Terror on the Tracks (Pt. 9, Collab)
Terror on the Tracks (Pt. 9, Collab) fiction stories
  18
  •  
  0
  •   0 comments
Share

snakequeen
snakequeenCommunity member
Autoplay OFF  •  a month ago
Characters:
‘Tristan Wade’/Railan Cox (This is his real name)
Liam Sullivan
Analiese Sierra
Joshua Morris
Shirley Quinn/Ley/Quinn
Walter the Waiter

Terror on the Tracks (Pt. 9, Collab)

‘Tristan Wade’/Railan Cox-

It was dinner. And someone already dead. I didn't especially feel like eating, as much as I didn't especially feel like talking to my sister.

I bet she didn't even know I was here- too busy fainting at that guy’s death… or maybe it was just her asthma… While she had picked a useless job as a seamstress I was already making much

more money than her as an acupuncturist. I took a seat next to the pale faced guy, and the two women, one with a white dentist’s kit, and one with the flower bandana.

Pale Face takes out his computer and begins typing into it and then takes a quick picture of the dining room with a camera. “Why’re you doing that?!” Says Bandana, venom seeping into her voice.

I was actually about to ask that question.

“I’m a reporter.” Pale Face says, then turns back to typing. “I think this story would make quite an impact in the papers.”

“I think that your body would make quite an indent in the floor, if such continues.” Bandana huffs.

“Yeah! Knock it off, you vermin!” Says White Kit. He just smiles and messes around with the screen some more.

“What are you three eating for dinner? I can’t seem to decide on my own…” Pale Face gives us a warm smile.

“Nunya business...” White Kit growls. I was starting to think that all of the females on this train were violent and defensive.

I must have muttered this too, because Pale Face turns to face me…

“Yes… I think much so. Though that’s not what it says in the books.” He adjusts his glasses and offers me another smirk.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!” White Kit demands.

“I was just wondering how to flourish a methodical but radical confab beyond just assimilating the susceptibility of others’ acrimony.”

“HUH??? WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!?!?!” White Kit shrieked, jumping up from her seat and knocking it over to get closer to his face.

“It means that The Snoop was wondering how to establish a conversation between this table without formalities or him getting ill feeling directed towards him for being rude.

But I think it’s pretty much already hopeless, and he should just leave the table.”

“That is as right as rain, but my alias is not ‘The Snoop.’ My title is Liam Sullivan. I think the recessive hair trait just is dominated by the darker type, and so the eyes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And why is that entirely unrelated?” Inquired Bandana, not seeming quite as outraged.

“That means that he’s saying you’re correct but that’s not his name…” White Kit suggested.

“I already KNOW that part!” Exclaims Bandana.

“And he’s also saying that-” White Kit continued, completely cutting her off- “His lighter red hair gene went to the next generation as well as his eyes,

meaning either his mother or father has black hair and eyes and the other has red hair and green eyes. I may be wrong, but both Liam, and Sullivan are Irish names...”

“Isn’t that kind of random?” Bandana protested.

“You’re correct as well.” Liam said, ignoring Bandana. “How about your names…?” Thankfully this conversation seemed to get back on track, and nobody got murdered by sharp utensils.

I scooted out from the table and walked to another. All of them turned, as if wondering where I was going.

Neither of the girls seemed to like Pale Face either, and pretty soon both they left too, as if confirming they hated sitting next to him.

Next I sat next to the woman with the braid, a man with a seemingly bad sense of the current fashions, and yet another (Brown Hair)ed woman.

“Why’re you over here now? I don’t suppose you could give me your name? Mine is Analiese Sierra,” Braid hisses to me right in my ear. She seems to trust me more than these guys…

“MY NA-ME IS JOSH-U-A MORR-IS! WHAT A-BOUT YOURS?!” I wasn’t sure Analiese told me her real name.

But she had whispered it… And obviously Joshua was telling the truth or just a really, REALLY good actor.

“And I’m from Italy - I’m traveling around the world and I don’t care to give my name to random squirts.” Brown Hair said rolling her eyes in a grand arc. I decided to give my fake name.

“Tristan Wade.” I added in, wondering if telling her a fake name would help to convince her to reveal her real name.

Walter came by our table, arms laden with bowls. “I hope you enjoy your appetizer while you order.” He interrupted, pushing the plastic dishes onto the table.

“My name is Walter and I am going to be your server tonight,” he announced again.

By now, I was pretty sure he was the only waiter on this whole train. After all, he was the only one I had seen other than the conductor that was on staff.

“Anything I can get for you?” Walter asked, taking out a white notepad.

“I’ll have the tomato pasta.” Brown Hair put forth with a flip of her ponytail. “Without the cheese, preferably. With some Sprite and extra ice cubes.”

