a town called lethe. open

[WitchHazel]

🗡 Liliana Swann 🗡
tourist; PI | 28 | location: train station | tags: Claire | mentions: Rike

"hello! are you alright?"
The faint voice had Liliana whipping around to face the direction it had come from. A figure approaching the platform. On instinct, she slipped a throwing knife from her wrist sheath into the palm of her hand. Huh. There are people in this town. As the person drew closer, Liliana was able to make out certain features. Long ginger hair flowing down their back. A smattering of freckles across a concerned face. Maybe I wasn't imagining things after all.
"I'm fine, thanks," she shot back gruffly. "Drama queen over there seems to think the driver's dead." More likely, there's an issue with the train itself. Still - if someone was really dead, should she investigate? It could easily have been a heart attack. If the driver was, in fact, deceased. But there was something off about the town they had stopped in. She recalled one of the other passengers saying that it hadn't been on their map. Maybe I should go back and check it out. A peek back inside told her that someone else already had the idea, and he wasn't the sort she wanted to hang around. What in the hell is a wealthy-looking guy like that doing on public transportation? Europeans never failed to amaze her. I'll just leave the driver to him then, and get the info later. If it turns out being my kind of case, I guess I'll look into it. She was after something very specific though, and she doubted the potential murder of some train conductor would fit the book.


☙ Amelia Porter ❧
resident; librarian | location: Lethe Public Library | tags: Tavie

Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a familiar voice. Her elbow bumped a stack of books, sending the top two sliding down behind the desk with an audible thud. The face she turned to see was oddly familiar - different, but familiar nonetheless. "Yes - I - um - greetings, Dr. Tavie! Today - oh, the travellers! Yes. I have had - dreams. Portents. Premonitions - um - right. Sorry. You gave me a bit of a fright if I'm being entirely honest." A nervous, breathy laugh puffed out through her lips. "M-Meet them? I - well, I was just going to let - well yes, I suppose I -" She took a deep inhale to compose herself. "What I mean to say is, that would be splendid. Let me just tidy up here quickly and I'll join you."
The only thing that really needed tidying was the fallen books she'd dislodged when she'd been startled just moments ago. It took a mere few seconds to place them back atop their stack; a group of returned books to be sorted through later. "There. That'll do for now. Um - are we ready?" Her heart pounded at the thought of meeting new people. Equal parts excitement and terror. The great beast. The man with the skeleton on his back. The one who smells of dispair. Her visions played inside her head like an old movie, only further compounding her anxiety. "Jolly - Jolly good. Let's just get this over with, then."


☀ Cami Rivera ☀
resident; forensic scientist/mechanic | location: her house → street | tags: ghost npcs; open

Cami was not a morning person. Not before caffeine, that was. So when a cacophony of voices coming from the other side of the wall invaded her peaceful slumber, she couldn't help but be a little grumpy.
They are here - train - interlopers - encroaching on our little town -
"Everyone quiet!"
The spirits jolted to attention, almost as if they hadn't expected that someone living would be listening in. They should have been used to that by now.
Cami slid her petite feet into her shark-shaped slippers as she pushed herself out of bed. A glimpse of herself in the mirror told her that her dark hair was a tangled mess. But there were more important things than taming her wild mane. "Coffee first. Then hair and makeup."
She shuffled into the kitchen, casting a look at the chattering spirits in her living room. Perks of a mostly open floorplan. "Hey guys. If you're gonna talk here, can you guys at least wait until I've had my morning coffee? Pleeease?" She batted her eyelashes, letting her big doe eyes do their work.
A few shoulders were shrugged, a few nods in assent.
"Thanks!" She beamed a radiant smile at the group of ghosts before turning back to the kitchen. And more importantly - the coffeemaker.
As she prepared the warm liquid, she started to talk without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Also - guys. Kinda rude, dontcha think? Maybe they're nice! You shouldn't go judging people just because they're strangers. I was a stranger once too, y'know."
A few of the people standing around Cami's living room muttered reluctant agreements under their nonexistent breath.
The coffee was brewing now, and it would be rude not to offer some to her guests. "Do you guys want anything? Oh wait, right! I'm so so sorry, I totally forgot for a second there."
It's alright - no worries - we like the smell - some of us do.
Cami shot them a fond smile before turning back to her coffee. The actual coffee part was done. Now, to top it off with milk, pop it in the microwave, and add some chocolate syrup. Homemade mocha latte. She could always just go out for coffee - she definitely would later - but making it herself added a little something to her morning routine. She would have normally thrown on some music in addition, but she wasn't sure if the spirits would take well to Alice Cooper.
When the chocolatey confection was complete, she took a long, deep sniff and an equally long, deep sip. "Okay now you guys can talk. What's this about new people?"
Visitors - the train - Gwyn - interlopers -
"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down! You guys know I can only understand you when you're talking one at a time."
A pleasant morning conversation with the local apparitions informed Cami that there were indeed new visitors in town - they'd just arrived, by the sound of it. "Oh shoot! I don't want to be late to meet them!" The petite scientist threw on a pair of paint-spattered jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt sporting a bumblebee design with the words "Bee Kind" printed across the chest. A quick taming of her impressive bedhead and some winged eyeliner later, she was pulling on her combat boots and heading out the door. "Be good while I'm gone!" She called back to the ghosts. "You guys can stay as long as you like. There are snacks in the - oops sorry! I forgot again. Anyway - see ya!" With that, the short young woman put a pair of cat-eared headphones over her ears and bounded in the direction of the train station.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

