TIME-BOMB

❝ CAN ANYBODY FLY THIS THING? ❞ before my HEAD EXPLODES, or my head start ring. WE'VE BEEN LIVING LIFE inside a BUBBLE. —I WAS RAGING, it was late, in the world my DEMONS cultivate. I FELT THE STRANGEST EMOTION, but it wasn't hate for once. YES I'M CHANGING ! yes i'm gone. yes i'm OLDER, yes i'm moving on; & if you DON'T think it's a crime you can come along with me. I SAW IT DIFFERENT, i must admit. i caught a GLIMPSE, i'm GOING AFTER IT. they say ❝ PEOPLE NEVER CHANGE ❞ but that's bullshit.. — IT'S CALLING OUT FOR YOU !

[triesagain]

thebvtler‌:

yet again, ernest laughed. he wondered when it’d last been he had enjoyed someone’s company as profoundly as he currently did. he didn’t get to speak much while at work. he’d taken to listening to whichever crumbs visitors left for him to gather. now, he was doing similarly, simply gesturing as he let the other speak. however, something felt different, something WAS different. he questioned whether it was a cruel thing to think of enjoyment in the present time ( what was that common expression? dancing on someone’s grave? ) but he was quick to appease his paranoia. he doubted the mysterious, late charles sheridan would ever mind. 

      “i don’t mind in the slightest. just let me know how it goes, and whether or not it does the trick,” a smile lingered. was this man always so lively? he could surely be the center of attention at any party. 

    “oh well, then let’s not jinx it,” ernest commented, words laced with an indistinct shade of worry. he was not the superstitious kind ( truly, he’d mostly ceased being a devotee altogether some time ago ) but he did not want to bring misfortune upon a potential believer. if anything, he felt ever so guilty for even posing the possibility. “they’ve carried you this far without much issue. might as well keep it that way, right?” the other reminded him of his own father, or one of his brothers —- hardworking and appreciative to no avail. 

    ernest, the man on the train. ernest smiled as though he had just been knighted, or crowned king of some far away land named after something frivolous. his own smile widened in gratuity, the other’s kind gestures but displays of acknowledgement he could’ve only ever dreamed of. “jackson mayfield —- sounds like the name of an inventor you’d meet at one of those world fairs, or the protagonist of a film noir movie. in my eyes, this makes you the man on the train. jack, the man on the orient express. ” jack from the railroads; jack, the gregarious; jack, the man on the train.

  “will i be seeing more of you, jack? maybe at dinner later tonight?” if the staff decided to carry on with the ride itinerary after all, that was.

“MY INSTINCTS tell me i better stay a man of mystery,”

“..but i’ll be completely transparent here, ernest, i believe i enjoy your company all too much to keep up any facade.” did he have some place to be? no, not at all. unless he planned on hanging out in the engine room, dinner sounded fantastic for an evening’s plans, and it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice in the matter, anyway. right then, he’s got a belly full of content conversation, but a steak didn’t sound all too bad. “ah, i can’t even remember the last time i was served food  — ‘sides the occasional roadside diner. i mean the fancy stuff. sometimes when we uh, had work on the actual railroad, we got whatever was left over in the meal cars at the end of the weekend. we called it lucky sundays.”  jack takes it upon himself to shimmy back on his coat, which had been removed earlier in the afternoon (what? murder gives him the sweats.) “..ironically all that was ever left was the banana splits. kids never finish their dessert, no matter how excited they are about it prior.” he says it like he has direct experience; a flickered image in his mind, ma’s apple pie. 

“so, uh, yes. you’ll be seeing me. cheeks full like a hamster on thanksgiving day.” a pause, expectant. “save me a seat?”

[triesagain]

dorothykipper‌:

@triesagain

“Are you leaving? I suppose it’s time to lock ourselves away - alone, in the dark, with a murderer possibly lurking in the halls. Rest easy.” 

jack felt somewhat caught red-handed, standing, hovering outside of his seat. he turns to her reluctantly, but his face is as warm as ever, “thanks for the encouragement,” with a breath emitted, he sits back down. “that sounds like somethin’ a murderer would say, doesn’t it?” he hopes the conversational tone of the words gets across its joking nature.

