train to nowhere
| xxxxtrain to nowhere |  xxx |
| xxxxxxDATE september 1st, 2026 xxxxxxTIME morning xxxxxxPLACE platform 9¾x |
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTAGS @damon delaneyxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWC 1,938xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxNOTES hehe |
| xxx | The ride to King’s Cross was a swift but tense journey. Her father and her stepmother had been sharing uncertain glances all morning. Even as Liesolette finally stepped out of the cab and onto the station’s tiles, their restlessness was clear as they looked around, noticing the busy crowd of people coming in and out. Beside her, Giselle didn’t seem to share the same anxiety, only swinging their intertwined hands in excitement. “Watch your step,” Lettie told her sister, her face remaining neutral. Giselle only returned her words with a happy grin. “Can you believe it? You’re magical, Lettie! You’re gonna be able to cast spells! Do you think they’d let you use that at home? Maybe that means you no longer have to do the chores manually!” At that, their father shook his head. “Even if she could, that’s what our hands and the dishwasher are for.” At least now, he seemed vaguely amused by his other daughter’s reaction. Lettie held back a snarky response—she refuses to use a wacky gimmick like magic just for some dishes—not wanting to break her sister’s dreamy expression. “Not allowed,” was what she settled with. “I skimmed through the books for this term already. It’s frowned upon for minors like ourselves to do magic at home. And illegal.” It was more of a grumble, truth be told. The thought of being able to do magic may have sounded wonderful and interesting to an average person, but it was more of a wrench in her plans. The girl’s known for a long time what she wanted to be and what had to be done to achieve it. This? This was unaccounted for. If this magical world had rules, she didn’t know them by heart. Lettie hated being in the dark about things. Rosalind, her stepmother, turned to her with the same uncertain expression she’s been holding all morning. The stout woman’s smile was shaky at best, even as she spoke. “The letter,” she started, seemingly trying to gather her memory of how they even got here in the first place. “The one that was delivered by owl. It held instructions, yes?” The girl nodded at her stepmother, tugging slightly at her twin sister’s hand to encourage her to walk the opposite direction. There were signs overhead dictating which platform was what, and platform nine was visible not too far away. “They said to go to platform nine and three-quarters.” Immediately, their parents looked around, seemingly looking for the sign. Giselle only giggled at how baffled they seemed by the number, and even Lettie spared a small smile. Platform nine and three-quarters was clearly not one of the numbers put on the hanging signs, and it was strange. “What an odd number to choose.” Walter said, beginning to walk after his daughters. The small family found themselves between platform nine and ten. Rosalind’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern as she looked between the two signs. Platform nine and three-quarters was nonexistent, that much was clear. “..Perhaps we have taken a wrong turn,” the woman said gently, trying to remain optimistic. Unlike Walter, who still found it hard to believe that magic existed at all, it didn’t take much convincing for her to believe in the existence of witches and wizards. Delivering mail by owl was strange on its own, but since it was she who accompanied a grumbling Liesolette into the strange area that was Diagon Alley to buy her school materials for the upcoming term, it was considerably easier for the woman to have suspension of belief. There had been too many strange things there for it to have been some elaborate prank, in Rosalind’s opinion. Lettie’s eyes lingered between the two numbered signs hanging overhead. Platform nine and three-quarters, she repeated in her head, curious. If the magical world existed—which, she unfortunately knew to be true—then the way there was somewhere between these two platforms. There had been no explicit instructions on the letter beyond the name of the platform, so there was only one last thing she could do. Blue eyes moved throughout the crowd, taking note of everybody’s clothing. From what the girl could remember, older witches and wizards tended to dress a tad bit oddly, with their swishing robes and hanging hoods. It’s reasonable enough to think that even wizard families would accompany their children to wish them off on their journey, especially if it’s to a so-called prestigious academy for magic like Hogwarts. Lo and behold, her eyes caught sight of a similar group of people moving through the crowds in the same direction they were heading, talking hush under their breaths. A family of three, she counted the heads as they passed. Like her, one was pushing a trolley with a luggage of his own. Her eyes remained on them intently as she watched the youngest take a running headstart.. right into wall that divided the two platforms. Lettie blinked once, and then the parents had followed. Wordlessly, she tugged at her father’s sleeve once with her other hand. “It’s through that wall,” the girl told them quietly, watching as the shock settled into their faces. They hadn’t seen anything, surprisingly enough, but perhaps that was because they weren’t looking closely. Giselle, too, looked a tad shocked by the suggestion, but it’s not long before she shook her head and smiled, having full faith in her twin sister. “Can I push your trolley?” Giselle asked in excitement, her hands switching to grip the handles tightly. “If you want,” Lettie nodded, her neutral expression remaining despite the confusion she