Apologies for the long delay, everyone. Thank you all for reading, and let's get this show back on the road.
More teen angst for everyone!
"Oh no! I am just a humble weary traveler who just so happens to have a lot of junk weighing me down…" By now, half of the denizens inside the bar are looking strangely at the oddly dressed newcomer. Many eyes follow every movement when he pulls out a shiny filigreed bauble and makes a good show of rolling it on top of the crusty old brick of the counter. "Whatever shall I do with this random object I found on the ground, and I have no idea what it even does? Who would take such useless junk off my hands?"
This is the part where Grace would whisper into his ear that she's nominating him for the Razzie awards and Simon would retort that if she was so much better at him in everything then why didn't she lead with the acting. Still, most nulls aren't too intelligent. Out of the corner of one eye, Simon observes three or four of them finish their drinks and slink out a side door. If they're either leaving to inform someone higher up that he's the perfect mark or setting him up to be mugged along a dark alleyway, Simon is ready for them. It's been a while since he's experienced any action—and no, that Class C raid a few days back did not count.
On this never-ending train, there is only one surefire way to attract the attention of a personnage such as the Cat. A normal passenger or null would never know what happens within a car that is right next door or hundred or even a thousand cars away, but somehow the Cat will, or will at least always learn about it in the end. Simon cannot explain how she does it—always managing to show her snout at the most opportune time—she just does. Looking down at the palm of his hand, Simon rolls the little gold and ivory ball around. This sphere is one of the few remaining objects he had retained from that dark time before Grace—Simon had had this in his pockets that fateful day; the Cat had asked him to hold it for her—and in spite of all the years which have passed by, Simon doubts that she has forgotten about it. After all, the Cat is collecting again; she needs something, many, many somethings to fill those rooms.
"Heya, one chocolate milkshake for the boy in black, eh?" The null behind the counter is a massive red ball of wiry hair with intimidating yellow eyes. But no hairnet, Simon notes, and if he slurps up as little as a single long red strand in his shake, there is going to be murder. Still, Simon takes it and starts to drink. Before the null prods him about payment, he produces a dented spork from a hidden pocket and slides it across the counter.
In The Black Market Car, the only way to obtain anything is to barter, and Simon has a fanny pack full of useless objects in which to red null and Simon stare at each other for quite a few moments before it gives a noncommittal shrug of its invisible shoulders and swipes the utensil off the counter for safekeeping.
Simon sighs as he hunches over his barstool, blowing bubbles into his milkshake. Today happens to be his second day away from the Apex, away from home. He isn't anticipating the prospect of an entire month sleeping in the rough, but if he must… Ever since he had boarded the train all those years ago, Simon has consistently spent the night sleeping near another person—and if he had spent half the night awake with his pack underneath his head, staring up at the blank swirling sky of The Black Market Car and strongly wishing to hear Grace's usual soft breathing nearby or random snippets of childish conversation outside his room back in The Mall Car, it only sharpens his resolve. All of their futures may depend upon-
"-of all the rotten-" Simon nearly topples off of his stool. That voice! His head spins around to peer through an open doorway.
There! Simon sees a flash of a familiar greying brunette braid swishing through the crowd before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Momentarily he is stunned. This makes twice in one month that this woman has crossed paths with Simon; this cannot be coincidence. Without much further debate, Simon ditches the milkshake bar behind and darts out into the street.
"-all gone pear-shaped, as expected. Really Amelia, you make one attempt at being c-" The woman who had claimed to be the false conductor…the old lady… Amelia… is a tricky customer to follow. Simon can only catch snippets of her monologuing to herself and occasionally to some beat-up old microphone, while trying to remain inconspicuous and at least three people lengths away at all times. He really should be looking for the Cat; however, learning more about Amelia is too valuable to pass up.
How does she behave when not treating other passengers like old gum stuck to the bottom of her boots? Where does she obtain the parts to create such cool tech—yes, even Simon could admit to himself that he had found her sound wave thingy pretty cool, even though it had knocked him flat on his back—and if he watched her buy the parts, could he somehow engineer something similar for himself? The thought of breaking down Amelia's invention, understanding it, and then rebuilding it into something greater is pleasing to him, especially if the old lady finds out about it somehow—doubly if his upgrade beats hers.
Amelia makes her rounds as if she's gone grocery shopping: a pair of wire clippers here, a box of glowing bulbatteries most likely smuggled out of The Energy Car there, two dozen eggs from a notably ominous denizen that looks suspiciously like a mutated chicken underneath its ragged cloak… In all, her shopping is very mundane, though Simon rather quickly notices that she never "pays" for any goods she receives, violating the general bartering rule of The Black Market Car. He wonders if her special connection to One-One grants her all of these special perks. So many questions… Her astronomically high number, that super cool tech; Amelia must know so much about the train. Simon doesn't buy her statement that she wants to one day get off the train; that has to be One-One propaganda. Just look at her, she has free reign to do whatever she wants, to go wherever she wants—no one besides the little robot she works for could maybe stop her; why would she want to leave this all behind and go back to the disappointing real world?
