Metro Station

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Where was the d*mned train? The second she was out of the subway, Toni planned to call Bill. She now had a purpose to her travel and she supposed she could get off the train near Bill’s apartment and surprise him.

“Hi, Bill, sweetheart, love…. I just ran into your sister. She’s a real b*tch. You want to tell me what she means when she says you “leave out information”?”

Yeah, that would be a fantastic conversation, no doubt. She suddenly wanted to do this in person just so she could gauge Bill’s reactions.

“The only thing Bill’s good at managing is a stage. But when it comes to his personal life, he’s a mess. You should know what you’re getting into, because Bill’s not going to tell you, and you’d end up finding out the hard way. I’m really just trying to help, because I want this to work.”

“Well,” Toni said thoughtfully. “Luckily, I’m an actress. I get on fabulously with stage directors. So… the odds this will work are probably better than you think.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Even, when they were younger, Bill’s best talent was omission. Where Penny told her parents exactly where she was going, for how long, and with whom (“Molly and I are going to her house for an hour and five minutes before going down to the river, then straight back here. I will be back in two hours, Mum!”), their parents usually only knew Bill was staying in England, had his motorcycle, and would be back before the week was out. Usually, he was fine, but sometimes gave back in some kind of trouble, either in the form of a god-natured police officer or a broken bone. Either way, it was a habit Penny had hoped (or rather, assumed) he would grow out of. But with his latest stint with drugs and judges, he wasn’t proving otherwise to Penny.

Maybe, just maybe Toni could change him.

It was an overly romanticized thought, but for one, it might’ve just worked.

“Well, luckily, I’m an actress. I get on fabulously with stage directors. So… the odds this will work are probably better than you think.”

Penny’s eyes widened. “Well, you certainly are confident. That’s good. William needs that. Don’t let him boss you around.” Penny sat back in her seat, looking at the thick metal of the tracks the train should’ve been on. “An actress, huh? William certainly has this weird fetish for women in the performing arts, but I think you’re the first actress. I think I’m supposed to say ‘congratulations’….?”

Penny had loads of work to do. Where could this train possibly be?

[The Exodus]

Toni Vandeleur

Some people! Toni would bet that Penelope was a pencil-pusher in some office somewhere, doing something she thought was important and well-respected. She’d bet the woman was used to hearing people say things like, “Yes, ma’am” and “Here’s your coffee, mademoiselle MaCarthy” all day. Nobody saying “boo” to her; no one telling her anything she didn’t want to hear. Toni, meanwhile, was not that sort of woman. Never had been. She constantly was up against directors telling her she was wrong during her acting days. As a director, actors wanted to fight her over objectives and superobjectives. As a professor, her students were finally respectful, but her bosses weren’t. She was an adjunct professor, working her way to become a permanent fixture. No one said “yes ma’am” to Toni these days. More often than not, she heard, “We’ll see, Professor Vandeleur.” Or “The board will be the judge of that.”

Which was why Penelope didn’t faze her. Toni had worse critics in her time. And honestly, once you were reviewed by the New York Times or the Guardian—harshly—even your boyfriend’s sister didn’t scare you.

Worst was probably some blowhard from The Stage. Miss Vandeleur has a certain/i] je nai ce quois about her. The real pity is that neither I nor anyone else in the audience could tell what that certain something was…

“Well, you certainly are confident.” Penelope said. “That’s good. William needs that. Don’t let him boss you around. An actress, huh? William certainly has this weird fetish for women in the performing arts, but I think you’re the first actress. I think I’m supposed to say ‘congratulations’….?”

“I don’t think you understand the word “fetish”, Penelope,” Toni said, leaning forward, smirking a little. “We’re dating, not tying each other to bedposts and strutting around in leather jumpsuits.”

She paused and shook her head. She wasn’t going there. Penelope would likely faint if she made any more lurid jokes.

