Catching Trains & Walks Through Dark Forests ( OTA )

[2onostromo]

Who: Ellen Ripley & YOU!

What: To ride a train, or not to ride a train, that is the question.

When: Early January

Where: Train, Lockwood Forest

Warning(s): N/a, tbd?

All In a Day’s Work

Perhaps mining isn’t the kindest labor Ellen Ripley could have chosen for herself, but she doesn’t care. She needs something. A purpose on this cold, unforgiving rock– if Pumpkin Hollow can be classified as such. It’s dubious her new home exists on any celestial body she’s familiar with, and yet she finds herself pitching eyes upward to probe the clear black sky. For clues, for hints of life elsewhere, for the star systems who’d raised her. Nothing. How lonely.

Into the mines, then. To be swallowed by a new, impenetrable dark. A starless void of dust, rock and precious ore. The maternal drone of an intelligent computer is replaced by the rhythmic clang, clang, clang of her’s and other’s tools. Star systems replaced by a maze of intravenous tunnels. Hauler ships worth multi-millions, responsible for carrying several billion tons of crude oil in their breast-shaped modules, reduced to archaic mine-carts. The drone of men around her– that much hasn’t changed a bit. The utter lack of advanced technology stumps her at first, borne of a time long before her own. But she adapts. Hard not to. What else has she but time, after all?

Her work takes her all the way to Cranes Ridge, a sprawl of dry mountains tucked deep within Lockwood Forest.

When she rises out of the ground, caked in dust and smattered in ore and oil to catch the train home, she finds the sun has gone down. Not unusual, given her long work-hours. But nevertheless perturbing.

The train welcomes her by unhinging its sliding jaw, allowing her entrance into a narrow yet comfortable cabin. It kicks up sparks as it leaves the station. Coughs clouds of black smoke into the still night air. You find her seated in one of several empty rows, wiping her face with a grey cloth.

All in a day’s work.


ALT. No Way Home

Up, up, up out of the ground she climbs. Hauls her belongings to the foot of the train station. She awaits its arrival; a squeal, a kicking of sparks and cough of black smoke clouds as it slows to greet her. She waits. Shuffles from left foot to right. Drops her bag, picks it up again. She spends a great deal of time looking at the stars. They eye her knowingly, pulsating their yellow aura. Speaking their unintelligible language. A deep frown cuts Ellen’s face horizontally.

She waits.

No train, no sparks, no smoke.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Wrenching her bag from the ground, Ripley starts with an irritated fervor down the stairs and into Lockwood Forest. She’ll see her own way home…

BONUS. Wild Card!

Hit me with whatever you've got!

 

Comments

All In a Day’s Work

[liesdontfindyou]

CT doesn't frequently travel this far out from town, but sometimes she gets an itch under her skin that brings her back out to the abandoned cabins in the forest where some had been summoned, months ago, to see if there's something she missed. There isn't. There never has been. But the itch still has to be scratched and the walk both ways is a good time to clear her head, to get her thoughts in order.

It's easy to lose track of time out there and so it's late by the time she makes it up to the station, ready to ride back into town. It's no surprise that there are some labourers milling around, fresh off work. In a way it's actually rather familiar—Resol was a mining colony first and foremost, and much of their people miners.

Still, she chooses to board the carriage that seems it'll be quietest and settles into a seat, bundled up in her winter coat. It's as the train starts moving she takes note of the woman that is in the car with her. Watching her for a moment is enough to assume she's another otherworlder—you start getting a sense for how the locals act and how the new arrivals stand out, or at least she has.

"Long day at work?"

Re: All In a Day’s Work

[2onostromo]

At this time of night, the train breathes a sentient air. Sways the way an animal's stomach might sway as it barrels through the forest, having just consumed a satisfying meal. She glances through her window, as train passengers often do to pass the time, and sees nothing. Evening mystery shrouds the view outside. Windows stretch in long rectangles, throwing back her own image. It stares at her. Permeates through glass in a way too conscious for a reflection.

She's scared. Has been since she's arrived.

But Ripley's strong resolve-- or the mask of it, at least-- is worn confidently enough that she's able to fool herself.

Herself, though not the woman across from her. Unconscious of the traits which give away her status as an otherworlder, Ripley lifts her chin to meet the stranger's eyes. Tucks her cloth in her work belt slowly, warily, face smeared with grime.