[yesterdaysprint]

The Daily Reporter, Greenfield, Indiana, July 4, 1935

[triesagain]

thebvtler‌:

ernest nodded along, letting the other weave a tapestry with their words. he didn’t remain quiet out of indifference, but curiosity. it was a personal preference, as well as a habit, to have him interject second. the man had remained still until now, eyes briefly narrowed at the other. but then the world RAILROAD came up, like the chiming of a bell or the sound of a metal spoon scratching the porcelain suface of a cup of tea a bit too harshly. up until now he had felt isolated from everyone else. perhaps he liked the isolation, or perhaps he detested it but like many things in his life he had enticed himself to enjoy it. the skin on his hands was rough, scarred by having foolishly touched or held hot iron rods during his own time amidst piles of coal and railroad tracks. something inside him wanted to interrupt, to explored a shared backstory point like the ordinary kind would. 

   but instead, he remained silent, nodding and gesturing as form of reacting to the other’s story. 

the brunet laughed a soft, short-lived chuckled. ALL IN THIS TOGETHER. it sounded like something he – they – would’ve been told, the salt of the sweat on the temple. but soon the thought turned scary. if they were all together, were any of them truly safe? his mind blurted out. but the thought died down, sunk to the depths by other thoughts less flustered than it. 

  “so you’re the gregarious kind. the type that likes company… and the type they tailor these trips to” ernest conceded. he saw the value in the other’s reasoning. men were no islands, but train coaches were nations. it clicked. all of them, bound together by an identity the way people were connected to each other through nationality – they were, at the end of the day, all PASSENGERS. 

  “what an amusing way to advertise it. though, i fear some people might find it too wild for their taste, seeing as people have a tendency to get injured as often as you say. might be a good vacation, but at what cost?” he joked, nonchalantly. “must’ve been quite nice —- the girl, not oxford. can’t say i’ve ever been, though.” it was funny to think that he knew countries other than his own the best. “hey, at least you didn’t staple your own hand to a fence.”

   LIKE A GREAT MOVIE STAR. he found himself chuckling, shaking his head as a sign of modesty. the kid within him found it overly flattering. “a movie star?” ernest smiled, somewhat in disbelief. “that’s too kind. i could say the same thing. hearing you makes me feel like i’m in a scene of ‘passion flower’.” 

   “i don’t think i caught your name. i’m ernest –” he smiled, reaching out a hand for a shake.

HE’S PLEASANTLY SURPRISED by their choice of wording. “gregarious.” a smile plays at the corner of his mouth with it, what a wonderful word. he thinks about it for a short while, just another small thing to find wonderment in, and figures yeah, okay. i’m gregarious.

“i’ll have to reuse that one, if you don’t mind. how professional would that look on my verbal resume?” jack’s face is already lit up with the idea. “well hello, my good sir. what are my STRONGEST qualities, you ask? why, i’m quite gregarious. in fact, i’ve been told so on multiple occasions.” a finger lifts, wags along with his point quite theatrically, “..many, which have taken place on fine and extravagant train rides where my fellow passengers have brilliant accents.” 

periodically through their conversation, jack feels like a bubble being prodded at relentlessly with a long, sharp stick. so sharp, in fact, that it would be perfectly capable of injuring a man with such fervor that yes, he’d end up dead, crimson in the back and all. that’s the bow atop this present of his; how long can he keep himself distracted? well, if you asked him, he might say as long as it takes. a blunt laugh, “well, i do count myself lucky. these hands have seen many things, but never staples. still, i can’t rule it out  —  that’s just asking for bad luck.” he was prone to superstitions, after all. his smile is quite unmatched and a bit strange paired with such a subject, like a children’s teacher trying to explain the concept of death.

then came an introduction, well timed and glorious to jack. even when it felt like he couldn’t do anything, he could meet new people. oddly, he looks at this man like he’s proud of him for introducing himself. ernest ernest ernest, “..and what a pleasure it is to meet you, ernest. ernest, the man on the train,” he mused like it was the title to a movie or the name of a classic jazz group, like he was writing it down in a book of contacts. he’s meeting their hand gleefully, and smiling tighter at the contact. “jack. jackson mayfield.”

[triesagain]

vikazielinski‌:

She nodded, almost absentmindedly, in response to his retort, though she could have noted that this wouldn’t be the only one that could be deemed as interesting; her life seemed to have been one interesting moment after another. If she began to write it down, she was certain even the famous Victor Hugo would be shocked at how long and expansive it could be.

“You’re right,” she said, letting out a soft breath. “Though I do believe we set ourselves up for that, given how we choose to live while moving. But settling down in a life without curveballs just seems so…” She shook her head, hoping to find the right word for it. “Stifling.”