“Even if we were, you shouldn’t be so critical,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want your brother to be happy…”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Penny MaCarthy

Penny tapped her toe to the tempo of her impatience, as she debated calling William when she got to her apartment. Maybe he could tell her how to best deal with his new flame, since he seemed to be the closest thing to an expert Penny knew.

“I don’t think you understand the word “fetish”, Penelope,” Toni said, leaning forward, smirking a little. “We’re dating, not tying each other to bedposts and strutting around in leather jumpsuits.” Penny raised an eyebrow. Yes. She and William seemed to be perfect for each other. After over two decades of William’s crass humor and sarcastic words, her skin was thick, bypassing femininity all together. William had found a sparring partner in Toni, it seemed, and Penny couldn’t help but wonder if that was all they had in common.

Whatever. It wasn’t her business.

“Even if we were, you shouldn’t be so critical,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want your brother to be happy…”

Penny’s mouth fell open. “Of course I want my brother to be happy—what sibling doesn’t?—but if William truly wanted to be happy, he’d work harder to be so. But no, he willingly seeks circumstances and situations that will make him miserable. If that’s what he wants, who am I to begrudge him?”

The familiar squeal of metal brakes on metal reached Penny’s ears and she turned to the source with a smile. Her train. It was here, finally. And she stood to the sound of a French apology over the loud speaker.

“Well, Toni, this is me. It was a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

And as she boarded, she genuinely wondered if maybe Toni was right. Did she want the best for William? Did she want to see him as happy as she wanted to see Freddy, as successful as she wanted to be? She would definitely be calling her eldest brother tonight. Maybe they would go to a dinner in addition to their mandatory monthly one.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

OoC: Open scene time!!! BiC:


Ashton Michaud

Ashton hated metro stations. She had ever since she was five years old. She was on her way to dance class, dressed head to toe in pink, blonde hair done up in pigtails, tied together with a perfect bow. She had wandered away from her mother, travelled too closely to the tracks. ’Don’t cross the red line, my sweetheart,’ her mother had often said, and even five year old Ashton had enough sense to obey her. As Ashton played with ants that had gathered around a blue spot of gum, she looked up to see a woman, shabby, sad, across the tracks. She was the kind of person Ashton’s father always edged Ashton away from, his grip getting slightly tighter as they passed by, the kind of person her mother gave a few pounds to. Ashton waved, unsure why her father had mumbled about her kind of people; she seemed nice enough. The pustules on her face didn’t faze Ashton, as a five year old, she assumed it was make up, an experiment. The woman didn’t wave back, but as the lights of the incoming train approached, she took one last step nearer Ashton. For a moment, Ashton thought she was floating, coming towards her to become her friend, but after hovering a moment, gravity wrapped his ugly, filthy hands on her and sucked up down beneath the train.

Ashton, even now, could remember the sound her body made as it shattered beneath the locomotive. Nameless, no one knew. No one saw. There were no news stories, no cameramen. Only Ashton as a living witness. It was burden to bear, a cross she carried since she was five, an image that replayed itself over and over in her nightmares, and even to this day marred and disfigured her view on the local subway system. Last time she was here, she cried out of fear and Lucian had to hold her, silence her sobs with his soothing words. But this time, she found herself a new distraction, a new way to cope.

Pen in hand, she scribbled on her arms, and in elegant ink work wrote variations of her new name. Mrs. Ashton Michaud. Mrs. Ashton Rae Michaud. Ashton Michaud. Ashton Rae Michaud… Being married was a large new step in her life and, though she and Lucian made the transition very smoothly, she was still bridging the gap between her life as Ashton Greene and her life as Mrs. Michaud.