"Long enough. You?"

[liesdontfindyou]

CT shrugs one shoulder. "Sort of. I was following up on a dead end that hasn't stopped being a dead end since the last time I checked it. I work with the Enforcers, so..."

A very different kind of work, work that often becomes shaped by her own suspicions and theories that don't always go anywhere. Her mind is ever-active and she's never been above taking reasonable risks to follow a theory, to make sure she hasn't missed something.

[2onostromo]

"Oh yeah?" Ripley sits up, looking a touch more curious but no less wary than she'd been before. "If it's dead, why keep revisiting it? Sounds like textbook insanity to me."

Not that she has any room to speak. Here sits Ellen, coming down from ten long hours of clanging metal against rock, thinking it'll do anything to solve the issue of her being here. An apt hand to avoid a disconcerted mind. Again and again and again. Clang, clang, clang; same ore, same slurry of claustrophobic dread.

"What's the story?"

[liesdontfindyou]

She shrugs the same shoulder again, head nodding to almost meet it. "A lot of leads I've followed in the past looked like dead ends until something changed. But I won't pretend it's not a little... compulsive."

Bad habits formed in those long months working undercover back on the ship, and not helped by the months spent on the run where all she could do with the data was run through the same chunks over and over again like it would change anything.

"A few months ago, the body of a woman who went missing the year before the barrier went up was discovered in a well. She was placed held captive there by a cult until her death as part of whatever ritual ultimately raised the barrier. A few days after this discovery a number of us otherworlders were sent an invitation that told us to go out to the abandoned cabins in the woods, where we recited some words written on a wall that triggered this... sort of magical simulation of a past event. We learned a lot there, but I just... keep coming back to the cabins, for no good reason—it's not like the event we saw was set in them. Logically, I'm sure they were chosen out of convenience by whoever initiated the whole thing. But less logically..."

Another shrug.

"It feels like a bit of grit rolling around in my head."

[2onostromo]

Compulsive. The word strums a dissonant cord. Clarity hits her in a brief flash of alien white. She scarcely considers why she'd felt a pull toward the mines, for it's a brutal and unrewarding job so few volunteer for. Now, the answer seems obvious. Compulsion. A squeezing into familiar fears; perhaps in an effort to control them. Or rather, a form of self-torture.

Compulsion. Expecting change-- this time, this time things will be different-- and finding none.

Ripley leans forward, elbows braced on either leg. She listens intently. A body. A well, like a gut set deep into the earth. Cults and rituals and a raising of barriers. It leaves a foul taste in her mouth (or maybe that's the rock grime).

"Sounds nasty. Hard to believe something so fantastical could actually happen." She raises a leveled curiosity, bordering on incredulity. "What did you see?"

[liesdontfindyou]

"Before here I would never have believed it. I probably wouldn't even have believed this, specifically, if I hadn't been there. My world's a lot more..." her mouth twists, "spaceships and aliens than magic and monsters."

The supernatural side of things took some getting used to. If you'd told her a few months ago that she'd now be the second-ranking member of an enforcer department dedicated to handling supernatural matters, she'd have been very surprised.

"But what we saw was a meeting of that same cult. We played the parts of 'new recruits' until the end where it turned out we were more playing the role of sacrifices. Unpleasant, but it did a lot for our understanding of what caused the curse."

[2onostromo]

She laughs a short, disbelieving peel of laughter. One completely drained of humor, but nevertheless indicative to her relief. Kinship if it were a noise. An ugly, jaded noise. "That makes two of us. How bad was it?" She knows intergalactic horrors aren't exactly the epitome of small-talk. "If you don't mind me asking."

Curses like this exceed her understanding, and she won't pretend to make sense of ill-fashioned logic. Magic and sacrifices. Storybook horrors.

"The curse- as in, what's keeping us all here? You think it's got something to do with that cult?" Ellen gestures with her head to no one-- nothing-- in particular.

[liesdontfindyou]

"We know it does. The woman in the well was at least one part of the ritual to raise the barrier. There's some... deal, between the chaos god that cult worshipped and the demons and..." she waves a hand, vaguely.

Ongoing investigation. Lots of unanswered questions. An entire island full of people with different levels of knowledge on what's going on. It's a mess.

