The exhaustion, she knows, is in there somewhere, weighing her down like uninvited passengers. She doesn't realize exactly how tired she is until she chooses a compartment in the middle of the train and shuts the door behind her.
The slumping against the door, at least for a minute, is something she can't help, feeling the straps of her item and backpack lighten from her sore shoulders and staring out the window at the pre-dawn station. It's not until someone walks by the outside of her compartment that she jerks back to awareness.
She stands, in her tiny compartment, assesses the seats, the luggage area, the window, and for a brief moment, feels like she's staring at a photo. The moment is broken when the idea that she should have brought a pillow before escaping jumps to mind. Welp. Too late now.
Yeah, she thinks, sliding off her backpack, and removing the strap keeping her long, thin package on her back. Far too late for takebacks now.
After a moment of fumbling over where to put it (in the overhead area? Under the seat? In my lap? Oh boy), she throws herself on one of the seats, sets it down next to her as well as she can without getting up, and begins digging in one of the small pockets of her backpack. Out come a pouch, a folder, and a wrinkled plastic baggie of folded up paper.
The folder is opened on her lap, and she gently upends the baggie on it. Familiar notes sprawl like a content cat over her lap. Unease squirms in her gut at having them out in the open where anyone who came in could see them. She shoves the sensation down and begins shuffling through them. Notes, pictures, and numbers reveal and hide themselves with every flip of paper.
Reach Fairview. Just reach Fairview in a couple of hours, and then I'll be able to get to-
A glance at the map.
... Glenstone? Yeah. I can sleep on a bench. If I start running out of money, I can sell some of my energy rods. I can call one of the Seeker numbers as soon as I can. I'll just have to keep it safe-
A few more notes shuffled, and she sees a photo of a face. An abrupt stab of longing hits her in the gut, intensifies into worry when she sees the papers it's clipped to, and she closes the folder.
"I'll think about it when I reach Fairview," she mumbles aloud to the folder. "I'll figure something out."
Her hands are still jittery with nerves, and from the last traces of morning chill still clinging to her fingers from waiting at the station. It's after a minute of detachedly watching her own hand clench and unclench that she figures it's also from not sleeping in the last twenty-four hours.
The only other options are to either stare at the wall and wait (she's done enough of that for a lifetime), or go back to studying her notes (no).
She reaches for her package, lies on the seat with her backpack under her head, shoves it between her back and the seat, removes her round glasses, and closes her eyes.
Half an hour later, she's jolted out of her dozing when the train begins moving. Again, ten minutes after that when the conductor comes to rip tickets.
The quiet sounds and motions of the train gliding on the leyline leading out of Keystone city lull her back to sleep.
--------------------------------------------------
When she hears movement and voices outside her door, she kicks out, and reaches for her notes in a panic. Her panic doubles when she briefly can't recognize where she is, why her notes aren't where they should be-
Train. Train. I'm on the train. I made it out. They're not going to find out I'm gone for a little while yet.
She gulps down breaths. She knows, from experience, that sitting back down is something she isn't capable of in this state, and the urge to start hiding her notes again refuses to be stamped out. The folded up papers are halfway through being put back into the plastic baggie when she hears voices and loud movement coming from outside her compartment door.
Her panic spikes up again. It's not you. It's not about you. Don't think about it, just go, just do your thing-
She distinctly hears "just search from down this car, I'll move and search around here-".
The notes are swept up (They're coming they know I'm here), the folder is shoved back in (they found me they know I'm here), and the baggie is returned to its pocket (I can't go back I can't).
Then her mind runs to a perfect, silent standstill when she straightens up and spies her package lying across the seats, as natural as a large, suspiciously shaped, wrapped item can be.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something fly past the door window. Large, dark, and too fast to be someone running past. A split second later, a crash sounds outside.
More voices. She begins scrambling for her things.
No sooner than a few moments after she straps her backpack back on does the door open. Freezing up is her first reaction, but eye contact is still made.
The stranger is not wearing anything that's recognizable as a uniform. They size her up, briefly looking as startled as she feels before reaching out a hand and making a motion. "Miss, I'm going to need you to hand me your bags."