[Deleted]

Jade Jolie

The metro station was a sign that Jade was closer to her natural habitat and she could sense it when she climbed down the stairs. Something about descending down the steps, away from the sickly sweet Paris streets, and into an abyss of the dark and unknown made her feel at peace. Down here, no one had a clue who was lurking. Everyone passed one another, bumping into shoulders and not giving a flying f*ck. There was a difference from her afternoon of being stuck in a cramped room with a bunch of college preps, taking notes on their expensive laptops that they used for social whatever the f*ck websites, and didn't give about what the professor was saying because they weren't paying for that class, and then there was this. The evening time where Jade Jolie got to go back to her apartment across Paris and be somewhere where she didn't stick out like a hoe bag's thong. This station was a good cigarette break. It calmed her senses.

Making her way down to where her station was, Jade looked at the clock hanging up ahead and sneered at it. She was early, what the piss? Jade Jolie was going to be late for her shift tonight serving and she would be damned to miss all those incoming tips at rush hour. Whatever, Jade was over it. No sense throwing a fit if it wasn't going to make anything happen. She'd just wear a shirt that popped her jugs out more.

Backing up into the wall to lean against it, Jade rolled her head back and forth, breathing out through her lips and making them sound like a motorboat. When she rolled her head fully to the side, she noticed a blondie sitting on the bench next to where she was standing. Curious and just bored as all hell, Jade Jolie pushed her head out from the wall a little bit to look over her shoulder and see she was scribbling with ink on her arm. The petite little thing that probably would be crushed in seconds if she lived where Jade lived made her grin. It looked like she was prepping for a tat. Jade had some ink herself and she knew about writing an upcoming tattoo with pen first and wearing it around for awhile to test it out. From one inked up b*tch to another, Jade took a step out from the wall to have a good look at what the lady was thinking about getting.

Jade Jolie's eyes nearly blew up. Rubbing at the nape of her neck, she couldn't help but say something, speaking up from behind. "Eh, you should really think hard before gettin' someone's name." Jade looked at the slender arm, looking at the handwritten name that seemed to be a woman's all along it. Maybe she was a lesbian or maybe she was changing the last name- Jade didn't care or didn't judge. She shrugged casually, "A tat lasts forever but a person doesn't, y'know?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Michaud

Just as Ashton finished off the loopy, elongated ‘d’ on Mrs. Michaud, she heard a voice from behind her. "Eh, you should really think hard before gettin' someone's name.” Ashton jumped. She was always jumpy in metro stations. It was a big enough challenge descending the steps or walking by one without holding her breath, much less talking in one. The way her voice resonated around the cavernous space, bouncing back to her like the ghosts of her traumatic subway experience coming back to taunt her.

She turned to the owner of the voice, with a smile. It was a young woman, about her own age, which melted away her fear a bit. "A tat lasts forever but a person doesn't, y'know?"

Ashton laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not getting a tattoo. My husband doesn’t mind the one I have now, but I promised him I wouldn’t get another one. Which was a stupid thing to agree to, you know? I like them.” Ashton said definitely. Though a marriage shouldn’t start with lies and broken promises, a tattoo wasn’t such a bad thing—and her promise wasn’t in her wedding vows. But it wasn’t getting one that was the problem, it was hiding it. Some wives could get away with it, Ashton supposed, hiding ink from their spouse. But she and Lucian were so visceral, so intimate; her skin was his skin, and they wore it bare proudly. He would notice for sure. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t toy with the idea of getting another. Her ribcage’s Joie du vivre could use a companion.

[Deleted]

Jade Jolie

The blonde turned to look over at her and laughed. Jade slid her hands into her pockets, raising her eyebrows in a glare. Ya, she got it, she shouldn't offer her two cents when it wasn't her business, but she didn't have to laugh and be a little witch about it. It was just some advice from someone who knew.

“Oh, no. I’m not getting a tattoo." Jade Jolie nodded, forgetting the whole, witch image, and dropped down her defenses that reflexively always went up when she assumed the worst in people. Which was pretty much all the time. "My husband doesn’t mind the one I have now, but I promised him I wouldn’t get another one. Which was a stupid thing to agree to, you know? I like them.”

