It's a surprisingly quiet ride. The passenger cart is nothing more than wood and a bit of cotton to cushion the seats but for some reason, even as the train hurtles along down the track, the cart remains silent. It only starts filling with noise when the passengers begin to stir.
There isn't any indication on how you got here. No grogginess, no injuries -- in fact, those who arrive with injuries might find them healed up completely (of course there are others who won't be so lucky) -- but in one blink and the next, you are here, on this train. Maybe you're even sitting next to a friend. Maybe a stranger.
Won't be any time to talk either, the train suddenly slowing down with enough of a jerk to throw its passengers back into their seats. A few seconds later, it comes to a complete stop and with a whistle, the doors open and a voice calls from outside. It's male, with a slight mechanical twang behind it and anyone who looks out the window towards the station can just about spot the portly man out on the platform.
"You might as well come on out, folks. You won't be getting any answers on the train."
Once everyone is out on the platform, the man stands before them taking an assessing look at each person. There is something very off about him, though he looks human enough -- but his eyes are too white, his skin too dry, and his hair is doesn't shine quite right. He is dressed in a flannel shirt, suspenders, and jeans, a cowboy hat atop his head and a badge pinned to his shirt that reads "Sheriff". After a moment, he gives a gruff nod and speaks again.
"Howdy. Real happy to see all of you. Explanations will come... Sunday morning, yeah. Give y'all a bit of time to meet each other. Settle in. Keys are on the table over there, hat and pistol in your room. Don't, er... Don't shoot each other right away but if you do, my office is over there. Go get some dinner, sun's about to set. Wouldn't want any coyote trouble."
And that seems to be... it. The Sheriff tips his hat and turns to head to the building with the large "Sheriff" sign on the front. There is a table nearby, keys neatly laid out for everyone with nametags attached to each one. An owl hoots in the distance and a breeze passes through the group. It's quiet again.
Welcome to game start! Characters will find their items in their hotel rooms and anyone who goes to visit the Sheriff after he leaves will find the station empty. On top of that, rulebooks will not be available to find until later. The Sheriff might be forcing it a little but it seems like the intent here really is to get everyone to interact with each other. If there are any questions, PM or hit up the plurk at ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico) robowest! |
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robowest2017-01-13 05:59 pm
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[He hops on over the bar, taking some time to look through the large selection of alcohol. Eventually he decides on something red and definitely rich in both senses of the word. Ezio pours a glass for both of them, leaning close to her on the other side of the bar.]
I wonder if it's possible for this place to run out... It would take some time to test, though. Unless we started smashing bottles, that is.
no subject
[Oh, this is a pleasant distraction. She takes the offered glass, lifting it in thanks.]
I'm sure if we all put our minds to it, we could bleed this place dry. But then we'd be deprived of spirits, and god alone knows how long we're going to be stuck here.
no subject
[He takes a sip of his wine, but he's a bit distracted as he continues.]
That would make sense, but... again, how long will we be here? With everything that's happening, would it be so surprising if it replaced itself? It all sounds like some sort of sorcery, but I thought the same of the train at first.
no subject
[Lust sips her wine as she thinks aloud, brows drawing together.]
Money, man power, all of it. And perhaps it's a paranoid mind, but I can't help but wonder at giving us no information, no guidance, weapons, and access to vast quantities of alcohol.
Law of statistics insists not everyone here is as polite and amenable as you and I.