onepassingnight | [Adrenaline Drive]

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[Adrenaline Drive] - [Act 1]

[ Beneath the strange light of this world's two moons - one round and white, the other small, misshapen, and red - the steel lines of twin train tracks glisten, running parallel over the horizon. The land in all directions around is all high, rolling hills, grassy and dotted with thick, clustered shrubs but sparse of trees. The peace here is absolute - but for barely a handful of seconds.

On those tracks, a train is rumbling along at breakneck speed, bright light spilling from the windows and thick, black smoke issuing from the stack. Inside, the soft, classical decor is awash in a warm, yellow glow that seems not to emit just from the sconces on the walls, the lamps on tables, but from the very substance of the train, itself.

In spite of the rather cheery effect this luminescence lends to the bigger picture, however, if one were to poke around behind the doors of the luxurious private cars, here, they might find the place a shambles. Lamps broken, furniture scattered about, glass from the windows littering the floor, and perhaps even a few droplets of something that looks suspiciously like blood dried into the carpets - it's total chaos everywhere. Or, everywhere except the dining car, which remains mysteriously intact.

In fact, the train's sole other occupant is currently holed up, there, in the midst of an exorbitant meal. He's a young-looking man with long, silver hair and thick, round spectacles, dressed in what appears to be some odd cut of cassock. He seems unfazed by the speed of the train (though in reality he is almost perpetually stricken with motion sickness), let alone the tacky, white tiger-print wallpaper plastered to the interior of this particular car. On the contrary, he's just terribly engrossed in his present bit of business-- ]

Oh yes, I think I'd like to try this one, next! [ He says, holding up his menu with a free hand, making some vague indication toward an item from the desserts section.

He's mistaken the sound of strange footsteps for those of his waitress (or waiter), it seems. Oops. ]

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Where are you going? [Everyone should know that; just don't ask her the same question.]

[ Luckily, Abel's a bit self-centered, in that respect, and is perfectly happy just to talk about himself, for the moment. ]

Oh, to Rome, of course! It's going to be a long trip, but since the food is so good, I'm not really bothered.

[Rome, huh? Europe. Zoisite's territories. Well, whatever; it doesn't mean she has to see him. In this world - she's getting used to the dream nexus - he probably isn't even there. Or perhaps he has a very different life.]

I'm hungry, too. How do we order the meals?

Uh, well, my waitress was just here...

[ Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to get a look through the window on the door at the back of the car, hoping to see some sign of movement.

It's totally hopeless. ]

...Though it seems like she's gone and gotten herself lost.

[ But then he perks up again. ]

At any rate, I've already ordered plenty, and I've barely gotten around to half of it-- [ As evidenced by the tables stacked several behind him (was all that food there, before?) with untouched appetizers and courses of all kinds. ] So if there's anything here that looks good to you, you can go ahead and help yourself, Miss.

Should you really offer that so easily to someone you don't know?

[This rather bland question covers the confusion of why he'd immediately invite ~~her~~ someone to join him.

Nevertheless, Ami's already seated, and she tidily helps herself to a few neat portions of foods that look appealing.]

Is there any reason I shouldn't?

[ It's almost a rhetorical question, the way he phrases it, enduringly cheerful. ]

It really is a lot of food, at any rate-- And I do believe I've already explained to you my philosophy of trains! It takes no effort for me to share the wealth, so I've no excuse not to.

You're a good person. [She doesn't ridicule him, exactly, but there's an embedded 'I'm not' in the tone.]

Why Rome? [In her world, probably thanks to Zoisite, it's still a spiritual center; but it isn't her first thought.]

It's where I work. I'm a priest, so I'm on my way back to the Vatican, at present.

[ On that other point, he doesn't press her. It might put him off his meal to correct her mistake, after all. ]

It's rare that I'd meet a priest. [She is, after all, from Japan; Christianity is present, but not dominant.]

Does it mean we should talk about our souls?

Ah, only if you want?