It was Jade's turn to laugh, and she rolled her head backward against the wall. She couldn't help but do at a statement like that. Talk about being whipped. "What does he have like a collar on you too or somethin'?" She joked, and then looked over at her, "I'm just kiddin." In a way, she wasn't. Jade could never be like that. Promising someone to not do something they didn't want her to do. She understood love and marriage, all that bull, but that didn't mean losing your complete freedom of speech or just doing whatever the hell she wanted, no questions asked. Jade Jolie could see sharing love with someone someday- maybe- but if a man tried to stop her from getting a tat, she'd enlarge it times ten and walk the hell out of that.

"But seriously," Jade continued, sighing. "People don't understand how addicting they are."

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Michaud

"What does he have like a collar on you too or somethin'?" the woman asked. Ashton wasn’t sure what the ‘too’ was about and Ashton wasn’t sure why the woman laughed; Ashton wasn’t opposed to the idea. She and Lucian were willing to try anything once and if they liked it, try it again. Collars weren’t out of the question. But this stranger didn’t need to know that, so Ashton smirked silently to herself.

"I'm just kiddin."

Ashton wasn’t. She was going to seriously run this dog collar idea by Lucian. Sure, they’d need to drop Gregory off at Damien’s, but it would be well worth the experiment. She could just see that smile creeping onto Lucian’s puzzled face at the prospect as he, too, fabricated fascinating images in his minds eyes. Maybe she would thank this stranger for pushing the wheels in her brain, getting them turning. This idea opened doors and thighs alike.

"But seriously," the woman continued. "People don't understand how addicting they are."

Ashton’s mind had wandered and she blinked a few times, slightly dazed. Getting her train of thought back on the track it had jumped, “tattoos, do you mean? Yes. They are, I suppose. It’s why I only have one.”

[Deleted]

Jade Jolie

The past Jade Jolie would have been jealous of this lady. Her skin had no blemishes, she looked good under the metro station harsh light which Jade thought was impossible, she had a husband to go home to, and her clothes looked all neat. That was like, the perfect picture right? Jade had been jealous and compared herself a lot once. Then she realized how stupid that was. She didn't even know this person. She could be on her way to the hospital to visit her dying mother, and her boyfriend could be beating the crap out of her when she got home. She would have been jealous of her, and probably treated her differently in the sense that she would have been intimidated by her so treated her bad. Now, Jade looked at them like they were equals. It made for making more friends that way. It was beginning to work socially. Keeping Jade's guard up all the time, judging being a way to block out all others, was really working out.

“Tattoos, do you mean? Yes. They are, I suppose. It’s why I only have one.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jade slowly pushed forward from the wall, and folded her arms across her chest. "You have one?" She asked, lifting up her chin in gesture, "Let me see it. I love ink."

It was true. Probably too true. Jade had about four so far and was aching for another one.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Michaud

Dog collars and leather costumes from her mind, she focused on this girl, trying her hardest to shut out the sound of the subway; the clunkity clunk of the wheels on metal tracks, the whoosh and creaking of doors opening and trains braking, the sound of people talking, of bodies crumpling as they fell to the song of unheard suicides in the underground. She blinked hard to shut it out, shaking her head slightly and adjusting her eyes to blur out the background, the woman before her in completely frame of her focus.

"You have one?" Ashton’s soft smile faltered at this question.

“Yes,” she said shortly. Ashton was certain she had said so already. She thought about the ink emblazoned on her side. She thought of the times Lucian traced it like a stencil, careful and gentle with his fingertips, sending lightning strikes of love to pierce her skin and inject her with cocktails of euphoria and adrenaline. She thought of the sticky nights when she could swear the ink would melt off as she and Lucian’s bodies collided. She thought about the nine months she was pregnant with Gregory, and watching, as the brilliant baby boy grew inside her, her tattoo stretching and morphing and reminding her that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to get. But then she thought of her mother, buried in London, who told her once, when she was blind, her words bloody and slurred, to find the hidden joy in life. Her joie du vivre. She could remember her Uncle Bobby pretending to be her father to take her to get the tattoo, lying through their teeth, holding each other’s hand as the needles etched into her skin the three little words that would come to define her life philosophy: joie du vivre.