"As for home— ha, it's— it's bad. Quarter-century of intergalactic war with an alien collective that outguns us on every level kinds of bad. And that's not even getting into the problems humanity still causes ourselves, obviously." Because humanity never does stop shooting itself in the foot, one way or another. CT tries to shake the cynicism away, sometimes, but it's stuck to her thoughts like old glue. "How about you?"

[2onostromo]

She nods, sympathetic to CT's fatigue. A web of info that, from what she's gathered, might take days to fully extrapolate; neither of whom have the time nor energy to give or receive said information. That, and she isn't police. She's got no right to info deemed unnecessary for public eyes. Ellen isn't sure she wants to know, either. Maybe that's foolish of her...

The chaos god. Jesus, it's even more ridiculous when said aloud.

"We're always finding new ways to shoot ourselves in the foot. You think with bigger issues out there, we'd can it and work together. A kid's dream, I guess." What more is a government-- The Company-- than a hundred dozen children squealing in their executive suits? Disgust plays ripely on her face. "That sounds awful. Ours wasn't quite so conscious. More animal than anything. We only made contact with one, but there were a hundred, maybe more, eggs on the planet we'd docked on. It killed my crew in less than twenty four hours. Eviscerated."

[liesdontfindyou]

CT winces sympathetically. "Shit. That— sounds horrific. When a situation goes south in space it really goes south."

She knows that well enough. When you're stuck on a ship, travelling through space, your options are limited. There never was an attack on the Invention itself, but doing the work she was doing, hiding it from the higher ups...

You start feeling like a rat in a cage.

"I've been lucky enough not to deal with ours up close, I was always fighting in the back channels of the war where we had to deal with other people more than the alien threat. Not that it was all sunshine and rainbows back there, it definitely wasn't—the amount of infighting when we were literally facing extinction is..." she blows air.

It drives her insane, not least because it's not as if she doesn't understand why the Insurrection dislikes the UNSC, but with the Covenant...

"Anyway. There aren't a lot of us around here that come from worlds with proper spacefaring. I know a couple others personally and I think there's a couple I don't know yet, but..." They're still pretty uncommon, overall. "I'm CT."

[2onostromo]

"Tell me about it. Suddenly your nice, big freighter starts feeling like a sardine can."

Suddenly you're aware that in every nook and cranny might be the sleek gasoline shape that'd ravaged your crew. Suddenly you're no longer able to differentiate between the purring instrumentalities of the Nostromo and the quiet swell of an alien creature's lungs. Every shadow, every tinker of metal or wet drip of condensation bringing you closer to death.

"They have a real propensity for causing trouble, those higher-ups. Shove their noses where they don't belong while we suffer the consequences. My crew and I would have survived were it not for the fuckers who shepherded us back at headquarters. War and money, that's all they care about."

She wonders what form this woman's alien takes on. Sentient enough to wage war, by the sound of it. Then again, wars are fought between all kinds of creatures. Lions who career into each other in their brawls for dominance, down to the microscopic, one amoeba eating the other.

"That's... good to know, actually. I've haven't socialized very much around here. The work schedule makes it difficult, though I guess I've treated that like a blessing rather than a curse."

The stretching space between the left and right isles feels suddenly insurmountable. Impersonal. She picks herself up out of her seat, stands and extends a hand.

"CT. Strange name, I like it. Ellen Ripley."

[liesdontfindyou]

"Maybe I'm a strange person," CT jokes, taking and shaking the hand. "Are you more of a first names or surnames type?"

She knows others who are both. Though she herself is a secret third thing: a nickname born of a codename that few others on the island even know. She's used her real name only once, as a false alias at that cult gathering—meaning a good dozen people have heard it, but only one knows it wasn't actually fake.

"You're not wrong about the top brass. My outfit was... our commanding officer was unfit for the position, let's just say that." That's putting it lightly, but she's never been one to go into the gory details too quickly. "I probably wouldn't be here if he wasn't such an asshole, but what are you gonna do, y'know."

No Way Home

[thelatechrisfreeman]

At some point in her trek down the mountain, she'll hear a voice call out from above, "Slow down! You don't want to step off the path!"

There's someone sitting on the branch of a tree nearby. The sunshine yellow shirt they wear might make it easy to see them, despite darkness of the hour.