experienced just moments before. “I’ll walk right behind you.” Their parents walked uncertainly behind them as the younger twin walked. The wall, remaining solid in front of them, inched closer and closer.. until suddenly, they were on the other side. In front of them was a bright red steam train, its bellowing whistle echoing throughout their ears. King’s Cross had been busy, yes, but they had collectively underestimated how many would be here—Lettie had to pull a gawking Giselle away from the trolley temporarily to ensure that the next person wouldn’t come barreling into them. “There’s so many!” Giselle whispered giddily to Lettie, who frowned as she eyed all the people around them. Rosalind, still reeling from the change in scenery, only muttered a half-hearted comment about not treating fellow people like they were animals in a zoo. Thankfully, Walter was able to snap out of his awe quickly enough to usher them out of the way of the wall they had gone through, and soon, they where walking through crowds of people. Once finally reaching a suitable spot, the family turned to the disgruntled Liesolette, who had her arms crossed. “Do you have everything, little rose?” Walter fussed, his hands landing on his daughter’s shoulders. “Uniforms? The money? Your schoolbooks?” Hearing him fuss over what she had or hadn’t packed—when she knew she brought everything, she checked four times—was a tad annoying, but she wasn’t cruel enough to say that to his face. Who was she to blame him? He’s been anxious all day, having to send off his daughter to some weird place with robes and who-knows-what. Better me than Giselle, Lettie affirmed to herself with a grim nod. If it had been Giselle who had been the witch in the family, her father may simply die of a heart attack right then and there. Her twin sister was his favorite, after all, being only second to his own wife. It’d be a lie to say that she also wouldn’t have rioted if Giselle had gone off to Hogwarts without her, since that meant Lettie couldn’t protect her from nonsense. It seems that their arrival was just in time. Only a few minutes of lingering nearby later, the train whistle bellowed again, except this time it was followed by the shout of the train conductor. Giselle immediately launched herself forward to hug her twin sister tightly, pressing a loving kiss to her cheek. “Tell me all about it, okay? Every single detail! I want to know!” The girl gushed with a giggle, her eyes bright. Liesolette didn’t return the smile, but she squeezed back just as tightly, nodding. Rosalind stepped forward, her eyes slightly teary. A part of her was part, but she was still anxious to see her stepdaughter go. “Stay safe and write often, especially if you need anything.” Her hand reached out to pat her on the shoulder gently. When the two backed away, Lettie turned expectantly to her father. Unlike the other two, he seemed quiet as he bent down slightly to meet his daughter’s gaze head-on. “Little rose,” he started, his glasses glinting. For a moment, the girl expected him to burst into tears—it wouldn’t be the first time—or perhaps even hug her, but instead, his face morphed into a grim seriousness. “..Please don’t use your fists against anybody.” was all he said with a sigh, shaking his head. Lettie smiled, amused by his warning. “I don’t raise my fists unless words don’t work,” she said simply. Never mind the fact that words almost never work, as the boys she’s fought with never seem to pay attention to boundaries. Despite her brushing off his warning, Walter looked slightly relieved by how composed she seemed for the time being, believing that perhaps it’ll be fine. He leaned over, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I trust you.” was all he settled with before moving backwards. His hand pushed at her back gently, encouraging her to go on the train and find a spot before the other students finished saying goodbye. He knew his daughter well; Lettie would absolutely prefer a compartment to herself, so he figured cutting the goodbyes short would be best before that was no longer an option. Without a word, the girl nodded and turned around, pushing her trolley along. Please let me find a compartment to myself. |
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| xxx | To Lettie’s joy, she did manage to find a compartment that had nobody in it. Not even her heavy luggages slowed her down from rushing into it and sliding the door closed in relief, sighing as she sat on the velvet seats. Outside the window, the other students finally seemed to be finished with saying their goodbyes to family, as she saw several of them rush into the train, with some even tripping on the way there. “Clumsy.” The girl mumbled lightheartedly, taking off her crossbody bag to put it beside her. It held only a small number of objects: a small blanket in case she got cold and wanted a nap, as well as the skirt, top, and vest of her uniform. Her robes were in another bag, which had been placed with the luggage in the overhead spaces. The train’s whistle bellowed for one last time, and soon, she felt the movement of the train begin to pick up. Sparing a glance at the window, she saw her family not too far off from the compartment she had found, just enough to be within view. It seemed that they had spotted her too, as Giselle waved excitedly as always, a grin coming on her face, which was followed shortly by the waves of her parents. Though Liesolette didn’t open the window to return the waves, she didn’t bother holding back the small smile on her face as the train finally left the station. The ambience of the train took over the cheers and shouts of happy family and children. Now all she had to do was sit here.. and wait. |
Last edited by Liesolette Grimm on 13 Oct 2026, 14:37, edited 3 times in total.
