Reply To: The Socialite's New Clothes IC

  • Tecumseh

    Member
    April 5, 2019 at 5:55 pm

    Monday Morning, March 7, 2078, Touristville, Redmond, Seattle

    Ichante accepts the orange and peels it, knowing in advance it will make her hands sticky. Well, such are the advantages of wearing dirty clothes: she just wipes her hands on her jeans and calls it good. The smell of the orange draws some covetous glances from the graveyard shift employees, but they’re too tired to say or do anything.

    The light rail takes the women east across Lake Washington. (Ichante unconsciously holds her breath while on the bridge, as she tries not to imagine the deep meters of dark, cold water underneath her…) Ichante stares at Council Island on the way over, or at least as much as she can from the concrete trough that carries the rail across the island. The tall evergreen trees call to her and she feels a kinship with the terrain, even if it’s not particularly like the plains where she grew up. “I need to visit,” she says under her breath, more to herself than anyone, but she’s easily overhead by Tanya. She wonders if her Sioux SIN would make it easier to get on the Island; Sioux-Salish relations are more cordial than the Seattle-Salish relationship, which is constantly strained.

    In Bellevue they transfer to a northbound train that follows 405, then swings east to follow 520. Originally this route was meant to deliver tech workers to and from Redmond, but then the Crash of 2029 flipped the table and scattered all the money and game pieces everywhere. Now the line stops in Touristville, where it serves wageslaves too low on the totem pole to afford something nicer, or the tourists and rich kids who want to go slumming in the Barrens. Upon reflection, Ichante realizes that’s what she and Lady Marisart qualify as right now.

    “Here we are,” Ichante says, stepping onto the platform as the rail car empties out at the end of the line. “The late winter sunshine isn’t warm, but the light serves as a disinfectant of sorts. Knight-Errant is more willing to patrol during the day, the Crimson Crush are sleeping off whatever bender they were on last night, and the 162s are… wherever ghouls go during the day. The sewers, I would imagine. Which direction are we going?”