Chris continues to speak, in a light and friendly tone, "I've taken quite a few falls, and I'd hate to see you tumble down the mountain."

[2onostromo]

A night forest's silence is utterly unmatched. Marked by a stillness in the trees and the ecosystem's slumbering purr.

Ellen Ripley, the sole harbinger of noise in this wood, pounds feet against the ground in her perilous journey home. Cracks sticks, ruins the snow's untouched sheen. Fwomp, fwomp, fwomp. The silence works its way deep into her tissue, into the membrane of one trillion cells, and she is disturbed.

So when the stranger's voice peels out into the silent darkness, cracking it like porcelain, the way lightening splits the sky into a dozen shimmering pieces, she screams.

Trips, too.

Her ass hits the cold, hard ground.

"Christ-!"

Wild eyes find a sunny yellow patch in the trees. She scrambles for the pickaxe at her belt and finds--

Not a monster, not a ghoulish figment, but something human. An androgynous, tree-perched friend.

"Fuck!" She's up on her feet in an instant. Thwacks her work tool hard into the trunk, a frustrated instinct as opposed to an attack. It splits the bark rudely. "Isn't it a little late to be climbing in the trees?"

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris does feel bad when she trips and falls, but it was only a short distance. They watch with a little alarm as she approaches with the pickaxe out, but they're up high enough that she'd have trouble reaching them. A small flinch from Chris accentuates that thwack of the tool against the tree trunk, more from the noise than anything.

All the same, Chris is glad they did not approach her this morning, to pass on any warnings. 'Stay away from your job for the day' likely wouldn't be taken with any more grace than this.

"Well, no. It was necessary to be here at the time. You need an escort through the forest, don't you? It's dangerous at night."

[2onostromo]

Chris is wise to have waited, for she would have heeded their warning with as much caution as she'd give a small crack in the ground. Besides, anything that could happen in the mines she knows damn well how to avoid. Check the airlift hydraulics daily, never store detonators in the same magazine with other explosive materials, never drill into any hole that has contained explosive materials, and so on, every threat addressed in a bible-thick handbook.

What could she possibly have to worry about?

The woods, however, are a different story.

She hasn't stepped foot in a biome like this in... Well, ever. Spacefaring hinders it. She knows the woods how a blind man knows the color green.

"Necessary?" Ripley caws, almost offended-sounding. "What makes you think I need an escort? I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

As if to accentuate her point, she yanks her pickaxe out of the tree to rest it on her shoulder.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris knew, thanks to their strange powers, that the train wouldn't wait for her tonight. That because of that she would be facing a lonely trek back into town... and avoiding the entire reason for being on the mountain is the sort of scorched-earth alternative that panic advocates for.

They've been burned by a scorched-earth alternative in the past.

They've also suffered due to demonic fuckery to do with this very train.

And so, here they are -- having climbed the tree while it was still light out, and taken a nap until waking at the sound of Ripley's approach. Chris leans in and down, longish hair swaying like a curtain, and tap into their connection with the between.

Their eyes glow a stark, sullen red out of the darkness as they say, "More eyes to watch for predators, of course. And I can provide that advance warning that you'll need to handle yourself, ma'am."

[2onostromo]

Ripley watches them swing, a true creature of the wood if she's ever seen one. Or maybe it's just dark out, and she's too tired to consider what a real forest-dwelling creature ought to look like.

They've certainly got the eyes for it, like two tocsin bulbs in which to probe the darkness. She frowns. Takes a step back with pickaxe gripped firmly in her hand.

Is this thing going to kill me? An important question. One she's afraid she doesn't know the answer to- not yet. And isn't that the scariest thing?

Wind whistles through cracks in the trees. It exacerbates her silence as she weighs whether or not she'd like to die in this depressive wood. Whether or not she really needs a guide to herald her to safety, or if she can navigate perfectly well on her own.

"Oh, fine." The woman relents. "You'd better get down from there quick before I change my mind. And you'll be taking up the front."

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris jumps down, rolling a short distance as they land in order to distribute the force of impact, and jumps to their feet to brush dead vegetation off their clothes. (Very normal clothes... that sunshine-yellow blouse was made from a secondhand dress, light brown linen pants cover their legs, and winter boots are on their feet. The strap of a canvas shoulder bag is slung across their chest, so that the bag itself rests against one hip.)