────── ✚ ── 𝑺𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑹𝑨 ❞𝑺𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑻❞ 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑹𝑶𝑬 ─── 𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖥𝖥 ───

LOCATION; the forest > alley behind the grocery > heading toward train station ─ TAGGING; rosalind, open ─ MENTIONED; praised be the magpie

*


Shadows with serrated edges had stirred across the tangerine light and promises of heavenly fire pressing against her eyelids. There were never memories, there was never fear, but there were always images of fire, lights in the night, flames licking the oppressive darkness until they fell back again and shivered into a dance. More holes than memory, yet no rise of curiosity at the thoughts that floated past. A roughened tang had coated her tongue, the taste of berries past the date to consume, but not quite, never quite when hours were lost. Fresh air had flowed into lungs stuttering from past patterns of breath strange to the human body, but it would wash away the tastes of the night, tide by tide.

A blue deep enough to be vile had emerged to greet the beginning to a new thread of memory that would unravel with unconsciousness far less often than it did for most. For it was not often that Saint woke up, because she did not sleep. This, either, had not been sleep nor an awakening from sleep, but a rousing from the hours stolen from her by the forest, because above, the branches and the leaves of the trees at the very fringe of the woods had quivered in the burning dawn. As far as Saint knew, it had been many days, many years, with the evening call of the wolf, and it never became any easier to come back to humanity when neither parting nor returning were choices to be made.

Strands of bleached hair had fallen to her face when she had twisted onto her side and pitched an elbow into the dew-coated grass at her back to see the field stretching out from the shade of the trees. It had taken two ticks for her brain to re-orient, to remember that the forest was in the west when seen from the lake, and so the town would be in the east when viewed from the forest. Before Saint had risen, dusted herself off, sighed at the dirt under her fingernails and the smell of earth on her palms, she had spoken an unvoiced apology toward the trees ─ not because she did not believe it would not matter, she did not say things that did not matter, but because she was not certain whether there would be anyone to hear it.

Yet hours had been taken from her, so perhaps she had done wrong, overstayed her welcome as if she had still been a pup who did not know any better, or it might have been a kindness, the taking away of time spent in vague unpleasantry. The sensation of wet grass brushing the soles of her feet had made Saint aware of the reality that she had lost her shoes sometime between sundown last night and the new dawn.


*


Saint's house, suspended somewhere between the meadow and the sheriff's station, was a single floor in no discernible style, most notably made up of large windows and clean angles, yet drawing its homely warmth from the grain of natural wood. For Saint, when it came to the material, it was not filled with much more than daylight and empty countertops, because she did not own a bed, and a home did not seem to feel full without a bed, whichever form that happened to take. Some nights with the wolf would be dream-like, but that was the closest Saint would come to dreaming. However, for Rosalind, it must have been much more... more, and that made room for a home inside the house.

At first, the way Saint's house had shifted overnight after carrying a weak and somehow viscerally drained tourist found unconscious on the train to the hospital had been strange. The magpie would grant its boon of a home to anyone who needed one, and so why a modest twin bed had been tucked into one corner of a new room had not made much sense, but Saint had come to realize that more than needing a home, as much as she shunned the notice of others, Rose had not wanted to be alone and she had not wanted to be afraid. This, Saint could understand. And she would not write off the possibility that the magpie had seen this centuries ago, and a plan had merely fallen into place when a tired girl had been delivered into the protection of a sheriff with a creature under her skin.

