AUTHOR'S NOTE
I wasn't going to participate in this Fantasy Train thing, except (as you'll see here) Maria twisted my arm enough to convince me. But I still didn't get off my duff and write anything until I read Virago's piece, so she deserves some of the credit too.
Intelligent comments and criticisms will receive appropriate responses. Flames and juvenile slobbering go straight to the recycling bin.
All my stories are available at Stories Online: www.storiesonline.net
SCENES FROM A TRAIN -or- KAITLYN AND BECCA GO FOR A RIDE Copyright 1999 by [email protected] I'm at work taking a break from reviewing galley proofs for a couple of my books when the IM box pops up on my screen.
"Michael, you *have* to participate. Please!"
"Maria, I told you. Writing sexually explicit stuff about people I know is one of my few squicks. I just don't think I can do it."
I've just sent her an email declining the invitation, but she apparently isn't taking no for an answer.
"You don't have to write about anyone else if you don't want to. You can write about anything. That's the whole point of the setting."
"I don't know. I'll think about it."
"Please. We really want you on board."
"This will take some effort, and you know I'm retired. I don't know if I have the time."
"But this is a time travel setting. Do the story, and we can have you back before you've even left."
Out my window, I see a bizarre train somehow pulling into the parking lot. The engine at first appears unmanned, but then I notice a little green hat sticking just above the level of the window. And, as Maria promised, I see myself staggering weakly out of a side door.
"Uh . . . judging from my condition, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea."
"Michael, it's too late. If you don't get on now, it will create a paradox. The whole train could slip through a rift into a parallel dimension."
I wonder where she's getting these concepts with her limited proficiency in English, but then it occurs to me that I may be talking to a Maria who has spent several years riding this train around.
"Uh. Okay. Give me a minute."
* * *
I have apparently climbed into the dining car. With much shuddering and fireworks, the train gets underway. Standing behind the bar is a familiar face.
"Eddie! What are you doing here?"
"Ah, those fucking FBI agents shut me down after that thing with E.B. Said I was aiding and abetting a fugitive."
He waves me over to the bar, where a drink awaits. I take a sip--it's a Mount Gay and Coke with a twist. But, of course he knows what I drink; I invented the guy.
"Sorry about that. I guess I shouldn't have left that story hanging the way I did. Whatever happened to E.B?"
"He's running around pretending to be a chick. A fucking fertility symbol, can you believe that shit? I guess he figures it will help his case. Anyway, Shon felt so bad about starting that thread that he offered me this spot. Been here ever since."
I take another sip of my drink. Damn, this is good. The only thing that would make this even better is a--
"Here."
Eddie is holding out a Cohiba Robusto, already cut. He lights it for me.
"Thanks. My wife won't let me smoke these things in the house, and it's getting too cold to go out on the patio."
"Don't mention it. I saved a couple for you. I figured you would be along eventually."
I take in the dining car and the coachwork around me, all smooth metal and enamel. Pure Art Deco, straight out of the 30's.
"Nice place you've got here."
"Thanks. But man, I'll tell you, I thought I got a weird crowd at the Bar & Grill. This place . . ." He shakes his head. "I try to run a class joint, you know? I ain't used to people screwing in the damn booths. I said something to Shon and Maria, you know, 'I don't know if I can work under these fucking conditions,' but they just told me to deal with it."
"Sorry."
"Ah, you get used to it."
He looks up past me toward the rear door and hooks his fingers at someone.
"Get in here already. I ain't carding tonight."
I turn around to see who it is, but they're already bouncing up to me.
"Michael! You came!"
Kaitlyn and Becca press themselves against me, one on either side, as Eddie pulls a bong out from under the bar.
"We didn't think we'd ever see you again," Kaitlyn says.
"Yeah, when are you going to write us into another story?"
"I'm retired, you know that."
They both pout at me.
"I've got an idea or two. I don't know if it will ever see the light of day though."
"Really?" Kaitlyn says. "What do we do?"
"All I've got is the title and the first few lines. Beyond that I don't know."
"What's the title?" Becca asks. Kaitlyn is already taking a hit off the bong, and I wave my cigar to clear the air.
"'Scenes from a Mall, or, Kaitlyn and Becca Go Shopping.'"
Kaitlyn wrinkles her nose.
"That sounds vaguely familiar somehow."
"So we get it on at the mall?" Becca asks.
"I haven't decided."
"It's so cool you came," Kaitlyn says. "Everybody is here."
"Everybody?"
"All the characters in your stories and everyone else's, and everyone from ASSD. We met Janey and Lisala. Kiko, too. She's so funny."
I lean back and give the window into the next car a nervous look.
"Everyone? Every character I ever created?"
"Well, except the ones you killed off or left in prison. But Bret MacDonald is here. He's up a couple of cars hitting on Maria."
"Lovely. Remind me to apologize to her."
"She doesn't seem to mind," Kaitlyn said. "And you know he has a thing for big boobs."
"I heard Monster Sex wanted to come aboard too," Becca said, "but she was just too big."
Kaitlyn gives me an evil grin.
"We're still looking for Wijit. We want to show him just how much 'morality and direction' we've really got."
The two of them exchange knowing looks, which I try to ignore.
"So what are you going to do?" Kaitlyn asks. "You're almost a thousand words into this, and you're still on the train."