With her eyes cast on him, she tilted her head to the side like a curious child; “Do you feel comfortable sharing where you’ve been? I can return the gesture.”

HE CAN ALREADY feel himself greatly valuing her perspective on the matter. for now, all he can do is nod along thoughtfully, reviewing the words internally. “stifling,” he echos, agreeing in discovery. “sometimes i love the uncertainty. i feel like a wild horse without the tail. they say it’s good to stay on your toes  —  keeps ya’ young.” there’s a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth when he says that, something short of reminiscing beginning to poke at his brain. “..and other times, i find myself craving some stability. you know, the spouse, the kids. a family dog for pete’s sake, sun-warm on the front lawn.” 

there’s a somewhat somber note to his pause, but his smile never quite abandons its place. “..s’hard to have any of that when you’re on the run, and often it’s hard to tell if you’re running with life or from it.” running from debt, more like. “for me, it’s always been a job thing." some of his father he could never quite shake off, the work ethic. it felt like ink on his skin, faded but prominent in contrast, even as he grows older. “what’s the next big career move? one factory to the next; so.. i can’t say i’ve seen much of the world in detail, though i’ve passed through so much of it.” cue a jolting chuckle, “i don’t think there’s a gas stop in america that i haven’t taken a leak in.” the following pause is entirely selfish; he just wants to take her in some more.

“it’s not all glum, i promise. i’ve seen some incredible views that some people only see in their dreams.” he finds himself really meaning that, and it feels good in his heart to have something so wonderful in his memories. “i have a hunch that your story is much more fascinating.” it’s an invitation to share more than anything else.

[triesagain]

dorothykipper‌:

she looks away, a flush entering her cheeks. the words she told herself for so long rang in her head, ‘do not cry for the lost, they are at peace’. 

“yes, yes you’re right. how terrible,” she murmurs. then, a moment of horror flickered through her doe brown eyes, but she maintained her gaze. the words took a moment to formulate on her tongue as all coherent thought was briefly obstructed by the visualization of her words, “no, no i…can’t say that i have,” 

her expression softens and a warmth enters her features, “although i do have brothers so i am no stranger to doing the wash. and can concur that the linens do suffer as a result.” 

THEIR PIGMENT doesn’t go unnoticed by jack, and he finds himself looking away then, nodding modestly towards the ground as if it were the one offering him words to consider. when he looks back up at her, finding her gaze there, seeming steady but shaken, it’s nearly in a regretful manner on his part. her mention of family came as a lighthouse in fog, though, so jack grabs onto it for dear life, “brothers, huh?” he begins, “ah, i’ve always wanted a brother. someone to play outside with, rebel against ma and pa. y’know, kid stuff.” his smile feels small and unfortunate on his face, but it’s far better than frowning. 

“..well, enough about what could've been. what’s having brothers like?”

[forchrisevans]

[triesagain]

enochford‌:

Enoch titled his head sideways at the man’s suggestion, far away in thought for a moment as he considered it. He had defended clients on accidental death charges before, some with far more damning evidence than this. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. Although, I’d be very interested to hear how exactly someone gets accidentally stabbed in the back twice.”

Enoch kept his face stony at Jack’s story. A lifetime in the criminal justice system had left him desensitised to such gruesome tales. “I could. It must have been very painful. How is…that guy doing these days?”

“THINK YOU’RE the first person to kinda agree with me today.” jack thinks about hugging the other man, just for that. he’d never, not now, anyway  —  but wouldn’t it be swell if he could? “how about.. accidentally backed into the cabinet where their knife collection resides?” 

a tight smile comes in passing, flickers on his face like a dim light going out. “gosh, got no idea. no solid ones anyway. i think he moved his family someplace up north, to get away from the story. some say he followed, some say he didn’t. he became kind of a ghost,” brows furrowing, jack can’t imagine handling the strange ridicule, “no idea why people were so unkind to the guy. then again, maybe he was milkin’ the whole thing ‘cuz i remember there being some charity for his recovery. ..or that could've been some local kids trying to make a quick buck off his name. guess i can’t blame ‘em.” 

jack takes a long moment to deeply inhale, letting the gooey nostalgia of the story wash over him, just as it did when he first heard of it, midday in his bedroom with his father reading the paper aloud to the birds outside and his mother who was folding garments. blinks, holding his hand out to the other passenger, “jack, by the way. oddity stories extraordinaire.” 