However, what Saint implored the magpie to know every night when the sun kissed the horizon was that, no matter the blood seeped into the dirt at her feet, she would never so much as bare her teeth at those who had been through the kind of undue agonies that Rosalind had.


*


The dawn had turned to morning and brought with it the rumblings of a train in the ground underfoot by the time Saint had stepped through the doorway of her house and shaken off enough of the night from her limbs to take a step without a crackle shaking through her bones. Her mornings were rarely this slow, but the coinciding of the isolated event of lost time and more commonly lost shoes had not made her entertain the thought of taking a single running step before having had the chance to wash her face with cold water and scrub the dirt from her fingernails. Rooting through a closet or two revealed that her lost pair of shoes had been the spares of the spares, and her last existing pair could possibly be found in the lockers of grocery store's staff room for reasons too thoughtful for Saint to entirely understand.

The arrival of a train did demand the town sheriff's attention, but Rose had already gone for her opening shift at the store and she had been fading lately, answering Saint's questions as if constantly coming to from a static daydream, and as much as duty called, Saint knew that the station would already be crowding with residents and her deputy sheriff alike, which meant that she could spare the time to check in with Rose before anything else. It had, of course, come to her to take Rose back to the hospital, but she feared it was not the kind of ailment cured in a building of any kind. Chances were she needed more time, but it was new for Saint to see someone take such a turn for the worse after a steady improvement during such a long time spent in Lethe.


*


Rounding the corner to the alley behind the grocery store had stray cats fleeing in all directions. One, tiger-striped and with something all-too knowing in its eyes, as was the case with most of the cats in town, still pivoted around in the midst of its flight, arched its back into jagged tufts of fur, hissed and spit, then slunk around the corner like a shadow from the way of a sun rising past the eave of a roof. For anyone else, it might have been the bare feet, sounding too soft and appearing too suddenly for cats used to the steps of feet clad in shoes, but both of them in the alley knew it was different with Saint, and there lingered no unpleasant, clammy demand to pretend.

Rosalind sat on the step outside the back door, bundled in a sweater that only managed to come across as itchy to Saint in her short-sleeved shirt. Her eyes had turned to Saint as she had watched the last cat disappear from the alley, expectant but not sharply present, and although it wasn't her style, it came to Saint to apologize for the second time on a day that had merely just begun. Instead of acknowledging the apology, Rose's wordless way of saying that the whims of stray cats were nothing to apologize for, she stood from the step and lifted a hand toward her before dropping it seemingly halfway through the action.

"You have a bruise," she stated, and Saint glanced down at her arm, where a bruise indeed bloomed on her shoulder and someway down her bicep. It must have been something from the forest, and a strange sight under the pale scars littered on her skin, but nothing either of them had not seen many times before. Saint exhaled, inconspicuous but settling. Rose was always patient with her, and she would be patient with Rose. There were many concerned things Saint wished to say to her, yet as much as she cast about for words, she never seemed to have the right ones, the soft ones, to turn looming concern into phrases. So she would speak of something else.
"Did you have a good morning?"
"Yes. I think."
"Nothing unusual at the store?"
"No."

Saint finally admitted defeat at her own lack of words. Her brow gained a slight furrow. How do you go about asking someone who flowed from most others' minds like sand through an hourglass whether they were feeling quite present? A fleeting smile tugged at one corner of Rose's mouth, undoubtedly the sort meant to please another out of mere kindness rather than deceit. She would be alright today, Saint decided.
"Alright. Come look for me at the station if you have time for a proper lunch break today." She awaited for a nod of acknowledgment from Rose before climbing the step up to the back door.


*


Having found new shoes where she had expected to, although with the unresolved conversation hanging over her head, Saint was off toward the train station with the beginnings of convoluted anger simmering beneath her skin.

[indigo']

———[☁︎]???
𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝|𝟸𝟻|𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚒𝚖|𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗|𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚢, 𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚜

He had been stuck deep within the confines of sleep for most of the train ride, a dream with a sort of intense vividness that could only come from something rooted in memory. But it was off, like a story that had really happened, but wasn’t quite being recounted correctly. He was dead to the world regardless, the dull roar of the train and the murmuring of the other passengers around him doing nothing to wake him from his slumber. Then there was a loud noise, like a gunshot. It might have been in his head--he wasn’t sure--but he woke with a start, gasping for breath and sitting forward in his seat.

The train had stopped, and several passengers were already out of their seats and making their way into the station. Whatever he’d been dreaming about was slipping away quickly, and the more he tried to latch onto it the further it got until it was nothing more than the memory of a feeling, with no tangible explanation for what had caused it.