"My name is Chris Freeman."

They neither ask for her name, nor give any platitudes. They simply nod in acknowledgement of her terms and move to the path so they can walk ahead of her.

"I haven't heard of any particular monsters being reported in the woods, but it happens a lot. And I'd rather you not be a hero, since I'll be back in my body tomorrow even if they kill me." Chris glances back and smiles. "With one foot in the grave anyway, being dead here is hardly a handicap."

Really reassuring, Chris. A+ on coming across normal.... not.

[2onostromo]

Obliging her demand, Chris Freeman spearheads the long walk home. Plunges onto the tree-lined path with an air of casualty Ellen finds disturbing. It's a good thing they don't ask for her name. She isn't sure she wants to give it.

"I wouldn't be surprised. On my first day here, I saw something strange by the tree line. Disappeared into the woods." She shrugs, hoisting her work bag securely onto her back. The accessory reeks of metal ore and dirt. "I haven't seen it since."

Great, she's got a wacko to walk her home and monsters to look out for... How fortunate. Best to keep a healthy distance.

"So, what, you're like a half ghost?"

[thelatechrisfreeman]

"Some percentage thereof," Chris answers. "I assume you've gotten the spiel about how we only temporarily die here on the island? I was dealing with the same thing even in the world I came from."

They scan the path and the woods to either side as the pair descend, watching and listening for any sign that they've gained an unwelcome third party to their group. (Technically, Chris themself is an unwelcome second party, but they'd rather that than meeting this woman as a ghost. Because guess what, they can see ghosts!)

"I'm more used to city living, but the island has become more and more comfortable as I spend time here. How are you settling in?"

[2onostromo]

"I have. Curses, gods and demons, the whole slew. You're the first ghost I've had the pleasure of meeting, if that's really what you are. I can't say I ever believed in them. Never believed in Gods and demons, either. But it's hard to deny the existence of something when it's staring you in the face."

In this case, the back of the head.

Snow and sallow leaves squish underfoot. She'll be damned if she slips again-- certainly not in front of her new company, and so Ellen proceeds down the mountain in careful steps. One in front of the other. The air is cold and stale. On each exhale, she expels a cloud of dragon's smoke.

"Alright, I suppose. The mines keep me busy. I've met a few locals. Nice people. I'm not thrilled to be here, but what can you do?" She shrugs.

"And the technology is archaic."

Lambert would be proud of her griping, she thinks.

[thelatechrisfreeman]

Chris huffs out a little laugh at the comment about technology. A lot of the newcomers say that. Hell, Chris has had that thought themself.

"There are some that have left, but... that way means returning to the death they've been avoiding. For most of them." Chris gives a little shrug. "This island is full of ghosts who can't move on. They got stuck with the rest of us when the barrier came down. I--"

Bare twigs rattle against each other, as something moves out there in the darkness. Chris stops, and peers out into the gloom surrounding them, one hand slipping into the bag at their hip.

"I think we can move a little faster and still be safe," Chris says after a moment, glancing back at her to meet her eyes. Their expression should show they are clearly unsettled by the sound and not being able to determine its source.

[2onostromo]

She dislikes the idea; her, a ghost floating aimlessly through some unknown void, unable to process what'd happened in a previous life and so resigns herself to beginning a new one. New house, new job, new community. What the Hollow lacks in technological advancements, it makes up for in simplicity, really. There's so little expected of her. The entirety of her wage goes into groceries, necessities, perhaps some taxes but very little.

There exists no Company to stare blistering into her. To garner her earnings and demand the most of her time.

No space, no cryo-sleep, no vast intricate freighters to call home. She's stationary here. A dead woman walking.

And the crux of it all, forever unchanged; a new battalion of creatures that plod through the dark after her.

"So what's that make me?"

Snap. They still. Ripley doesn't like the look Chris gives her. They're unsettled. And if they're unsettled, something tells her she should be to.

"Could be anything. A wolf, a possum, raccoon--" Regardless, she doesn't want to find out. Ellen hurries after them, falling into step beside Chris rather than at the rear. Safer this way, she thinks. If something creeps up behind them, there's half a chance it'll go after her.

"How'd you know I'd be out in the woods, anyway?"