When Amelia approaches yet another grimy market booth, Simon doesn't think much of it. However, when the null running it knocks over the majority of his wares in an attempt to escape and Amelia merely scoffs and cuts off his getaway with a wall of sound, his attention is piqued. Simon kneels behind a nearby barrel and watches the show.
"You have fifteen seconds to explain why an anomaly is present within this car." Amelia extends one arm holding the recording device and flicks it on. "Explain."
"Eh, heh, I gotsss no clue…" The null is sweating, eyes darting here and there searching for an out, but the crowd surrounding them has forgotten the scuffle already. Such is life in The Black Market Car.
"Nine seconds."
"H-hey now, it'sss not like I control what comesss into thisss place!"
Amelia frowns. "Perhaps you personally don't, but I have reason to believe that the organization in which you associate yourself does. Or why else would I be speaking to you?"
The null opens his scaly mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.
"Look, I don't have the time to play twenty questions with you. We made an agreement some time back that you or your organization will bring me any object that enters your domain and triggers one of my sensors, and in turn, I don't send your car into quarantine. There is an object not created by the current conductor residing within this car. As talented as I may be, I do not have the time to search the entirety of or interview everyone within this car to find it-"
Wait! Quarantine!? Simon's mind is racing. Doesn't that mean they are all going to get sent to the back of the train? He's going to die of old age before he finds The Mall Car again. Wait! Grace…
"-ation has ten minutes to find this object and deliver it to me. Otherwise, I shall be forced to handle this car like I do all cars that are contaminated, and if I can be honest with you, I don't want to do that. This place is the only location on the train where I can find quality ingredients with so little hassle, and believe me, you can't imagine the lengths I am forced to endure to acquire decent eggs in The Chicken Car. They are so abominably picky-"
Simon is so engrossed in Amelia's monologue that he nearly misses long hairy fingers snaking their way into his back pocket. It is only when he senses something heavy being gently lifted that he turns his head to find a small green monkey wearing a vest and top hat holding the filigreed orb he'd been fooling around with previously. Hold on, had it been present at the bar earlier? The thing smiles cheekily at Simon before bounding off into the street.
"Hey, stop!" Simon yells, before falling forward and knocking over and crushing the barrel which he had been hiding behind. A few heads turn to watch the sudden commotion, including-
"You." Amelia.
Simon is flat on his back again, and Amelia, the old lady, is looking down at him similarly as to how one glares at a stained sheet after three washings. How has she recognized him so quickly? Simon has borrowed one of Grace's ideas for this undercover expedition; he is, supposedly, incognito, going as far to borrow Grace's cloak—he knows Grace well enough that he's going to have one foot in the fire already when he returns with the Cat. Piling on the crime of taking things without asking, well, one can't get even more dead, right?—and scrubbing his face to remove the Apex sine. The latter had been hard to do. His face feels uncomfortably naked without it, but the nulls would freak if they had seen him enter this car. It couldn't be helped.
Amelia's lips smooth into a hard, thin line. "What are you doing here eavesdropping to-" But Simon doesn't wait for her to finish. His hands reach to grasp those well-worn grooves of the handles of his harpoon gear and activates his hooks. "Oh, no you-! Ugh!"
Simon is already two stories in the air before she do anything. His heart is beating five hundred times a minute, and as Amelia and scene disappears behind him in a swirl of color, he lands crouching smoothly on a crumbling brick wall, darkened with age. Hurriedly he switches on his gravity boots and leaps onto another to make sure he's out of her line of sight.
Damn it, he's lost the ball thing and gotten himself caught by the false conductor lady in the span of ten minutes. Nice going there, Simon. What else does he have on him to tempt the Cat? His gear? Another toy soldier?
Simon sighs. He briefly considers turning around and descending and asking Amelia for help, but the very juxtaposition of the words of "Amelia" and "help" is laughable. The woman didn't help them back then a fortnight ago—in fact, she had treated him like a stupid child— it's beyond the pale to think she'd even give him a chance to open his mouth before blasting him now. Simon is confident that he could guilt Samantha into explaining everything she knows about the possible side effects of memory tapes, but Amelia…?
The blond walks down the other side of building, away from where he'd last seen the false conductor. No, he is not going to Amelia to beg for help. He still has several weeks left to find the Cat, to persuade her to come with him—she owes him that much. Yes, he is going to find one little white cat amidst this infinite train without anything in his possession to tempt her fancy. No, he is not crying. Yes, he is confident he can help Grace, like he had promised… The Lucky Cat Car is still under repairs the last time he'd heard news of it, but the Cat is never far from The Carnival Car, The Twentieth Century World's Fair Car, or any car where there are a large number of passengers and nulls to swindle. No, it would be simple to-to track those cars down with his number tracker. Yes, he wholeheartedly believes in his plan.