The man cast a glance out the window and was hit with the immediate realization that this was not where he was supposed to be. When he thought about it, he realized he couldn’t exactly remember where he was supposed to be. But he was certain this wasn’t it. It didn’t take a detective to figure out many of the other passengers felt the same way. He came to the conclusion that they must have made some sort of emergency stop, but the looks on many of the faces around him suggested something more dire.

Someone was leading the way out of the train, shouting into an empty station, and he found himself frowning slightly. The driver was dead? How could they possibly know that? A few others followed them out onto the platform and the man found himself on his feet, gathering his few belongings as he did so, though he wasn’t sure why. Someone suggested that they wait and he looked up, expression genuinely confused. “What exactly is it that we’re waiting for, if you don’t mind me asking?” Another man was walking by, assuring the panicked and somewhat hysterical passengers that nobody had died, before saying he was going to check on the driver. He turned his attention to the well-dressed man. “How can you know that? Why is everyone running out like something’s happened? Is this not a regular stop?” He had very few belongings on him, and a map wasn’t one of them, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he’d been headed or why a map of his destination hadn’t been necessary.

———[♛]𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐫
𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚘𝚛|𝟿𝟼𝟺|𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢|𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗|𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜:𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗

As usual, Zeneida was up long before the strange sun of Lethe had risen beyond the horizon. She often found solace in the quiet hours of the morning, before the rest of the town’s residents began to stir and go about their day. Some days she would simply walk the perimeter of the town, taking care not to get too close to the forest--they didn’t fear anything within it, but had a certain respect that refrained them from wanting to disturb its peculiar creatures. Other days, when they were feeling less inclined towards the possibility of running into one of Lethe’s residents for an early morning chat, she would go the route disguised in one of her many other forms, a way to easily slink by unnoticed.

Today had not been one of those days, and as she finished up her morning routine, the familiar sound of a train screeching into the station made them aware that there would be more things to deal with yet. New visitors were always a source of excitement for the other residents, and there was no doubt the newcomers would have a lot of questions--questions that they likely wouldn’t receive answers to and would soon forget, but it was her job to be present regardless.

Taking up the form of a red-tailed hawk, Zeneida took to the air, soaring above the jumble of buildings that made up the town and landing gracefully atop the roof of the station, looking down at the growing crowd with a watchful eye.

[sweet.peaches~]

❧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐮 ☙
thirty-five | resident, local florist | "just your average butterfly lady" | location, street | tags, cordelia and olive

she admired the scenery of the town, the strange buildings surrounding her she somehow thought tied well in together, although it may have just been the fact that she had no real sense of style. veronica nearly tumbled onto the ground when she heard a voice, but managed to relax once she recognized it to be her friend, cordelia. turning around, she twirled up into the sky to match the countess' height. she's a lot taller than i remember. the butterfly lady looked down to see her stilettos. so that's why. veronica decided not to comment on her shoe choice. "you've got me there," she laughed. "glad to know i'm not the only one." taking a glance at her dogs, her smile became bigger and she fluttered her wings to go down. "alabaster, you're so cute!" veronica gushed over him, using her annoying 'animal voice' as she called it. "you too, abigail." she reached a hand to pet the saber collie's head.

after a little moment with cordelia's pets, she floated back up. "i hope my appearance isn't too overwhelming to the visitors," she nervously played with a piece of her hair. "although i suppose their first day of lethe will be odd enough..." veronica trailed off as she noticed oliva coming up to them with two different mugs poured with coffee and gladly greeted her with a wave. "i hope you've had a lovely morning too," she peered into the cup and gratefully took it. "that's so sweet of you, olive. i'll try to return the favor soon," the girl insisted, thinking of whether or not she would like a bouquet for a cheaper cost, or perhaps a lovely drawn gift. too bad her creative skills weren't all that great. taking the mug and waiting for it to cool down, veronica asked her, "what other things did they say?" the concept of having the ability to hear plants talking had fascinated her, especially since she herself was a florist. did they appreciate being turned into a work of art, or did they think that she was a monster? there was quite a bit of mystery. remembering that they had tourists to welcome - silly her had gotten distracted - veronica continued to fly towards the train station.