[triesagain]

fallenpatels‌:

pia frowned, almost immediately, taking a small step back from the male speaking- as if suspicious of his stapling story. “how does someone accidentally stab themselves in the back?” she couldn’t help asking, after a small moment’s pause. as he kept speaking, pia felt herself get a little woozy. she didn’t WANT to imagine that stapling story, but her mind flashed to it briefly, and she pulled her chunri tighter against her body, like a blanket to protect her from such thoughts. she felt herself swallow hard, wishing that she wasn’t going through this again. another death. another PERSON. her hand shook, as she resolutely reached for her cup of tea. she hoped the male didn’t notice. pia went to change the subject, instead: “… was the man from your home okay?”

HE FINDS HIMSELF smiling at her visible hesitance towards his claim. maybe he’s also smiling at himself; for being so ridiculous. “stranger things have happened, haven’t they?” though, he thinks, if you applied that saying to each and every instance, there would be no more questioning in the world. everything would just be. imagine the chaos that would ensue? 

jack could sense her unease. it seemed his story swalled her whole in a way, and well, that just wouldn’t do. “hey..” he began carefully, eyes now glued and traveling with the quiver of her hand, clad to a teacup. “he..” has absolutely no idea of the man’s condition, “...is actually doing great.” clears throat, “they had a whole, uh, redemption piece about him, yep. later that week i think —  it’s a pretty miraculous story, isn’t it? pretty much the town hero if you ask me.” and a smile blooms in suit, warm yet a tad forced into action, like the rest of his face is begging it to cause a chain reaction. 

[triesagain]

ahealcrstouch‌:

OPEN

Panic was understandable… and obviously inevitable. In a situation like this, Ruby didn’t expect anything else. All she wished for was the opportunity to have done something better. She’d dedicated her life to saving others and having failed, especially in such close quarters, was a blow she hadn’t prepared for on this particular trip. “How long do you think it’ll be until we can move around?” Ruby asked the person beside her quietly. “Is it appropriate to have a glass of wine to calm the nerves?”

TALKING CAME as a strange calm for jack. maybe it made time go faster. towards what, he has no idea. was there any getting past a murder? “agh..” he shoots a glance down the expanse of the dining car, and simply squints before returning his attention back to the other passenger. “there’s no telling from where i’m standing  —  sitting. i’m assuming it’ll be a while longer before we can roam around freely. like a crime scene in the movies,” hands interlock in his lap then; he senses a point to try and defuse the nerves. here goes nothing, jack. “why? don’t you wanna stick around, marinate in this incredible and welcoming atmosphere?”

a quick smile flashes like lightning on bearded features, “is it appropriate?” jack questions, turns away briefly with brows raised, “i think it’s called for. long overdue, even. do y’know if they’re still serving beverages with everything going on?” 

[triesagain]

thebvtler‌:

the smallest of chuckles escaped him, the comparison briefly comical once placed under scrutiny. it lacked sense and it lacked reason, but then again, so did all of this. ernest shook his head, sending the other an understanding smile. he needn’t direct rudeness toward where it was not deserved. “aren’t we all?” the man offered, though not in a harsh, criticizing manner but rather a somewhat supportive one. “that’s good. means you haven’t seen more than you should’ve. but then, it doesn’t sound like your hometown was the quietest of places if you had people stapling their hands all the time,” he commented, lightheartedly. 

   however, something then caused him to shift in his seat. he straightened his spine, briefly and incredibly subtly looking around to make sure their conversation didn’t transcend them. “nottingham, in the east midlands. nothing like london. what about you?”

FOR JACK, THEIR CHUCKLE (albeit brief like a vehicle in passing) lifted some of the weight in the air, looming over the train car like a hand on everyone’s shoulders; came as a small blessing. jack leans back some, and gets to thinking. “..i’ve always liked being in groups rather than hustling on my own. i think that’s why i liked workin’ the railroad so much  — all the ruckus, all the busybodies. hard to feel like you’re alone in a place like that.” 

but he digresses, “so, you know, for somethin’ like this, i can only think, hey, at least we’re all in this together.” and a warm smile follows in suit, a little tight against his somewhat tired features. “that’s why i couldn’t pass up this trip. what’s better than moving like a little traveling neighborhood? that’s the future right there. totally communal.” but just how communal is mystery?