"Let me see it. I love ink."

“No.” Ashton said sharply, clutching her side until her knuckles turned white. The tattoo was special, so private that only a few saw it, knew of its existence. She was not about to reveal a part of her most inner self in the middle of the subway. “You cannot! It’s… personal.”

[Deleted]

Jade Jolie [\b]

"No" She said sharply, enough to make Jade's blood get a little heated. Maybe she didn't like that word either , or the way she was dramatically grabbing at her side like Jade asked her to show her her boobs or something.

"You cannot! It's personal."

Jade laughed out loud throwing a hand at her, "Chill the hell out." She murmured, throwing herself back up against the wall. Leaning against it she sighed. She thought she had been lying before about the tat, so when she mentioned it again Jade had to see it. Apparently no one was going to see that thing.

Grinding her teeth, she rolled her eyes and closed them. Her temper was rising. It was always sensitive. Still, she could have been polite or just said no. Jade Jolie was getting pissed. In her head the situation fired her up. She always wondered if her way of perceiving things was not how it really was. Still, she was over it.

"Just politely say no, I'm sorry, it's personal to me... " She grumbled more to herself. "No!" she squeaked in a mocking voice.

Jade sighed, her eyes still shut and slid her body down the wall, planting her *ss on the floor. She was focusing on her breathing.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Michaud

When the woman laughed, the sparkle in Ashton’s eyes dimmed. This was one of the reasons she never rode the subway. Every person from the street was a potential friend in Ashton’s eyes, someone she could possibly sit down with for afternoon tea with, but the second the descended with her down the hellish stairs of the metro station, they became a shady character Ashton didn’t dare cross. She felt like a mouse, aware she might be bait in a cat’s cage, but optimistic she could somehow slip through the bars. But now, as the woman laughed, she felt cornered, her heart high in her throat, choking her. This woman was laughing at her. In any other setting, it would feel light in the air, floating around them like a million little feathers. But here, in this death trap dungeon of a space, it felt like countless nails raining down on them, any one of them threatening to stab her. When the woman tossed her hand, Ashton flinched as if she was dodging a slap. "Chill the hell out. Just politely say no, I'm sorry, it's personal to me... "

It was Ashton’s turn to laugh. That was rich. A woman who asked about private places on her body, who spoke about dog collars to strangers, who sat on this god awful, filthy ground like it was beanbag chair, and had earlier mocked a reasonable decision her husband made was telling Ashton how to act. Ashton, who only wanted to get from point A to point B without dying. Ashton, who didn’t do anything to deserve the wrath of unpredictable mood swings of this stranger.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you’re in any place to correct me on my responses. I wouldn’t take you for someone so rude and volatile, but obviously, I was wrong.”

A train pulled into the station, quite possibly not Ashton’s, but she got to her feet. “My ride is here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get on it.”

As Ashton approached it, her heart sank. This was not her train. Her dentist appointment would have to wait or be rescheduled. She would get off in two stops and call Lucian. He, even after two years, knew the city better and more intimately than she. He could give her directions or pick her up. She would explain it all to him. And all would be fine. If only she could get on the bloody train and get out here before the doors closed.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

BiC: New scene for our new member with her new character! OoC:

Kenneth Dahl

When Kenneth looked back at his life, he could feel his bones ignite with the familiar twinge of soft blankets as they brushed his skin, the soft clamminess of Timothy’s fingers intertwining with his own, and the lovingly rough kiss of pages as he turned them in a good book. And there were few closer friends than those that lay in the well-thumbed pages and cracked spines of his most beloved books. Today, he was taking a well-deserved break from the school assigned Jules Verne and took a fast-paced jaunt with his old comrade Samuel Beckett. Samuel never heaved a sigh of exasperation if Kenneth took too long to scan and stamp due dates into books. Samuel Beckett never judged from the silent paper and ink in his hands. Really, Kenneth couldn’t ask for a better mid-afternoon companion.