[sammy,]

─( ♠ )─────── ❝ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖𝐒 ❞

xxxxxxxxxxx'xxx𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍. 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍.
tourist ⊕ tagged: nicholas, ??? ⊕ location: the train

the reaction seemed rather varied from the group that had been previously rather settled. more seemed to turn toward fascination rather than panic, which did nothing to quell matty's worries. there was no fear. no concern about the concept of being stranded in the middle of europe, no perceivable fear at what fate awaited them outside of the doors that trilled, urging them to alight. but waiting was the answer, surely. for something to happen. for something to save them.

the question of what shook matty out of the stupor, turning to someone who had addressed him - it was odd, he hadn't really looked at any of his fellow passengers, and now it was all he could do, staring a little wildly between a well-dressed man who had muttered throughout the whole journey and another, younger, baffled one. "help," he answered. it fell flat, almost pathetic in its own way. "or... you know. for the train to... start again. they normally - there're normally announcements over the tannoy if there's an issue. it'll probably come." he examined the man for a moment - a cloudy sort of look in his eyes, the aura of ignorance emanating like a stench. "this wasn't on the schedule." he answered rather brisquely.

if the driver wasn't dead - which, apparently, he wasn't. the certainty was equal parts confusing and calming. his stop? - another option. concerning. "this place wasn't on the line. i checked. how could it -" a myriad of possibilities - had the stranger manufactured the stoppage? was he behind the diversion? it was possible. improbable, though, and panic seemed to be getting him nowhere, so matty swallowed the lump in his throat, took a deep breath in. "fine. if you're so certain he's not dead." contempt in his tone, reactionary rather than biting. he took the steps to the door that would lead from the carriage to the driver's little quarters - was it a cockpit if it was in a train? a brig? the word 'compartment' almost seemed reductionistic in comparison. "are you coming?" directed at the second stranger, the confused-looking one, as the door was opened. "he might be dead. he might not be. it's a good old-fashioned mystery." he was doing his best to take this on the chin, to make it into something to be excited about rather than fearful of, though his tone was a little less convincing than his words, falling flat, wavering.

through the carriage and into the compartment, but no sign of life. not that he could see, anyway. "so, not dead, but definitely missing. the driver's missing. where the hell could they have gone? those windows are tiny. can't have slipped through, could they?" it would have barely fit his head, let alone his shoulders, and matty was reasonably small in stature. "could they?"

stranger things had happened, he supposed. there was movement outside of the carriage, new voices, new silhouettes through the slightly foggy windows. as he stared, the glass cast a reflection that was rather peculiar, another face, impossible to make out, shrouded with golden hair. only in his periphery, though. upon searching for the reflected source, nothing.
a voice like a distant echo, a whisper upon waves. he wasn't quite sure, but it sounded a bit like it was saying "mind the gap," - perhaps the tannoy was broken. just too quiet. surely it was that.

"maybe... should probably go and have a look outside," the feeling of being watched settling in his skin, he wanted out of the little cabin. "just in case they jumped out."

─( ♥ )─────── ❝ 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐃𝐄 ❞

xxxxxx.xxx'xxx 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝!
tourist ⊕ tagged: claire, liliana ⊕ location: the station

don't get your panties in a wad, no one's died.
well, that was rude. "how would you know, numbnuts?" was challenged in return, through the door, and then they were gone, hopefully avoiding the repercussions of the slung words.
though the concept of the driver dying was certainly a dire one, there was something in rike that found it rather exciting. there was potential here. they hadn't ended up in the middle of nowhere - they were certainly somewhere - lethe, which was populated, if the faces coming round the corners said anything.
rike had been on a lot of trains. they'd visited a lot of stations, and never had a fanfare followed the arrival of a train at a station. a rare moment of critical, perceptive thought - they didn't get a lot of visitors.

"hello! are you alright?" there it was. someone had made the effort, at least. the call had triggered response from someone who had cast a rather nasty glare in rike's direction, but if they had noticed, they were entirely unfazed. "i'm the only one coming up with suggestions here. unless you've got a better idea of what happened." they examined the two of them, eyes narrowing for a moment. "weird time for smalltalk. we've got a crowd going on here. i love an audience, but i wasn't expecting one." the potent thought cracked out. "you don't get a lotta people round here, do you?" a wide, split grin. "cool."

difficult to see both of them at the same time, eyes flitting between the two strange faces of the women rike had encountered - the concerned citizen a rather soft, ethereal looking creature, sharing the red hair, but likely not artificially coloured - and the other, the rather blunt one, the one deep in thought - well, there was at least one thing to draw upon. "cool scar," no point beating around the bush, really. a hand extended toward claire. "rike. really nice to meet you. where the hell are we?" the smile didn't falter, remained a wide beam. "other than, you know, 'lethe'."