There's a roaring in her ears. It's not until they repeat the motion that their words sink in, and she shakily reaches for the backpack straps.
As far as she can tell, they're not holding any weapon at her. There's also no recognition upon seeing her face; like they're both absolute strangers to each other. Asking to see just her luggage, and visibly not part of the train crew.
The knot of panic that'd lodged itself in her chest from the moment she woke up deflates a fraction. Just a robbery? Just a robbery. They're not here for you.
Their eyes alight on her again, and they gesture to their own shoulders. "All of it, miss."
The knot swells again and she freezes. Oh boy.
They stare at her reaction, and to her surprise, they back away a step. Then they tilt themselves backwards, still keeping their sight on her as they stick their head out into the hallway. "Hey, long, thin weapon, right? I think I found it -- OH."
She's not sure when the wand found its way out of her right boot and into her hand, since she is sure she hasn't broken eye contact with the stranger once; but it's there and pointing straight at them.
Their hands are both up in the air in a surrendering gesture. "Miss! Miss," they begin slowly. "We don't want any mess here, just hand over the weapon and-"
"I can't give you this," she blurts, cutting them off. She'd been trying for firm and aggressive; she'd passed off more like squeaky and pleading. "I can't."
They take a step back, and she realizes that she'd taken one forwards.
This is where I threaten them, right? "Leave me alone, or I shoot"?
Her other hand reaches up and she tries to steady the wand by holding it with both. She belatedly wonders exactly how long she has until they figure that she's not worth the trouble and leave her alone.
"Miss," they repeat. They try taking a step back towards her, then back away again when she waves her wand in a way that's probably threatening. Their hands are still up in the air, but now they seem to be trying come off as more placating than submissive. "Miss, this magic item isn't worth the trouble. Just hand it over, and-"
She waves the wand again, since it worked the first time. "Then why are you bothering?" she blusters.
They open their mouth, but then shut it again when a new voice sounds.
"What are you doi-- oh, for god's sakes."
She can't see much of the new woman in the hallway, just enough for the new stranger to see her holding a wand in a threatening manner. She jostles the other one out of the way, and points an energy projector at her.
Her gaze and aim stare her down for a moment, before the gaze is directed back to her associate. "A kid. Really?"
They splutter. "She has a wand! And a weapon!"
"Just put your hands down already."
They splutter again, but comply.
Her wand is still being pointed, but neither of them seem to notice or care. Her hands have doubled in their trembling. There's no way a wand can outshoot a projector; the difference between them is the same difference between a wand and a peashooter.
"What about that old timer?"
Her gaze has hardened into a glare. "I took care of her, but not for long. You," She turns her attention back to her, and it's all she can do to not drop her wand in panic. "Put down the wand, hand over your -- SHIT-"
For a wild moment, she thinks the woman shot; but they both duck and she sees a flash of something sail above them.
Another new voice floats from outside, out of her sight; low, raspy, and feminine. "That one was a warning shot."
The woman points her projector away from her, and back down the hallway she came from.
Don't think about it. Just do it. Just do it just do it just do it come on come on come on just GO
There's one hand on her wand, one hand on the end of her package, the feeling of a third hand squeezing her heart, and she's sure the only reason she managed to charge into and past them was because she had the element of surprise. Both from the sudden action and the fact that she'd started yelling for absolutely no visible reason.
It's a blur of motion and color, of the ground veering dangerously close to her face as she nearly bowls over before becoming part of the smears, and for a moment all she can hear is a static roaring in her ears. Then she shuts her mouth, takes a breath, leaps over a suitcase in the hallway, and the sound of pursuit finally hits her ears.
She can't (won't) dare to look behind her; the hallway in front of her has amounts of debris, people and other assorted obstacles littered across it and she's no gymnast. After another blast of energy sails over her head, she remembers that ducking is an idea.
"YOU'D SHOOT AT A YOUNG 'UN YOU LITTL-"
"Move!" she bellows, and, thankfully, most of everyone picking at the mess -- most likely picking up things of theirs that were searched -- does move.
But only after she gets close enough to nearly crash into them, which is also close enough to be in shooting range of whatever's following her; the more obvious motivator. "Out of the- I'm coming through! Sorry! MOVE!"