jack barks out a nice, wholehearted laugh at their comment; perhaps far too loud considering the size of the space they resided in. “yeah, yeah. that’s oklahoma for you. interesting injuries from not very interesting folk. it’s like a black and white circus with indifferent farmers instead of clowns. wonderful vacation spot for anyone seeking a thrill.” a moment goes by, and he he nods at the source of their accent, eyes brightening with the newfound information. he sits up and leans in, “gosh, can’t say i’ve ever been. think i came close once  —  almost followed a brunette to someplace called oxford.” he speaks it like it’s foreign on his tongue, “..oh man, i was crazy about her at the time.” a brief pause in remembrance, “..turns out her ma and pa didn’t like the idea of her being cheek to cheek with a factory chump from america. how’s that for a heartbreak?” jack inhales, comes down from his story and just looks at his company for a small moment. jack likes this guy; he seems modest enough, conversationally understanding. “i just wanna capture your voice in a box, take it back home and amaze people with it. you sound like a great movie star, y’know.”

[triesagain]

thebvtler‌:

At first, all ernest could do at the other’s theory was frown. the words echoed inside his head —- a freak accident? people didn’t accidentally stab themselves twice in the back. while he understood everyone got by via different coping mechanisms, he couldn’t find there to be rhyme or reason in the other’s logic. 

   “ no, i-i guess i can’t. must’ve been in an awful lot of pain, ‘m sure, ” the butler commented, his expression indicative of his consternation. “ but how is stapling you hand similar to —- ” getting stabbed? getting murdered? why did he worry about speaking ill of the dead? ernest swallowed – “ dying? ”

“NEVER SAID it was directly similar. just in the same..” vein? “..category.” weirdly, he doesn’t want to defend himself any further. IT DIDN’T MAKE MUCH SENSE  —  even an optimist could spot that much from a mile off and then some. his slice of observation didn’t quite land ideally, “i’m.. sorry. jus’ trying t’make sense of all this, is all. i’m no professional, but i can’t help myself.” he might have his mother to thank; he was always so desperate to make her feel better about anything and everything. a loose, half smile blooms, “..to be truthful, i couldn’t tell you a stab wound from a bad paper cut.”

a moment passes, and jack shifts in his seat a bit. “..say, where’re you from, if you don’t mind my asking? that’s quite an accent there.”

[triesagain]

vikazielinski‌:

“You know, being a traveller myself, there has been plenty of things I’ve seen, but murder never was one of them. I suppose I can add it to the memoir now.” 

@triesagain

“THIS’LL MAKE quite the chapter, huh?” jack’s nose would be as long as the dining car if he told you he didn’t entertain the vision of a future version of himself, telling this whole ordeal as one grand story; theatrics and all. 

it might’ve stemmed from a particular, somewhat harmless selfishness, “if there’s one thing i’ve learned from hopping around the world like a jackrabbit, it’s to never rule out the unruly. life is incredibly fond of curveballs.”

[triesagain]

dorothykipper‌:

@triesagain

“i pity whoever has to do the clean up. blood is never easy to remove.” 

“I THINK I rather pity the one who’s dead,” jack speaks lightly, carefully like he was treading on a lake, frozen over. was that an angle of.. experience? perhaps it’s easily explained; he should really loosen up his shoulders. “...but i hear ya’. reminds me of laundry day on a farm. you ever seen a slaughter house in person? it’s like the inside of a strawberry shortcake. just awful,” there’s a short, jittery laugh woven into the words. more-so for the realization of the weight of what he’s saying. shut up, jack.

still, he remembers skipping dinner on those days, “..not a fun day for the linens.”

[triesagain]

OPEN

“WHAT IF IT was actually some freak accident?” was there ever a wrong time to try and look on the brightest side possible? probably. he’s kind of combating logic here, but it might be worth it for the possibility of defusing some tension (or rather swapping it for a different kind).

“..i hear stories like that all the time in the paper. some, uh.. some guy in my hometown actually stapled his own hand to this wooden fence he was workin’ on by mistake, and was out there for nearly a whole night before someone came to the rescue. almost lost a limb i’m sure   — could you imagine?”

[triesagain]

charlottezhao‌:

open to all

“i hope he lived a life free of sin so we can take solace in the fact that he rests peacefully. it’s too late for him to pray for forgiveness now, after all.”

“HAVEN’T WE ALL sinned, once or twice?” the line between observation and self reassurance had already begun to blur, “..besides, maybe there’s another shot at forgiveness for him, for everybody.” a pause, “you know, after the finish line.”