─( ♦ )─────── ❝ 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❞

xxxxxxx'xxx𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎.
resident ⊕ tagged: sam (ment.), jed ⊕ location: outside town hall - station

a nod received, a nod returned - the deputy sheriff looked as though he had something on his mind, even from afar, but that came as no surprise. he was quite the broody type, as he had learnt over time - of which, there had been a lot of. he wasn't quite sure how long it had been. certainly a while.
which was why, when the train rolled in, a little bit of excitement rolled. new arrivals meant new stories, tales about the outside world that they had (likely not so willingly) left. always difficult, when they weren't seeking the respite of lethe, when they didn't classify themselves as 'lost' quite yet - he had been lucky, in that regard. there was no place he would have rather been. he had gone out seeking a miracle and found one. though the details were hazy, what remained was the ghost of the exhaustion that had followed him for such a long time. when contrasted with how he felt there, at that point, filled with life and eclipsed by smoke, the fire in his chest burning bright, it put to rest any thoughts of returning. he didn't know if he would fall to illness once out of the safety of the borders, whether his lungs would close up, give in, but he wasn't going to test it. not for london, anyway.

might as well make the venture over, then. there was no point in loitering and lingering, not when there was a bit of excitement to be had. the entire town, give or take, appeared to be rushing to greet the arrivals, though a few stood back, watching from afar.
one of these individuals, he was happy to see, was jed. "morning," he drawled. "you scoping out prey over 'ere?" a cig pulled from behind his ear, lit with a finger, offered to the man. "that one. that one there." he pointed at a woman with a scar upon her face who looked particularly vexed by something or another. "she'll be a lark, i think. you got your sights set on anyone?" a glimmer of mischief. he hadn't had many chances to meet those unused to lethe - this was a rare experience, especially with so many arriving at the same time. "wonder how long it'll take the bird to figure 'em out."

[•Carina•]

| Hallsteinn/Entity | They/Them | Tags: None technically |

==============================

There was a noticeable change in the air today. Something that felt familiar but strange as it always did. It was one of those rare occasions that new people arrived. This feeling, and their suspicions were confirmed as townsfolk made their way to the train station. The three of them, of him. Smiled inside. Two of them, the only two that were mobile, vanished from sight and both made their way to the closest spots for them. A couple of plinths flanked the road into town from the train station, and so they sat upon them and reappeared as no one was looking. They mimicked the ageing look of these spots, more cracks, light moss, and a slight loss of their sheen. Their poses were instant and perfect, flawless and unmoving. Though some of the residents of town either had some idea, or already knew they weren’t what they seemed.

The two of them watched, and listened. Studying the new batch of people, while keeping an eye on the residents too. Most of them seemed interesting enough, they almost seemed. Futuristic to him, though he was old fashioned. There was a cautious air around both groups. But a few outliers on each side that didn’t seem to care for taking it slow. They would have watch those individuals perhaps a bit more carefully. All in all, it seemed to be going well. They were looking forward to see what they were gifted with. And if any would come and speak with them. Which it was fine if they didn’t. Maybe another time, if they noticed. Or bumped into one of them.

[WitchHazel]

🗡 Liliana Swann 🗡
tourist; PI | 28 | location: train station | tags: Claire, Rike

Liliana huffed at the younger individual's sass. They can take it and dish it out. Colour me impressed. "A problem with the train makes more sense; all I'm sayin'. If whoever's driving this thing kicked the bucket, we'd still be movin'." They had very different definitions of 'small talk', that was for sure.
When the person complimented her scar, Liliana stiffened. She was used to weird looks and stares every now and then, but compliments? Apart from the occasional middle school boy, she didn't get those often. Rather than offer a thank-you, she merely grunted and resumed pointedly ignoring the conversation around her.
She had just finished writing down the rules posted on the sign when something caught her attention. Sure, she had been pretending not to listen - but a detective's ears were always open. "rike. really nice to meet you. where the hell are we?" Liliana would have liked to know the answer to that as well. "other than, you know, 'lethe'."
Lethe. Where the hell was Lethe? She would have pulled out the map she'd grabbed from the station back in Heathrow, but it was packed securely in with her files now. Still, she was certain she hadn't seen 'Lethe' on any map she'd looked at; digital or no. Let alone on the train route... If we're stuck here for a few hours, I might as well see if there's an internet café and do some digging. "Hey. You. Local. You got a coffee shop or something where I can set up my laptop? Looks like we're stuck here a little bit at least. Might as well kill some time."


