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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[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.]

Oh? That's a bit grim.

[ Not that this causes his smile even to begin to falter; if she needs to hear it, or only wants a point to argue, he's perfectly willing to oblige, either way. ]

But you do strike me as something of a pragmatist, at that. It's not necessarily a bad thing.

I find vengeance is more common. [She tilts her head slightly, as though still considering her own words. She decides to stand by them.] That's all.

I find vengeance is more common. That's all.

Sadly, it's true.

[ Reaching for the teapot in the middle of the table (until now half-hidden by dishes piled high with food), Abel pours himself a fresh cup and begins searching absently for the sugar. ]

It is much easier to cause others pain than it is to forgive them for your own, of course.

[Don't be so perceptive, Abel.]

That's just how it is.

[If it had all gone differently, she'd still have been the girl who could have looked at it all and forgiven and tried to help.

But it hadn't. She's solved it by vengeance; the people who betrayed them and would lead to the destruction, can't do it if they're destroyed themselves first. It's so much easier to fight them, hit them back, make them grieve for their losses and make them know she can rub them out at any time just like she rubbed out the others, than to admit to being the lonely girl no one thought was worth anything.]

[ Shh, he's only speaking from experience. Really. ]

[ Upon locating the disappearing sugar bowl, he begins methodically to stir thirteen spoonfuls into his tea. ]

As I said, there's nothing wrong with being a realist. Some of my very best friends are terribly literal, you know!

[Just like her when she'd been perceptive of him.

By about spoonful four, Ami's attention is definitely on the hand still spooning it in; but enough of her innate tact remains not to draw attention to it.]

Your friends? Are you going to meet them?

[It's such a normal, social question. Except that everything about friendship makes her alert.]

A couple of them are traveling with me, actually, but we've sort of gotten separated, now...

[ There's concern written all over his face, however briefly - concern or maybe something guiltier. But he doesn't dwell on whatever it is that's crossed his mind for long, lifting his overladen teacup to his lips and taking a sip of the sugary mush inside. ]

I'm going to meet them a little farther up the road, though, so I'm not too worried! Esther couldn't be in better hands than Tres's, after all.

[Esther. Abel. Not Tres of course, but she's noticing the theme. And she knows Cain and Seth and certainly Lilith.]

Is your world very religious? Christian? There are a lot of names from the Bible, aren't there?

Um, what do you mean? [ Here he's given some considerable pause-- His world? He must have misheard her. ]

I suppose the Vatican has no shortage of faithful, and Biblical names aren't uncommon, really... If you don't mind my asking, ah - where are you from? Does that sort of thing really seem odd to you?

[The nexus and now the dream nexus have made her a lot less cautious about letting certain information slip; she's become used to different worlds and a separate life when she sleeps. But it's all for the best if Abel ignores it for now.]

Tokyo, Japan. [Which explains her question, perhaps; Japan is still predominantly Shinto in faith, though churches are scattered here and there and one of her oh-so-former comrades had been Christian. Ami's own knowledge of Christianity comes largely from being studious and bookish in general.]

[ Actually, that just raises further questions, for him. Japan is a nuclear wasteland, along with much of the rest of the world outside of Europe and a few immediately bordering lands, after all. One can't necessarily be from there, any longer, unless-- ]

Oh, uh, do you mean your ancestors are? But that's not quite what I meant.

[She's bad at lying to start with, even now. Smoothing it over by saying she's from somewhere else would quite possibly just end by confusing the issue further. Nothing for it but to own up to it.]

No. I meant myself.

But how is--

[ He'd be scratching his head if he wasn't holding his tea, still. ]

Er, that's not really possible, though. Japan as a country has not existed since before Armageddon. Unless you meant something else?

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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