[The train station is nothing to speak of, really, just a stretch of temporary prefab buildings clumped together at the end of a freshly paved road. About a mile back stands the town to which it's attached, similarly temporary but a little more cohesive, though it's barely visible now amid a sea of undeveloped grassland stretching out in all directions.
So, it's perhaps something of a visual shock to see the train stationed there. Several times wider than a typical train, its design is a fusion of nostalgia and futurism, of the era of steam engines and a level of technology that was once unthinkable on Earth. With a gunmetal black body accented with gold-like and pearlescent materials, it cut through the golden-green to glisten in the sunlight.
Boarding the train is no less of a spectacle. Immediately upon entrance, one finds oneself in a lounge lit up by chandeliers, with generous seating lining a polished marble aisle. In one direction lies the cab, the conductor quarters, the dormitory, and the dining hall; in the other, the lounge, the entertainment room, the viewing deck, and the private suites.
Several people are milling about, though not in great numbers. In its current state, the train is little more than a ferry for those who have business in far away city-states, or for new arrivals transferring from the capital to their new homes. But that, Cornelia thinks, is what makes it an ideal opportunity to invite Troy to visit and show him the impact of his support.
When he makes it to the lounge, he'll find himself in a two storey room with a curving flight of stairs. Everything here is white and gold and blue and deep, rich wood, but the decor is sparse, almost reminiscent of the prefab station. A work in progress, surely, and an ambitious one at that.
There's as few people here as there are elsewhere, and for the most part they're caught up in themselves and the company they're keeping. Here and there, bits of one conversation or another rise above the din, broadly about the various destinations people are headed, and the visions they have for an unknowable future.
It's there where he'll find Cornelia, or maybe more accurately where she'll find him. The doors to the private suites swing open with all the bravado of someone who has some place to be, and Cornelia pushes through them with a pinched look of frustration which fades into something more apologetic when she spots Troy, to whom she beelines.]
I apologise. I meant to meet you at the station, but I received a call I couldn't decline. [A pause, as if to take in the fact that he's really here. But that's how it's always been with them, really. Such long stretches of time apart, such short bursts spent in each other's company.] It's good to see you again. How was the trip?
no subject
So, it's perhaps something of a visual shock to see the train stationed there. Several times wider than a typical train, its design is a fusion of nostalgia and futurism, of the era of steam engines and a level of technology that was once unthinkable on Earth. With a gunmetal black body accented with gold-like and pearlescent materials, it cut through the golden-green to glisten in the sunlight.
Boarding the train is no less of a spectacle. Immediately upon entrance, one finds oneself in a lounge lit up by chandeliers, with generous seating lining a polished marble aisle. In one direction lies the cab, the conductor quarters, the dormitory, and the dining hall; in the other, the lounge, the entertainment room, the viewing deck, and the private suites.
Several people are milling about, though not in great numbers. In its current state, the train is little more than a ferry for those who have business in far away city-states, or for new arrivals transferring from the capital to their new homes. But that, Cornelia thinks, is what makes it an ideal opportunity to invite Troy to visit and show him the impact of his support.
When he makes it to the lounge, he'll find himself in a two storey room with a curving flight of stairs. Everything here is white and gold and blue and deep, rich wood, but the decor is sparse, almost reminiscent of the prefab station. A work in progress, surely, and an ambitious one at that.
There's as few people here as there are elsewhere, and for the most part they're caught up in themselves and the company they're keeping. Here and there, bits of one conversation or another rise above the din, broadly about the various destinations people are headed, and the visions they have for an unknowable future.
It's there where he'll find Cornelia, or maybe more accurately where she'll find him. The doors to the private suites swing open with all the bravado of someone who has some place to be, and Cornelia pushes through them with a pinched look of frustration which fades into something more apologetic when she spots Troy, to whom she beelines.]
I apologise. I meant to meet you at the station, but I received a call I couldn't decline. [A pause, as if to take in the fact that he's really here. But that's how it's always been with them, really. Such long stretches of time apart, such short bursts spent in each other's company.] It's good to see you again. How was the trip?