☙ Amelia Porter ❧
resident; librarian | location: Lethe Public Library | tags: Tavie

Amelia nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a familiar voice. Her elbow bumped a stack of books, sending the top two sliding down behind the desk with an audible thud. The face she turned to see was oddly familiar - different, but familiar nonetheless. "Yes - I - um - greetings, Dr. Tavie! Today - oh, the travellers! Yes. I have had - dreams. Portents. Premonitions - um - right. Sorry. You gave me a bit of a fright if I'm being entirely honest." A nervous, breathy laugh puffed out through her lips. "M-Meet them? I - well, I was just going to let - well yes, I suppose I -" She took a deep inhale to compose herself. "What I mean to say is, that would be splendid. Let me just tidy up here quickly and I'll join you."
The only thing that really needed tidying was the fallen books she'd dislodged when she'd been startled just moments ago. It took a mere few seconds to place them back atop their stack; a group of returned books to be sorted through later. "There. That'll do for now. Um - are we ready?" Her heart pounded at the thought of meeting new people. Equal parts excitement and terror. The great beast. The man with the skeleton on his back. The one who smells of dispair. Her visions played inside her head like an old movie, only further compounding her anxiety. "Jolly - Jolly good. Let's just get this over with, then."

☀ Cami Rivera ☀
resident; forensic scientist/mechanic | location: driving; street | tags: ghost npcs; open | mentions: Veronica, Olivia, Cordelia

Cami had to double back to her house because she had forgotten something, though she couldn't remember what upon reentering the door. A friendly spirit suggested that her neck was looking a bit bare, and then it hit her - I completely forgot to accessorise! What kind of a first impression would I be making if I didn't have the right accessories?
She called out an exuberant "thank you!" to the man dressed in 18th century garb. On her way out, another apparition chided that she hadn't eaten breakfast, so she grabbed an old granola bar to placate the old woman.
She couldn't tell if the streets themselves were chattering or if it was just the voices in her head. Either way, they were soon drowned out by the revving of an engine and the screech of tires on concrete as she pulled out of the garage. Headphones hanging loosely around her neck, she popped in a tape and turned up the volume.
"Motorbreath, it's how I live my life," she sang along with the chorus. "I can't take it any other way!" Head banging, her distinctive Ford Escort rolled over the cobblestone road. It would have been bumpy and uncomfortable for someone who wasn't used to it. Sure, the train station wasn't that far, but damn if she didn't love that car. She'd take any chance to take Lacey out for a spin.
She could make out a few figures walking up ahead - a trio of women, to be exact. Familiar figures in the clear morning air. They looked like they were enjoying their stroll, so Cami didn't stop to offer them a ride. Instead, she gave them a cheery wave as she slowed her vehicle to weave around them.


🕈 the Spirit of the Forest 🕈
eternal eldritch being | location: the Forest | tags: n/a | mentions: Saint

Something had been there last night. But something was there every night. A wolf in the shape of a person was still a wolf, and wolves were welcome in the forest. So long as it did no harm to their ecosystem, the Spirit would tolerate its presence. Predators like the wolf were necessary for the continued thriving of the forest, after all. If anything, its arrival to the humanoid settlement had been a blessing.
Its scent lingered in the air far after it had left the comfort of the trees. There was another taste on the breeze, though - something that didn't fit. Something new where there should only be old. The Spirit did not like that. They did not like that one bit. But it was about time for fresh meat. Their children had grown tired and hungry; thirsting for sustenance. Screaming out for blood. All it would take was one foolish wanderer - one curious soul - and they would be trapped here forever; one with the wood and the mud and the growth. One with the things that crawl and rot. A part of something greater. A part of something at all. Wasn't that what humans longed for, after all? To be a part of something?
If they venture too deep, they just might get their wish.

[འབྲོག་ཁྱི]

────── ☙ ── 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑶𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹 ──────

LOCATION; alley > grocery store ─ TAGGING; open, visit crane's grocery for all your stranded-in-town needs ─ MENTIONED; Saint

*


Soon after the heavy door had closed after Saint, the cat Rosalind had always noted as the most brave of the bunch, or simply audacious, found its way back into the alley. Although its svelte russet shape hugged the walls and its yellow eyes glared at the door with something entirely too conscious in the way they sought it out, there was an amiable bounce in its step and its striped tail stood tall as a flagpole with the exception of a little bend in the tip that Rose had learned to take as a sign of good will ─ and quite likely flattery, but she would not blame a stray cat for pulling out all the stops to gain its next meal. Rose leaned down and reached out her hand toward the cat that briefly stopped to sniff at the ground where the food had been before it sauntered over and brushed its cheek across the back of her hand. Having confirmed that the food was gone and there would certainly be more tomorrow, the cat dragged its soft side against Rose's ankle and trotted around the corner at the other end of the alley.