There're also not many people aboard the train at this time; too early unless the plan was to spend multiple days in a location four hours away by train. The clutter and crowd in her way mercifully begins thinning as she runs further.
The reason becomes obvious only when the end of the last car comes into sight.
The weight of her backpack and package nearly tip her over when she skids to a stop. The sounds of the approaching scuffle clashes with the now-louder sounds of the train gliding on its path. She doesn't want to turn to look.
The hardness of her package digs into her back where it's pressed between her and her bag. She fumbles at the straps of her backpack, sliding it off her
shoulders, and tossing it as gently as possible to her right. Her grip readjusts on her never-before-used wand, her free hand reaches to go back to gripping the part of her package that she can reach over her shoulder, her pulse kicks up a notch again, and she forces herself to turn on her heel in time to see the first stranger slowing to a stop.
Before she even raises her wand again, their hands are already up. She decides to take this as a good sign.
Their partner has stopped to stand back-to-back to them, still pointing the wand projector back the way she'd came. What she can't see is the threat that has to be there for her to point it at; any sight of whoever they (she?) might be is blocked by the two.
Nothing happens for a few tense moments. The sounds of the train coming from outside the wall to her back are louder than the three in front of her.
Her feet shuffle in place. Is this a stalemate. Is this what they call a stalemate.
They lower one hand to cough into it. They've raised it again by the time she wonders if she should've allowed that.
She's staring straight at them, and they seem to be more inclined to look at anything other than her eyes. Checking the area, and visibly running another eye over her. Past the adrenaline fueled haze, she's aware enough to think that, hey, maybe she should try looking closer at the enemy too, but she can't rip her gaze away from them.
Then their stare stops on one thing on her. Her fingertips go cold when she realizes that they're staring at the wand she's pointing at them. Or, rather, her grip on the wand.
Their hands lower. It seems like they're about to try placating her again.
The rest of her runs cold when they lower their hands completely and stand straighter. "You. You have no idea how to actually use a wand, do you?"
Her mouth clamps shut, and she keeps the wand pointed at htme. When they take a step closer, she jerks back, and bruises herself on the package when she bangs into the wall.
Their response is more shocked than elated. "You actually have no idea how to use a wand!"
Their partner devotes a fraction of her attention to back harshly into them, still keeping her eyes in front of her. "You have got to be kidding me." When they groan, she repeats the motion. "A child. Managed to threaten you. With a wand she doesn't even know how to use. How are you still alive?"
"Quiet," they grumble.
Her panicked reaction to them returning their attention to her is to press herself further into the wall; all she accomplishes is getting new bruises on her back.
They hold their hands out again, palms open and turned towards her. For a wild moment, she's sure they're about to cast some sort of magic, but then they begin speaking again. "Miss? Miss, we don't want to use force-"
More than one snort comes from behind them.
They pause to grunt. "-I don't want to use force. So come on. Just hand it over-"
They step closer.
"-or I will have to take it."
There's a clatter. Both her hands are numb, and it takes her a moment longer than it should to realize that it's her wand that's dropped to the ground, and that she's tearing at the wrapping on her package.
Don't think stop thinking just do it just do it
A second later, the package is off her back, and in front of her. Another layer on the end falls to the floor and she can feel the cold metal through the last one.
The roaring is back in her ears, and as she peels the last layer off the handle and grips it, the noise upgrades to a ringing.
Through the haze of panic and the noise and the fear, the realization that it's actually beeping manages to fade through. Multiple sources of beeping, and all of it is coming from the people blocking her path.
The one speaking to her is now frozen, staring at, at something on their belt. Behind them, their partner is staring at her own.
She's not entirely sure how to unsheathe this weapon; apart from 'hand on the handle, other hand on the sheath, pull and pray to god'. Her refusal to look away from in front of her is contributing to the problem.
As she yanks hard enough to reveal a few inches of more metal, she sees motion on the other side of the two.
She can't see too clearly what's happened.
What she does see is the woman suddenly get yanked away, feet in the air, and hear the sound of a body being harshly slammed into the ground. Her partner whirls around and is met with the end of a projector a few inches away from their chin.
It's silent again for a moment, and the only sound is panting coming from the third party holding the weapon.
