<div style="background-color:#050505; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><img alt="" src="http://imgur.com/a/w6YBW" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #7b2424"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Pristina;"><span style="font-weight: bold">N E T H E R</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #6b1f1f"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Pristina;"></span></span></span><span style="color: #101010">____________________</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #d6d6d6">“ ‘ell, funny enough.”<br/><br/>Silence had befallen the pebbly shores once more, though whether it was due to the Seekers drinking in the inky blackness of their environment or due to the man carefully making his way out of the hole ravaged in the side of the train car remains a mystery. The group would see that the man, once he was able to stand properly on the endless beach of rocks, was dressed in a way that was specifically reminiscent of homelessness. He looked roughly fifty years old, but he was much older than that. Even through the thick wall of silence, someone with keen senses and an affinity for the dead would be able to notice that even the ancient, rhythmic lullaby had stopped pouring in from the shore and the vaguely human shape on the beach had disappeared. <br/><br/>The Vagrant did not wait for an answer, if ever there had been a question in the first place, before walking the length of the train car. The metal behemoth groaned in protest as the man patted its side. “Seem to be gettin’ an awful lot o’ these lately. Feels like I <span style="font-style: italic">just</span> had another one o’ you lot come through.”<br/><br/>Despite the crash experienced by the patrons of Amersham’s twelve fifty-five, the sullen beach remained in pristine condition. Even the tarnished train car that had seemingly been thrown through oblivion appeared to have landed on the beach gently, almost as if it were carefully laid down on the sea of black stones. The scene, save for the obvious dishevelment of the car’s former inhabitants, looked as if the crash had never transpired at all, and it certainly didn’t look as if any other train car had ever made its rough descent to this place.<br/><br/>“Oh, what was ‘is name?” the Vagrant inquired of everyone, yet no one in particular. Surely they had heard his name before; he could see it on the tips of their tongues even if they lacked any personal attachment to it. The pebbles made a soft crunching noise under well-worn boots as the Vagrant would pace along the shore, quietly reciting names to jog his own memory or anyone else’s who might know it. “Jacob? No, no can’t be that. Pretty sure ‘e was a man, so not Jacqueline. Maybe, though, couldn’t really tell with that one. Justin…? Jay? Jay.” <br/><br/>With his back turned to the Seekers from pacing away, a look of pleased recognition set itself in the lines of age on the Vagrant’s face before he turned back to them. “Jamie! You lot are ‘ere for Jamie, yeah? Shame ‘bout that one. Good kid, too much hair.” The apparent pride dripped down and faded away, only to be replaced by grave concern uncommon for someone like him. Once more he turned his back on the group, pointing to what appeared to be a random location somewhere toward an unseen part of the beach that was invisible through the thick of the darkness around them. “Right, best you be on your way then. ‘ead that way for a bit, you’ll see your way out.” <br/><br/>The directions or lackthereof would seem awful at best, but that didn’t bother the Vagrant. Before anyone could respond - or during, or after, he wasn’t paying much attention to them - he clambered through the makeshift exit the Abberith had made, regarding the thick and twisted claw marks with little more than a passing glance before making a beeline to three more bodies that lay strewn about the interior of the car. He exhaled deeply and looked instead to the three who remained, considering a thought in the back of his mind. The thought seemed like a good one, and with a newfound sense of resolution he turned back to where the bodies had been strewn haphazardly across the floor only to find little more than broken glass and debris. <br/><br/>“Y’know, on second thought,” he called out, staring at the floor of the train just a little longer as if it had become exponentially more interesting over the past thirty seconds before clambering out of the car. His eyes, a rare color of gold with flecks of brown, bounced from face to face. They wouldn’t survive. “Real easy to get lost in ‘ere. Jus’ follow me, I could use a walk anyway.”<br/><br/>The Vagrant began walking, seemingly to a random direction of the abyss, though it was a direction very familiar to him; he’d walked it many, many times before. The crunch of pebbles beneath his boots would soon grow inaudible as he was not one for stopping, so the Seekers would have a few seconds at best to come to a hopefully unanimous decision as to whether or not to follow him.</span></div></div><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/BU067i6.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #7b2424"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Pristina;"><span style="font-weight: bold">A M E R S H A M </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #6b1f1f"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Pristina;"><span style="font-weight: bold">A nice place, really.</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #101010">____________________</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #d6d6d6"><br/>The bright lights of Amersham’s own Mystic Moon Cafe were especially unbearable today, and the patrons particularly loud. The news of another mass disappearance had the Mets on high alert, though that was laughable reassurance at best in Darren’s opinion. Interviews, searches, whatever they could think of that could tie all of this to that terrorist sect. It didn’t make sense, but the alternative didn’t make much sense either. <br/><br/>“The usual?” <br/><br/>Darren looked up from his table, visibly startled at the sudden interaction. The familiar smile and Mystic Moon name tag put him at ease. “Please. And another coffee, black,” he added as an afterthought. Katy’s attention seemed to pique and she smiled down at her notepad as she scribbled down the order. “Not a date.”<br/><br/>“Oh no, never,” she teased as she walked away. He would have turned to protest if he hadn’t actually been waiting on someone. A reporter. <span style="font-style: italic">’Another</span> reporter’ would be a more correct statement; Darren had seen a lot of them in the short time that Jamie had been missing, but this one believed him. Or seemed to, anyway, Darren was never really sure. They had exchanged emails a few times, but this was the first time they were meeting in person. He didn’t even know who he was looking for, all he knew was the name Clayton. Hopefully someone walked through the door that just <span style="font-style: italic">happened</span> to look like a Clayton. And hopefully they enjoyed coffee. </span></div></div><br/><br/><div style="background-color:#101010; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><ul><span style="color: #7b2424"><span style="font-weight: bold">Notes:</span></span> <span style="color: #d6d6d6">There will be one round of posting before my next GM post.</span><br/><span style="color: #7b2424"><span style="font-weight: bold">Tags:</span></span></ul></div></div>