<span style="color: #0080FF"><span style="font-weight: bold">Boarding the Train- Sen:</span></span><br/><br/>As she stepped aboard the train, Sen took in the handle with interest. A real grasp-and-turn handle.. how long had it been since she'd last been aboard a train that sported those on the carriage doors? She actually liked the change, it was quaint.. and Sen was a fan of things quaint. Admittedly, the slight rasping groan it made as she turned it suggested it could be better oiled, but quaint was quaint, ill-maintained or not. As she took in the rest of the carriage her enthusiasm was blunted, her curiosity piqued and her sense of foreboding heightened all at the same time.<br/><br/>The carriage, like the platform before it, was entirely bereft of commuters other than herself. The furnishings and decor were no less quaint than the handle, and all showed signs of disrepair, giving an overall impression of a train that had come into service some decades before and had been running without pause or repair ever since. Had it been a steam engine pulling these carriages? Sen couldn't quite remember if it was or not, and decided against getting out to see- the last thing she needed was to have caught the train, only to miss it because a whim overtook her. The slight but constant buzz from the lighting fixtures irritated her keen ears. The curtains, Sen would swear, were hand-woven instead of machine produced and even quite a find, despite their worn and frayed look. Who ran a train of this model and make anymore, except for on special occassions? Where had it come from? What company or town?<span style="font-style: italic">Where was it going?</span><br/><br/>Sen felt another shiver go through her as she asked herself that last question. The train was running the route that would take her home, she knew that- didn't she? She took in her surroundings again. The train wasn't simply different to usual, it could practically serve as a masterclass in decor for classical ghost-trains. On top of her previous observations, that thought didn't sit comfortably. Neither did the absence of destination announcements or background drone of conversation she'd expect on a service route. In fact, despite her usual tendency towards being a loner and a dreamer, Sen suddenly felt that, what she needed right now, was to find another passenger, to check that this was indeed the correct train. She began to make her way cautiously through the carriages.<br/><br/>Her sense of unease remained unassuaged as she noted the persistent absence of life in each carriage she passed through, the consistent disrepair and slightly dimmer than usual lighting. It occurred to her that the platform was still outside and that she could easily wait and catch the later train- her parents might tut, but they knew her proclivity for rambling and would forgive her delay. Making her way into the next carriage, it was almost as much a shock as a relief, to finally find another passenger.<br/><br/>A squirrel was sitting- uncomfortably it seemed- upon one of the seats near a window, glancing around the carriage with an expression of glowering disapproval on his features. Doing her best not to be conspicuous- and apparently managing despite the complete absence of anyone else- Sen considered him further as she paced softly towards him. His fur was a myriad mixture of blues, dark blues, and whites, the aesthetic of which was not displeasing to the eye. The hair of his head was slicked into upward points, which to Sen's mind, served to emphasise his long ears. He seemed of average build, and the leather jacket and bright orange goggles he wore would not, to a casual observer, help to place his social status or class. To Sen though, the fact that jacket and goggles looked practically as good as new- instead of the comfortably broken-in feel she preferred- and the way he looked about the carriage, coupled with his general body-language, all suggested a middle to upper-class background. Ordinarily, his demeanour would have dissuaded the shy Sen from approaching him, for fear of making herself a nuisance. But he wasn't the only one ill at ease and she had a legitimate concern. Stopping alongside his seat as he gazed off at one wall, Sen spoke, finding the near-empty carriage made raising her soft voice unnecessary.<br/><br/>"Pardon me," Sen said, her hands folded demurely in front of her, "I wondered please if you could tell me: Is this the 16:30 off-peak commute? And," she added as her unease continued to trouble her, "is this seat taken?"