It's time to go.
Most people are on the train by now. Settled into their cabins and among friends and loved ones. There are only three new arrivals left to board and once they do, Hal pulls a conductor's hat out from underneath the bar, tugs it on, and steps around it to the middle of the train. He opens his mouth to talk, voice filling the train.
"It's time to go. Stops happen once a day until everyone's departed and I already have your stopped listed. If you'd like to be prioritized, let me know, otherwise we'll go in order of death. Settle in and enjoy the ride. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask, folks."
This, of course, means that those who died earliest (Manfred, Higekiri) will depart first while those who died latest (Barnham, Damian, Percy) will depart last. There's a stop for everyone, though those who want to get off together are more than welcome to. Hal pulls a notepad and pen out of his pocket later and people will notice that he goes around the train confirming stops with everyone. Whatever feeling Hal may have had to a character back in town isn't noticeable here -- he is simply a robot assigned with a job.
After that, it's all a matter of settling in and enjoying the ride. If that's possible for you, at least.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sheriffexe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
robowest2017-03-04 12:02 pm
no subject
Uninvited, the word fills her, as words rarely do. He looks so happy and she can scarcely guess why, after everything. None of what they accomplished feels celebratory, except perhaps someone - far away, out of her scope - won something. But, Will is tidier, clearer in the eyes, looking less like he has a ghost wrapped around his shoulders and clenching his neck. That ... is another thing she ought to be glad of, right? And, on some level, she is, of course.
That doesn't mean that there isn't another part of her, smaller but no less important, that might resent him for leaving this decision (hello, or goodbye,) up to her. Why is he asking her to choose what to say when he knows she can't? Why, now, has he chosen not to just know?
It tangles in her, this moment, thoughts like wires that accumulated and accumulated without care or maintenance. Eventually, and it's a quick sort of eventually, it's near impossible to figure out which wire goes where.
If only she were a better person, really.
Her reply, once written, is inappropriately concise for what his question left in her. ]
Hello.