I review the last couple of pages. She's right. Damn Maria for getting me into this thing.
"I don't know. I told Maria I had no idea what to write about."
The train lurches and begins to slow down. Through the windows, I can see that we appear to be passing a medieval village.
"When are we?" I ask Eddie.
He points to a digital clock on the wall, one of those 1930's-era things with the numbers printed on rolling drums. It's spinning now, and as the train rolls to a stop, the numbers stop at 1254.
"Works for me," I say.
* * *
I step out of the dining car, avoiding the mud in the road. My outfit has changed from the jeans and button-down shirt I usually wear to work. I'm now wearing black leather breeches and a loose black silk blouse. As I take in the saber at my waist and the throwing knives in my boots, I realize what role I've stepped into. An old series of stories, one I never posted on ASSD, but that made up a long thread on a bulletin board I once frequented.
The train has dropped me in the midst of the village, and up ahead I see a tavern. The sound of drunken revelry fills the street. The townspeople give me a wide berth as I near the drinking hall, and I remember now what a foul reputation I gave this character years ago.
An armored man on a dark horse is riding unsteadily away from the tavern toward me. He sees me, and his eyes widen. The horse rears as he pulls the beast horse up short.
"You!"
He glares at me, hand going to his sword. I return the stare.
"Do I know you, sirrah? You are not one of mine."
"As if I would serve one such as you! Know that I am the Dark Knight! I have but captured the Fuken Whore, and now I will bring you to justice as well. The bounty on your head will secure my family's fortunes at long last."
Damn. I forgot about that.
I draw my saber, and his horse steps back few feet.
"Get out of my way, or you will be feeding the rats in the sewer before the clock strikes again."
He draws a similar blade.
"Drop that bodkin or shall be forced to divest you of your head!"
I am--I think--a far better swordsman than he in this guise, but he has the advantage by being mounted.
"And toss that stinking faggot from your hands as well! I will not have you working magic on these good people."
I look down, realizing that I'm still holding the Cohiba in my other hand. Fuck it. I'm not throwing away a thirty-dollar cigar, even if this place is three centuries too early for tobacco. But he's just given me an idea.
I take a long drag from the Havana, then blow it in his horse's face. The unfamiliar aroma causes the beast to rear up again in fright. The Dark Knight is unprepared for this tactic, and he seems--I'm beginning to suspect I'm not the first Train passenger he's met--rather unsteady in the saddle. He loses his grip on the reins and falls backward, smacking his head on the cobblestones. The horse continues rearing up away from me as I approach the fallen knight.
He's unconscious. I tap the Cohiba over his face, knocking the ash loose, and head toward the tavern.
When I step inside, a few things grab my gaze immediately. I look toward the stage at the head of the room. No, it *can't* be. What the hell is *she* doing here? Talk about anachronisms.
I shake my head and look around the rest of the room. In the far corner, I see a tall, blonde-haired woman--she seems vaguely familiar--regarding me evenly. Though she wears only tattered undergarments, she holds a long broadsword at her side and appears to know how to use it.
A fresh-faced, broad-bosomed barmaid presents herself to me.
"Can I direct you to a table, sir?"
The look in her eye tells me she's prepared to offer more than that, but it's too soon yet to start the sex.
"Aye. And fetch me some ale, girl."
She leads me toward the rear, near the blonde warrior woman, who is still giving me a wary eye. The barmaid seats me at a nearby table and skips off toward the bar.
The woman extends a hand.
"Virago."
"MacAllister von Bek."
"You appear familiar to me somehow."
"I have a feeling we've met in a different guise. What brings you here?"
"I have a train to catch."
Oh. Now I get it.
"I have but recently left the thing myself. It should return before long."
Her eyes take on a knowing gleam.
"I recognize your face now. But you have never visited a setting such as this in the form I know you in."
"No. But I have in the past, in other personas. Such as this one."
The barmaid returns with my ale, giving Virago a carefully discreet glare. She sets the mug down and then wraps a few of her auburn curls around her finger, smiling at me.
"Is there anything else I can offer you, sir?"
Virago laughs.
"You'd best go with her, my friend. This thing of yours has run on far too long as it is."
I chuckle.
"Aye. Lead on then, girl."
With a wink, she turns and heads toward the stairs.
* * *
Kaitlyn and Becca greet me in the dining car when I return. Both of them are royally pissed.
"Michael! How could you cut that scene short?"
"I'm sorry. I'm incapable of writing about myself having sex. It feels too much like mooning my friends. I'm not into exhibitionism."
Kaitlyn scowls at me.
"You've done it before. What about 'Katie' and 'Swimming Upstream'?"
"Neither of those stories were quite the roman a' clefs I presented them as. This is just too naked a setting for me to drop my pants in."
Eddie replaces the stale butt in my hands with a fresh Cohiba.
"You guys ever find Wijit?"
"No," Becca says. "I think he's hiding from us. But we'll find him sooner or later."
"We hear he's never had a bj," Kaitlyn says, grinning evilly. "But we'll fix that."
I see Eddie shaking his head, and I give him a sympathetic glance.
"Goddamned feds," he mutters.
* * *
The train drops me back off at work, and I stagger up to my office. My boss sticks her head in a moment later.
"Have you been smoking?"
I grimace.
"Don't ask."
* * *
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