A thought of Saint passed by as Rose entered the back room of the grocery store. She had been tense today, not in her usual, commanding way, but there had been something almost inhibited about it. She had not lingered to try and find the words to express herself for Rose's sake as she sometimes did, but had instead hurried off with her bare feet and bruised arm ─ which Rose had noted were rarely an inconvenience, if a thought, to her on their own ─ and this reminded Rose of the train. She, too, had heard the rumble in the ground spreading faithfully across town, but the arrival of a train had parted her mind as soon as it had been noted. She did not categorize people based on whether they were old or new, but on how often they would forget her and how often she might have meant it, regardless of how little she wanted to do so. Others' memories were their own, and although it was a question worth asking whether others' memories of her were hers or theirs, it never did strike her as the kind of thing she wished to be known for doing. Saint, however, never seemed to forget her, and Rose did not want her to. The idea was, in fact, quite unpleasant and Rose allowed it to scatter from her mind as she picked up a shallow delivery crate to bring to the front with her.


*


The grocery store was quaint, its entire interior small enough to be viewed from the counter at the back, yet it always seemed to have whatever it was that anyone came looking for. Sometimes these were objects that Rose could remember having placed onto the wooden shelves, but often enough to be noted, unusual things seemed to be found within arm's reach as if the seeker's wish had been granted. The paper labels, hardwood floors and little baskets stocked by the door had a strange sense of familiarity lingering about them, and Rose could never quite place it, but there were a number of feelings floating about buildings and people in Lethe that Rose could not entirely place. Neither did she long to, not really, as this sort of thing had never seemed out of place here.

Rose placed the crate on the countertop near a gap in the products set onto the shelves and chose one of the tins in a stack of largely uniform cans without much further thought. She rolled it around in her hand to see the front of the label. All the places for various information, producers and canneries, dates and contents, were there, but all it said in the end was the straightfoward Canned corn. She often found herself eyeing the labels for this kind of information, but she was not entirely sure whether there should have been anything further written there. Such seemed somehow frivolous in this store, and the way things were and always had been seemed right. The can slid into place, and so did the rest, a perfect number to fill the space that had been available on shelf. Rose adjusted a few, made sure they aligned, then walked around the counter to place the emptied crate where it would not seem out of place.

[Takara]

✵ | dante aenoure
| 20 | male (he/him) | tourist
| tags; Jed, Clive

Dante shifted his weight. It didn't matter whether the driver was alive or deceased. They'd be stuck here a few hours either way, and frankly, Dante was not in a mood to put his practicals to practice. Something moved in the distance, a doorway, most likely, and Dante lifted his gaze to squint at it. Two men emerged, chatting with practiced ease. Locals, they must be.

Hefting up his bag, Dante sauntered over. He tried to loosen up, to be the "bright young man" that he was oft proclaimed as, instead of the "exhausted traveller who doesn't want to sleep on any more benches then necessary" that he was. As he approached, he eased on a bright smile. With any luck, it was enough to mask the prickliness bubbling under it. "Good day! I hate to bother you gentlemen, but would you know when the next train is coming?" He managed to remain cheery, even as his head throbbed with the rumblings of an oncoming headache. God, never sleep on a train if you want your head to stay screwed on right.

[Guest]

𐇵 𓄹 𓄼 claire aster
resident ・tagged: lilianna・ location: her cabin, outskirts of the field, train station

"i'm fine" claire heard a voice remark, not sounding too friendly. she relaxed. there would certainly be more than one person, but if this person was ok, then there certainly couldn't be many not ok people, could there? "drama queen over there seems to think the driver's dead." she heard again, putting a stop to her rambling conversationt with herself."well i'm sure the driver's fine... the magpie- i mean," she hesitated. she probably sounded crazy. they had probably not become aquainted with the magpie yet. "nevermind. i'm sure nothing bad could've happened to him. she started paying attention to the people around her and then it dawned on her. there would be many tourists. she scanned the crowd of tourists before making a waving gesture with her hand and managing a soft "hello." she could tell the magpie certainly went big with the tourists. it seemed like there were twenty, all staring at her at once.
at this moment was when claire was, well, overwhelmed. she didn't want to be in front of all these people, most likely silently judging her. she stayed still and averted her gaze to her satchel and opened it. "what do you think, edward?"