She sees the weapon wave to the side; unlike her clumsy threats earlier, this one seems to be working. They press themself into the wall, and the holder tilts her frame to look past them.
Gray curls under a cap. Baggy jacket. Thick-palmed fingerless gloves and a wrinkled face. It's an old woman, and she's staring at her in muted astonishment.
She glances down at herself, and realizes what the old woman's staring at is a skinny young black girl, with shaggy dark hair, round glasses, an oversized long coat, currently halfway through sloppily pulling out a sword.
"That," the old woman begins placidly. "Is no Staff of the Ancients."
All the breath in her suddenly leaves in a rush. "A what now?" she finds herself saying. She also finds that her voice is about as balanced as a drunken toddler. "A staff of the what now-" The old woman doesn't comment when her voice cracks and she falls silent.
The area rocks back and forth, and she finds she's swaying on her feet. Relief and fear are licking at her insides and she's not sure which she's supposed to be feeling with two pursuing strangers at the feet and mercy of a third absolute stranger.
The old woman stares her down a moment longer, and something she can't parse passes over her expression. Her head ducks slightly and her mouth moves; whatever she's saying is lost to the sound of the train's movement. Then she locks gazes with her again. "Kid. I said to wrap that thing back up. I'm not gonna attack you for it."
Relief wins out, and most of the fear melts down into anxiety. "You- really?" she asks, to be sure.
"Cross my heart, missy. Now if you'd-" She cuts herself off at the sound of a man's voice behind her. Her head twists around to glance over her shoulder before she returns her attention back to her. "Wrap that up. I'll deal with you in just a moment."
Then she turns completely, and a quiet groan comes from the woman on the ground. The tone the old woman adopts is now three times louder. "And where was all this busybody-ness when these two idiots were makin' a mess of the place?"
The stranger presses themselves into the wall a bit further, and she can see that the old lady has planted a foot on the woman's back with the latter's projector held in the crook of the old timer's arm.
"- have already been contacted ma'am, please put down the gun,"
She tosses the projector in the crook of her arm to him.
"Ma'am I meant yours."
She snorts. "Not yet!" The gun briefly points away from its captive to gesture to them both. "I still have to contain 'em."
"Ma'am, I've told you already, we're already on it-"
"A whole bunch of good you all did. Thanks for the help, by the way."
"We're about to handle it! Please, just go and sit down, ma'am and-"
"Oh for god's sakes." Her free hand goes into the inside of her jacket and pulls out a small insignia. "Look at this, would you?"
The wraps and the sword both fall from her hands. Oh. Oh.
She's- she's a-
The next few exchanges are lost to her; her heart is pounding in her ears again, and the pain in her right foot alerts her that she smartly dropped the sword on it.
I have a chance at this. Just ask her later-
"-find me an empty compartment to lock 'em in. Or a closet. A large wardrobe. A small wardrobe. Medium-sized treasure chest. I'm not picky; and this pair don't have any space to be."
The ends of the wrapping are tied. She can hear the sounds of discussion, and under it, the sounds of the woman on the ground panting. Quietly.
The sword nearly drops from her fingers again when she realizes that the sounds of the train moving have stopped.
---------------------------------------------------
Her hands run over the sword again. The metal is cold and hard enough to be felt through the wrappings and it feels more solid than most of her body right now. She gently kicks at her backpack by her feet as a fresh wave of nerves flow into her. The sounds of the discussion outside the compartment briefly flare in volume.
The train is still stationary, and she doesn't want to look outside the window. The scenery stubbornly staying still somehow manages to look like a looming threat.
"-got a permit for this, have had one for years-"
"Aren't you tired, ma'am?"
"Only 'cause it's so early! Now I'll go leave it to you if you can actually promise me that you'll keep a close fuckin’ eye on them-"
Her hands absentmindedly check for the wand; still in her boot.
"-you guys can handle whatever else there is when we get back, of course?"
"Yes, ma'am, you've done enough."
"Great. Wonderful. If they act up, call me."
She turns her stare at the window. Long enough to see that the sky is brightening, then returning it to her lap and at her hands still pulling at the wrappings. The thought of closing the blinds cross her mind, and she discards it; getting up is too much of an idea right now. Actually thinking right now is too much of an idea. Existing right now is too much.
