down. His fingertips brushed over the lettering printed neatly on the stock paper. Tilting his head, Matt browsed the breakfast selections as if that was the most natural thing in the world. No bumps of Braille were there to greet him, like old familiar friends, just the text on the paper.

"Hmm..." He breathed, tilting his head as he tried to figure out what he wanted to eat.