“FR-RUIT-T SA-LAD P-PLEAS-SE! WITH APP-PPLE JUI-CE! AN-” Joshua Morris babbled.

“Tomato pasta without cheese and Sprite with extra ice.” Sierra interjected.

“Are you just copying me?!” demanded Brown Hair, narrowing her thin eyes.

“No.” Analiese muttered.

“Tomato pasta excluding the cheese and some Sprite. Add in extra ice.” I echoed.

“You too? Weirdos.” Brown Hair spat.

“Will that be it?” questioned Walter.

“Yeah, so go away!” Brown Hair snapped and removed a pen from her satchel as well as a notebook.

She began to sketch something that looked like a floor plan for a building as soon as Walter left.

“Hey guys!” a woman pulled a wooden bar stool up to our table. She wore a black tank top and had a black leather jacket to match alongside black shorts.

Sandals provided her little protection from the cold.

A couple needle-like red and white hairpins were scattered throughout her greasy onyx hair, a stud was in one of her penciled eyebrows,

and black eyeshadow was caked around her walnut brown eyes. She also had adorned herself with silver rings and chains that clattered on her hands and red nail polish.

A tattoo of a dragon snaked up her left leg. She looked slightly younger than me. Around twenty one maybe?

“So, how’s life going? The name’s Shirley Quinn, though I go by Ley or Quinn.” She ranted, grabbing Morris’s bowl of soup and shoving a spoonful into her red lipsticked mouth.

Sierra frowned and hissed something in Morris's ear. “THAT W-WAS MY SOUP-P!” Yelled Morris, slightly offended that ‘Ley’ had taken his food. I had little doubt that ‘Ley’ was telling the truth; she was so loud and irritating.

“Oh. Sorry.” ‘Ley’ pushed the soup bowl back to him, the spoon still in her mouth. “I’m goin’ to the bathroom.”

Morris grabbed his food and sniffed it loudly. I winced and poked my own metal spoon around in the thick broth. Since everyone else was eating the food just fine, I took a lick of the broth.

It was salty, like it should be. Nothing appeared to be poisoned.

“Hey, what’re you drawing?” Sierra asked Brown Hair.

“A map of the train.” Brown Hair replied, adding a couple lines to the exit.

“Can I have it?” I asked innocently. “I could never draw something that well. Your skills are exceptional.”

“I suppose you can have it. I was just drawing out of boredom. I found a copy of the actual map in one of the storage closets anyway, so I can always redraw it.

I work for that demanding architect.” She pointed at a man sitting behind me. “He’s really annoying.”

She rolled the map up and handed it over to me. I was tempted to unroll it right then and there, but that would seem rude, so I tucked it away into my backpack.

Flattery almost always worked-now I knew she worked for an architect, probably being somewhat of a designer or similar. When I got back to my room, I would look over the map and memorize it.

That sort of thing would be useful in the long run.

“Could I have one too?” inquired Sierra.

“Nah. I only had one. And I don’t feel like making another one right now. Also, you haven’t complimented me.” Brown Hair stuck out one of her hands and beckoned. “Come on, girl. I’m waiting.”

“Excuse me?” Analiese demanded.

Brown hair snorted. “Seventeen-year-olds these days.”

“I’m not seventeen!” Sierra retorted. “Don’t assume things about people you don’t know. Anyone and everyone could someone you never expected them to be.

” She snatched her bowl off the table and moved over to the counter.

Ley popped back into her seat a second later. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” Muttered Sierra, giving a cold stare at Brown Hair. “Except she’s just plain rude and judgemental.”

“Did you say something? ‘Cuz you’re ridiculously quiet.” Ley announced.

“Nothing.” Sierra said, giving her a stiff glare. “Lunch was disappointing; I’ll go eat in my room instead.

” Morris, as if on cue; spills his soup all over, and bends down to uselessly dab at it with a napkin. Walter the waiter completely ignores the predicament and goes to serve someone else.

Brown Hair winced away from the spill, and took a bite her food. I turned to stare at her for any signs of being poisoned.

“Why are you two staring at me? I’m trying to eat here!” Brown Hair hissed; giving a deep scowl to Sierra and me. We both turn away.

“I was just entranced by your food since I’m absolutely starving- but it’s too hot for me right now…” Sierra said; as she feigned a dramatic act of its heat.

Brown Hair didn’t seem to notice at all. How unperceptive.

“And I was the only one at the table who didn’t get served, because Ley took my food.” I snapped, scowling at Ley. At least this part was true.

As I ate my food in mutual silence, I couldn’t help but wonder what else was occurring on the train.

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store
COMMENTS (0)
SHOUTOUTS (0)