"We're good then? Now, if you'll excuse me."
She jolts almost hard enough to knock the sword out of her lap when the compartment doors open.
It's the old woman. She doesn't react to being gawked at except for glancing around the compartment, then entering and closing the doors behind her. The seat across from her is taken by her.
She sits with slumped shoulders; not a tired kind, but an unstiff, almost casual kind. She also is sitting with her arms crossed, and staring out the window. For the moment, the brightening sky outside the window is holding her stare.
She realizes, when she looks back down at her lap and sees it moving, that she's rocking in place. She forces herself to stop, and clasps her hands together tightly instead.
For a minute, the old woman just stares outside the window, looking tired.
Then, as she finally looks back to her, she realizes that she doesn't look tired. She looks grim.
For a another measure of time that she could probably measure better in how many times she squeezes at her own hands than in seconds, she sits and stares.
When she speaks, she does it without breaking her stare; "Do you have any idea what kind of thing you're holding?"
Her fingers' grips tighten.
"Look. You see this?" Out comes a device from inside her jacket. It's recognizable as one of the devices that had been making the beeping noises earlier. "This is what I use to find magical items. Normally, I have to wave this thing around all over the place and not find any signals until I'm practically shoving it up the thing's ass. You know what your weapon did?"
No response comes to mind.
"I," she continues, and waves the device. "-am getting artifact level readings from your sword there. Do you have any idea what that means, young lady?"
She swallows a breath, curls her toes, and tries speaking. "You- You're a seeker, right?"
"Well. Yeah. Thought it was obvious. Yeah, I am."
Her heart tightens, and so do her hands. "I. Um. I- I need to-"
"You need?" There's a pause. The old woman's voice gentles. "... You were looking for a seeker?"
"I. Yes. Yes, I am. Was. Yeah." She takes another breath, grips at the sword, and steels herself. "You- you need to have a thing to present to be one, right? Well-"
"Present? Hold on a second here." She takes a scanning look, and her brows scrunches. "You're trying to become a seeker?"
"You- you can apprentice under one, right? And you have to show them you can find magic items, right?"
"Missy. I. Lemme get this straight here," She points at her, then back to herself. "You were looking for a seeker,"
A nod.
"Walkin' around all over the place with an artifact level sword on your back,"
A slightly less assured nod.
"... So you could present it to the first seeker you found and just hope to god that they'd take you on."
A hesitant nod.
She sighs. Deeply. "Kid. There're better ways to become a seeker. I mean, it's still a pain in the ass, but you can find a better way to apply-"
"I can't!" She blurts out, and fumbles for her next words. "I- I just can't. You need... official things. Things I don't have.
"Are... you talking legal things? Kid, just where did you get that thing from?"
Her grip on the sword tightens. She lifts it off her lap and holds it out in front of her. "It's the Opening."
"It's. It's the what now?" The old woman looks like a solid lady; she also still looks like a heart attack is about to personally come and strike her into her grave at that very moment. "Where. Where did you get one of Keystone's twin artifacts from?"
"I stole it."
She coughs. More like wheezes into a closed fist, before looking back to her with something odd in her eye. "... You actually serious 'bout that? Or are you just trying to impress me or something."
"I... don't know?" She glances at the sword. "Both?"
"... Kid. Missy." She sighs again. Deeper this time, and she falls silent, seemingly to think.
The old woman looks her in the eye. She's not sure what's in them, but it's making her heart sink into her gut fast enough to make her head ache.
"I'm not going to pretend to know much about your situation, but I've run into kids like you before. Just," She rubs at her temples. "There is absolutely no way you can escape any heat with stealin' an artifact. Even if you're bluffin' about stealing it, just getting found with it is gonna wreck your life. The only thing I can offer to you is to give it to me. I can either turn it in with less problems, or collect it, or whatever; I'll be able to handle that. And you should turn, go home, and try again, in a less backwards way this time. We're already headin' back. I'll take you home, tell you what you need to do, whatever you-" She pauses. "Miss, are you alright?"
