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     Trains, Mystery and Childhood Wonder, 14 years ago
    Llana Theriot
     Posted: Nov 30 2014, 01:32 AM
    Quote Post
    9-October 14
    7 posts
    played by Topher
    Awards: None

    It's a beautiful August afternoon in London, England. Shoppes are filled with people, the clouds block the sun from giving off too much heat but still let in enough so as to enjoy one's self without a sweater. Some are clocking out of their respective shifts, while other's are just waking up to take on the rest of the day.

    Following the traffic of the crowd, more specifically led by her father, a young girl with long brown hair darts her eyes back and forth at the busy faces whom she passes by. Young Llana Theriot, now three since last month, is excited today. Her father, Francis Theriot, has promised her a ride on the big train this afternoon. Llana always enjoyed spending time with her dad when ever she could since most of the time he was working, so she cherished those close, intimate moments as if they were her treasure.

    They had just arrived at Waterloo Station, the crowd was rushing in and out of the building. It could be real easy for a small child, such as Llana to get lost in it all. So she held on tightly to her father's hand as he led her to the back lockers. She saw him pull out a slip of paper from his pocket, he had been doing this since they got out of the cab like he was trying to engrain the message to memory. She saw the numbers six and seven, She too was working on engraining her numbers to memory.

    Finally he stopped at at a locker, Three, Eight, Six and Seven were the numbers Llana counted on the locker. She knew it was wrong so she started pulling on her father's coat to let him know of the numerical error that the staff of Waterloo had made. He seemed to distracted, though, now checking his watch instead of the paper. Llana knew those numbers, she often liked to play with that watch everyday, she could count each one. One, Two, Three...

    Francis? Llana stopped to see a man walk up towards her dad. She recognized him as one of his friends from the army. He used to visit them all everyday, but for some reason he had stopped coming, his last visit being on her birthday. He greeted her dad but kept his hands in his pocket's. Alright, alright I'm here. Nah will ya give 'em to me? Francis said in such a rush Llana could barely understand him. Yeah, man, I got them. Did you bring the cash?

    Francis turned Llana around to reach into her backpack and pull out a thick envelope. It's all there. Now, please, give me it. The two men traded envelopes and placed them in their pockets, respectively. Llana was confused of this game and didn't understand why she didn't get anything. Daddy. Train, she said, raising her arms up towards her dad. He picked her up and placed her on his hip, Llana's head resting on his shoulder.

    I can't believe you would do this to me, Francis said, glaring at his old friend. I can't believe you cheated on your wife. Llana was unsure of how to comprehend this newfound information. He covered her ears immediately but she heard his words; she just didn't know what they meant. Ssh, not in front of Llana. He started to walk away towards the next train out, all he wanted was a way out. Mr. Theriot, the man called out, Francis stopped walking but didn't turn around. I hope, for your sake, it's not yours. Francis closed his eyes briefly, Llana looking at her father with confusion in her eyes. He turned to kiss her forehead then continued walking through the station. Daddy, are we going to ride the train now?

    user posted image
    Mr. Gold
     Posted: Jun 11 2015, 04:49 PM
    Quote Post
    The Dark One
    Crime Lord
    A black cane with a crocodile head
    6-August 14
    20 posts
    played by Topher
    Awards: None

    The Train had been smooth from departure, making those last three or four hours go by in a flash; for most of the passengers. Rupert could feel all of the bumps, twists and turns, thinking to himself that at anytime this ancient means of transportation would spill over or crash into some other engineer asleep at the wheel. At long last the train came to a stop, unfortunately this was not his stop, he had two more to go through. As he waited for this death machine to continue on its voyage, Rupert Stiles Gold leaned back in his seat to attempt to rest his eyes; and his spirits.

    The train was filling quickly with passengers, soon most of the seats had become occupied leaving only the seats in front of him. Luck seemed to not be play on his today as a tall man took the seat opposite him with quick determination, setting a small child in the seat next to him, much to his displeasure. Daddy,look...there, the child exclaimed with annoying enthusiasm and whimsy. It was definitely going to be a long ride for the middle-aged man. Suddenly a woman ran up to their seats in great admiration to the man in front of him, Are you, are you Francis Theriot, the war hero? Can I have your Autograph? She exclaimed with great, and annoying, vigor.

    Francis Theriot, huh, Rupert thought he heard of that name before, in the papers and on the radio. With interest peaked, he opened his eyes to his unwelcomed travel companions to get a good look at them. The man seemed unnerving, on edge about something, which was intriguing to the collector in him. The little brat was small, a head full of hair as red as the devil's fire, her spirit just as wild.

    Rupert decided to...introduce himself to his guest; a potential, and valuable, opportunity he venture to ensue. Well, it seems we have become travel companions. To get the awkward silence out of the way ahead of time, the names Gold; Rupert Stiles Gold, and you are Francis Theriot, I hear? The man looked up cautiosly and responded, Yes, I am; and this is my little girl, Llana. The little devil perked up at the sound of her name, giving a grand smile revealing some missing teeth. Brilliant, now lets see if I can get him in my pocket, the man thought.

    So, what brings you out here? Mr. Gold asked, interrupted by some loud singing for a brief moment. Beat it, Beat it... a young child, around eight years old was apparently singing a Michael Jackson song a couple of rows up. He was a little black boy with a large Afro, his voice wasn't half bad...for an eight year old kid. Wayne Michael Trust, will you stop listening to that garbage? a man, supposedly his father, scolded him.

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