[ It isn't the first time he's been asked something similar, up front. Outside Vatican territory, priests are rather rare, and he's always been something of a novelty, himself, in any regard. With a plainly noncommittal shrug, he hoped it was obvious he wouldn't push the issue, one way or the other. ]

That's awfully heavy talk to have over a meal, though, isn't it? I usually prefer to keep things pleasant where food is involved.

Are you saying you don't find that pleasant?

You're strange for a priest, aren't you?

[She smiles blandly, and reaches for a drink. She has no real fear of poisons, and besides, the priest has been eating and drinking, too.]

Well, certain aspects of that type of conversation I don't find at all objectionable, certainly... But it's often a touchy subject, too.

[ And everything about his present demeanor says that he's really not the sort of person who wants in the least to argue, let alone to do so over religious matters. ]

I guess I am a little unique, though if you don't know many priests, it might be best not to decide I'm all that interesting, right away. You could be really disappointed, later-on!

Could it be you're the sort who doesn't like conflict?

[She keeps her voice and tone even, but there's a tiny, tiny, flicker of recognition inside her. She used to be a girl so shy of conflict that she denied herself constantly, tried to be so inoffensive that it became offensive to more forthright people.

Well, whatever. They can take her as she is, now. And if they don't want to - she can make them if she wants. Though admittedly, she hasn't done that since her school days.]

[ He laughs, a pleasant sound - not derisive or judgemental in the least - apparently surprised out of him by her terribly apt assessment. ]

Ah-- Mmhm, that's right. Too much negativity just gives me a fever! I could be sick for days.

[Now she's interested. Or at least, she chooses to take him slightly seriously.]

Psychosomatic illness?

[ It's probably best not to take him seriously, even slightly - with that dopey grin, a five-syllable word might be overestimating his intelligence, a bit. ]

I suppose you could call it that, yes. I get the same way around exorbitant sums of money, you know. Especially those quoted at the ends of receipts.

[There's a silence as she simply stares. Is he for real?

Then she can't help it; her head tilts back just the tiniest bit as she laughs, an actually natural sound.]

But if you're the one presenting the receipt?

[ Rather than put-out by this reaction, he seems somewhat pleased, still smiling over his meal. ]

Oh no, I can't imagine doing something like that. Extortion is probably a violation of my vow of poverty, anyway.

Now, now. The only one saying 'extortion' is you.

[She smiles slyly. It could have been a legitimate bill.]

Oh? But wouldn't it be a cheat no matter what I tried to charge for? A priest's services, by nature, come free. It would be unconscionable for me to demand a fee!

[ He twirls his fork as he speaks, mocking up something vaguely reminiscent of a thoughtful expression. Outside, a brief flash of light speeds past in the darkness as the train rumbles over a switching station, driving ever onwards toward its uncertain destination. ]

[She takes a drink, hiding an expression that's too much for her usual attempts at detachment. How did she end up meeting him again?

She knows that behind the joking is, in her terms at least, a good man: concerned with others, kind at times. They are things she knows, at base, she is not.]

Does a priest also mean absolving people's sins?

[She says it lightly after she brings the cup away from her face.]

At times, yes.

[ Though not, in his case, very often in the way one might guess. His methods are a little unorthodox-- But that's unpleasant for conversation, and he's no intent of bringing it up in further detail than this. ]

I'm not really the type of priest who sees the Confessional all too often, though, unless I'm on the wrong side.

What about someone who can't be forgiven? What do you do then?

[This is totally hypothetical. Of course. As if there was any other possibility.]

Ah, you don't have me mistaken for someone who gives up very easily, by any chance, do you?

[ It's as earnest a question as he can manage, more than a passing sincerity in his tone. Hypothetical or not, this is a topic Abel genuinely takes seriously. ]

The Lord's mercy is absolute. Who am I to deny forgiveness to anyone?

I don't really believe in mercy like that.

[She's not even sure why she starts these topics; whether she just wants to clash and be stubborn, or whether she wants to hear the opposite enough times to believe it finally.]

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and i';m out for awhile, and spotty tomorrow, but will keep going here as i can <3 i like them

no worries! ♥

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