"I can't. I can't go back. She'll- she'll kill me-"
The old woman gets to her feet. Her hands hover out in front of her, open, palms outward; for a flash, the stranger she'd been threatening leaps to mind. "Miss, breathe. Calm down-"
Whatever air she breathes feels like it's not reaching her lungs. "I CAN'T, you don't get it, I've been planning this for months, for nearly a year now and if she finds out I tried running I'm not gonna get another chance, I can't-"
The old woman sits next to her.
She's deep enough in her panic that she can't react when the feel of a hand on her back strikes her. Her lips feel numb, and there's pins and needles sensations in her hands and fingers that become sharper every time she tightens her grip.
"Miss, breathe. What's this? What's the matter?"
"I. I have something I need to do. I-I need to be a seeker to --to. To find. And I need to get away from home because. Oh-oh no-" Her throat closes over.
There's a pause. "... How bad."
"What?"
"How badly do you need to get away from home?"
"..." She breathes. "I might die if I have to stay there any longer. I can't. I can't. Not without Claire."
Her head aches, and her chest burns, and her lips are still numb, and she can't stop the rocking. Through the sensations, she's dimly aware of her hand being gently untangled from the other and being squeezed. Tightly.
The silence reigns as the train starts again, now moving in the opposite direction. The scenery outside, moving in the wrong direction now looks more like condemnation than a threat.
---------------------------------------------
The walk from the compartment at the end of the train, down through the cars, to the front and outside back to the same station has a moving picture quality to it. She can't remember when the sword had been returned to her back, and her bag back onto her shoulders; but she assumes the old woman now walking behind her probably had something to do with it.
I could just wait for the next train to Fairview. Or anywhere but here. They must've found I'm gone by now but that doesn't mean they're going to check the station this fast. I'll just wait. I'll just do something. I have enough for another ticket. I probably have enough. I need enough.
The ground changes from carpeting, to steps, to stone. She only looks up when it changes to feet on stone.
The circles her mind were running itself in grind to a total halt when she finds they belong to someone wearing official looking clothing.
He holds out a hand. "Miss, we're going to need to examine your-"
Somehow, she doesn't flinch when a hand suddenly clamps on her shoulder. The absolutely stony feeling in her probably is responsible.
The old woman steps past her, hand still on her shoulder. "Calm down, son. We were here to collect an item." She flashes the insignia on the inside of her jacket. "L'il bit rough there, but we got it."
The officer glances between the insignia, and back to her. She supposes this is what deer must feel like when caught in headlights. "Well, ah, we'll need you to-"
"We've got a permit for the weapons, officer." Her next words take a cheery tone. "Good thing we had 'em too; the pair stirring up shit got violent. Ahh," She removes her hand from her shoulder to gesture at her before returning it. "First time my girl here seen it get physical. She's still a li'l jumpy. Handled herself well, though."
She jumps when her shoulder is roughly clapped.
"Ah, sorry, dearie. So proud of you. Well!" She nods at the officer. "Better get going. Left the old bike alone for too long."
The two exchange a few more words that fly over her head, before the old woman gives him one last nod and walks off.
She follows. For the first time after getting off the train, she raises her head and takes a look around Keystone Station. It's nearly unrecognizable in a different lighting, and in the new crowds of people. Many of them are wearing uniforms, and she clutches at the straps of her backpack, and ducks her head back down.
The old woman doesn't pay any more attention to her until they're outside the station and back on the street. A look is thrown over her shoulder, as if to check if she's still there before she turns fully.
The old woman thumbs at her nose, and glances away for a moment before looking back at her. "You comin'?"
"You- I," She feels heart leap again. "You'd take me?"
"Well. Alright, takin' a kid along with me is hardly the stupidest thing I've ever done. Now, takin' a kid who has stolen a well-known artifact," She briefly ruffles the curls at the back of her head and grins. "Still not the stupidest thing I've ever done, but it's sure up there."
"You're fine with it?"
"I... changed my mind. You look like you could use a hand as soon as possible. What'd you say your name was again, dearie?"
"Leslie! It's," She pauses and tries for a less eager voice. "It's Leslie."
The old woman nods, and she smiles. "Agatha. Agatha Rhydian. Time to get moving. Haven't had breakfast yet, and I doubt you have either. Chop chop."
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