In reality Simon thinks that is a stupid plan, but the alternative, simply heading back to The Mall Car and watching his best friend possibly deteriorate into nothing isn't something he can bear. He would rather watch Grace get her number down to zero and get off the train, than that. Simon is leader of the Apex, and he has the highest number ever seen, barring Amelia. This should help him. He should feel bold and powerful, but he does not. At that moment, Simon feels indistinguishable from his ten-year-old self—a dumb child, a kid, a worthless loser who can't even help his best friend. Simon doesn't even try to hide the tears as they fall.
"Excusé moi." There is a light tap on Simon's shoulder. "But I am looking for a young man—tall, blond…with perhaps a…questionable taste in fashion." Simon freezes, eyes wide. "I don't suppose you know where to find such, do you?"
Simon can barely breathe. How? After all of this…? His gaze lowers, and Simon eyes the Cat, as dapper as ever in a freshly pressed vest and sleek fur. "Samantha…" he whispers.
Samantha's yellow eyes peer up at him cautiously, as if she is fervently searching Simon's face for something he cannot see. Her next words are spoken with great care. "Imagine my surprise when my acquaintance Michael shows up at my quarters at la Rue de Chat with a priceless Fabergé egg, and I remember thinking to myself, 'My, my, I haven't seen that exquisite little piece in years.' A little over eight years to be exact."
And how did you find me so quickly? This is the first question that Simon wants to ask, but like always, thinking about the Cat brings forth too many emotions all at once—anger, hurt, resentment…remnants of affection. Words jumble up inside his mouth, and his face blossoms crimson. He hates that he cannot totally hate the Cat even though she had left him to die, never came back even to apologize, refuses to even now fully acknowledge that she'd hurt him, had hurt Grace-
Grace. Simon recalls holding her limp body and pleading with her to wake up, her confusion, her hot tears dampening his shirt… And he has the culprit right here! What is he even doing? Simon opens his mouth and-
A familiar, but still ominous green pulse sweeps across The Black Market Car, and the very earth beneath them seems to heave like a giant wave. All around passengers and nulls are shaken; some of them scream in shock. Several booths full of wares topple and shatter across the pavement. Even Samatha's hair is standing on end, but Simon knows what is happening. Amelia.
"Amelia…" Samantha hisses, her claws extending and scraping the pavement. All of her muscles are tense; she's preparing to bolt, Simon can tell. He cannot allow her to do so.
"You can't leave!" Simon shouts, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're going to stay here and answer my questions first-!"
"You silly boy! Can't you see that we're all going to be sent to the caboose if we stay here? Trust me, you do not want to be sent there!" She is already scrambling across the pavement, and Simon follows after her.
Déjà vu, Simon.
Simon feels the sensation of the shocks and joints of the car's wheels underneath him roil and bounce as The Black Market Car begins its quarantine sequence. Samantha is a streak of white lightning along the ground, but Simon has trouble pushing a path through a panicking mass of people; he's much too big to squeeze past them all. He is too far away from the exit, if he keeps this up he will- Hold on!
Simon aims and shoots his hooks at a bare path of pavement twenty meters away. With a mighty shlink! they embed themselves into the ground, and Simon rockets forward at an angle, his boots taking most of the friction damage as he speeds along the pitted pavement. He manages to avoid most of the crowd by swerving to the right or left, and ah! He's catching up to the Cat. With a mighty gulp he releases one hook—the resulting jerk nearly pulls his other arm out of its socket as his remaining line takes all the strain—and makes a grab for the Cat's pristine vest.
Samantha hisses—out of fear, anger, or instinct, Simon does not know—and instinctively digs her claws through Grace's old cloak and into his bicep. Simon winces, but the pain somehow makes his senses sharper. As soon as his hook reaches its destination, Simon dislodges both it and its neighbor, aims them both harpoon hooks near the exit, and shoots them again. Simon and Samantha fly over the heads of the numerous confused and screaming populace. A slight wave of pity grips him. These people are all about to meet the caboose…
The Cat shudders as the adrenaline slowly drains out of her joints, her claws still clinging to Simon's arm. "Merci! Merci beaucoup, Simon…" If she dared, Simon figures Samantha would have nuzzled him if she could.
"Don't thank me yet," Simon mumbles. He sees the open exit door, the permanent nightmare twilight of the wasteland shifting as The Mall Car tilts upwards, the multicolored pile of people daring themselves to jump down on the platform below or risk quarantine. It would be no problem for him to make it out the door. He can still see the faded gold of the next car.
Don't thank me yet, Simon thinks. You owe me. You still have to answer my questions.
ENTER the final two main characters for this fic. Thanks for reading everyone, and a big F in the chat for the people of The Black Market Car...