“Time she stopped,” he read softly along to the little black works with the rhythmic sound like a childhood sing-a-long. “another creature there… somewhere there behind the pane… another living soul, one other living soul.” The words rang out in his head to the sound of Billie Whitelaw’s crisp consonants. How true, how profound. “Till the end came, in the end came…close of a long day.”

People pushed passed him in the busy tube, touching and departing, touching and departing again. People Kenneth would never meet again, people who didn’t care whatever esoteric world he lived in now, who would never wonder what he held so dearly in his hands.

The train’s doors whooshed open and a new exodus of people flooded out. Once again, as Kenneth turned the pages of Rockaby, he mumbled “Time she stopped,” until Kenneth himself stopped, his book falling to the ground with what seemed to be a deafening thud.

As per usual, he had rammed, book first, into a stranger. He felt his face grow red hot with embarrassment. “Oh… So sorry, sir. I’ll, um… just…” he bent at the waist slowly to retrieve his fallen friend.

[Myssi]

Alton Stokholm

Okay, so maybe the reason why he was getting so many looks was because of the cassette player. Maybe it was the outdated headphones that were plugged into the old portable device. Perhaps it was the whiteboard tucked neatly under his right arm. The most prominent and likely of reasons, though, were probably the books.

Alton had a ridiculous amount of books. In the left hand pocket of his coat was Rockaby, which he was meaning to begin on. In the right hand pocket was The Long Earth. Cradled delicately in his left hand was a paperback copy of Life of Pi, it's tattered old spine creased and the pages lovingly dogeared with the many times of being marked. Alton was a bit of an oddball, but at least when it came to the Metro, he was not any more out of place than anyone else. In a way, the train system was a peculiar way to make people of all statuses equal.

And so, the young man was walking and reading and listening and really not paying any attention at all where he was going. The soaring notes of cello masters echoed through his eardrums, and to be honest, he had no idea who the people one his tapes were. He didn't even know what the named of the tapes or the songs were. Everyday he'd reach into his box of tapes, pull out three or four, and that would be what he listened to for the day.

But going back to what he was currently doing, it appeared as though no one had ever taken the time to teach Alton the dangers of reading and walking. Or walking and listening. Or reading and listening. Or the combination of all three. And considering how Alton was usually a hazard to himself and others without such hindrances (don't mention the ongoing war against screen doors, just don't), it was only logical to assume that with the extra stimuli, the man could be considered an attack of absolute and complete terrorism against the many people in the Metro Station. And he could probably be an attack of terrorism against himself as well, though that seemed a bit far-fetched.

Which was probably why it was no surprise to anyone who happened to be watching when Alton ran right into someone. Practically plowed over a passing pedestrian. Collided full-fast walking pace with a complete and utter stranger. Yann Martel's novel slipped from his hands and the battered book smacked into the concrete floor. Alton gave a gasp - well, as close to a gasp as he could manage - and glanced up at the red-haired stranged to mouth a word of apology, but found the young man already apologizing and bending down to pick up both of the novels. As he did so, Alton noticed the counterpart to the book currently weighing down his left-hand pocket.

Excitement grew in his chest and he pulled the whiteboard from under his arm (for somehow in the collision he'd managed to hold onto it), and in his untidy, left-handed scrawl (for he was left-handed and his handwriting left much to be desired when he was excited he), he wrote out, I'm just starting Rockaby! Is it as good as it's made out to be? Sorry for running into you. I'm Alton by the way.

He turned the whiteboard in the stranger's direction as the man straightened up, a pleasant smile flitting across the face of the Danish man.