❝ if you value your ability to speak, you better keep your mouth shut around me. ❞
train to nowhere
 scroll —> | JE |
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| xxx | England was really weird. Not that Damon was qualified to judge an entire country based on the first few hours he had spent in it, but he felt fairly confident in his assessment. King's Cross Station was an entirely different beast to Iowa, even Ireland- and Damon thought Ireland and England were, like... the same thing. But clearly, they were not. Damon grew up in small-town Iowa. Vast country, farms, maize fields. Enough greenery that he could genuinely get lost in had he not preferred to wear vibrant colours that made him relatively easy to spot (as evident by his red and yellow striped shirt and light denim overalls he was currently wearing). And the Irish town he and his father, Aiden, moved to was similar. A waterfront town, vast country, farms- the only thing that made Damon realise he wasn't still in Iowa were the weird ass accents. And the weather. As such, Damon was nowhere near prepared for the sheer amount of people crammed into one place the moment he arrived in London and went to King's Cross Station. Even after they passed through the wall between the platforms, there were too many loud sounds, too many people, and way too many wallets hanging halfway out back pockets for him to simply ignore. And, unfortunately for Damon, a very particular man - his father - seemed to be painfully aware of all three of these observations. And he, above all people, knows what happens when Damon gets to thinking about them. "Don't." Aiden's voice made Damon pause, finger's halfway into the pocket of some random gentleman's coat. Damon slowly turned towards his father and blinked, all wide-eyed with faux innocence. "Don't what?" Damon watched his father's expression morph into that of someone discovering they have a leak in their roof. "Damon." "That is my name." Aiden only raised a brow at Damon's hand- which has miraculously gone unnoticed by the gentleman whom the pocket was attached to. Perhaps an airhead like that deserved to have his wallet stolen, Damon thought. Nonetheless, he slowly retreated his hand. Aiden sighed. "Jesus Christ, son." "What?" Damon fell in step beside his father once more. "I didn't take nothing." "That is not the point." "Seemed like a pretty important point to me." Aiden then stopped walking. Damon did too, but only because he'd nearly slammed right into his father when he stopped. The two simply looked at each other for a moment before Damon watched his father bend down to meet him at eye level. Next thing he knew, there was a finger in his face. "Listen to me." Aiden started. "I don't care if you think it's funny. I don't care how clever you think you are. You are going to a school- a proper school, with teachers and rules and consequences. And I swear to God, if I get so much as one letter telling me you've stolen something important, started a fight, or gotten expelled-" "Expelled on the first day? You flatter me." "Damon." "Right, sorry." Damon wasn't sorry. At least not yet. Still, he stuffed his hands in his own pockets as if that'd keep him from sticking them in someone else's pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing around at the station while his father looked at him with some sort of weary determination. Damon really couldn't blame his old man. After all, he had a knack for finding trouble, even when the trouble was hard to find. Admittedly, sometimes it even found him first. Actually, that was the more likely scenario. His reputation preceded him. The rush he got from stealing things, from the challenge, getting away with it, almost always caught up with him one way or another. That was the good thing about the United Kingdom, however. He didn't quite have that reputation here. Yet. Unfortunately, Aiden didn't find his son's hobby nearly as charming as Damon did, and was determined to make sure he certainly didn't accumulate such a reputation again. "And another thing." Damon sputtered quietly when his father continued. He wanted to get on the train and outta here already. But it was hard to think of that with his father staring him dead in the eye. "You treat your professors with respect. You listen when they tell you something. You don't go picking fights with other students just because they said something you don't like. You don't take something that's not yours just because you want to. And, for the love of God, try to think before you do something stupid." Damon titled his head with a little pout. "You're asking an awful lot of me, Dad." "I'm asking you to behave like a normal human being." "Alright. Well, that's different." "Damon." "Alright!" Damon raised both hands in surrender, a grin threatening the corners of his mouth. "I'll behave." Aiden didn't smile. And that made Damon's expression drop and back straighten more than the lecture ever could. And so did the weight of a hand on his shoulder. "I'm serious, son." The words came out quieter this time, making Damon look up at him. He'd only ever heard that tone once- when he was six and they were fishing, during the first conversation his father ever brought up his criminal tendencies with him. He remembers that very vividly despite not always thinking about it. That's how these warnings usually went- he'd receive them, he'd think about them for a few seconds, then they'd be lost to the next big rush he chased. In one ear and out the other. But something about that particular fishing trip stuck. 'Why do you do it?'. Truth is, he didn't know. And he couldn't necessarily stop himself. It was like eating, it just felt like something he had to do. Aiden continued. "I know you're excited. I know all of this is very new and I know you're gonna wanna see everything, do everything, see how many rules you can break..." Aiden sighed. "But I won't be there to pull you out of trouble this time. Do you understand, Damon?" For once, Damon didn't immediately have a smart remark. He understood, of course he did. He never didn't understand. But understanding and doing were two very different things. He spent his entire journey here thinking about magic. Actual magic. He was never allowed to embrace it in Iowa and only had bite-sized enlightenment when his muggle mother left and he and his father moved to Ireland to be near his magical cousins. He wanted more. Spells, enchantments, magical creatures, whatever else the wizarding world had managed to come up with. Damon was going to a school to do things that the ordinary people he grew up with would never even dream of doing. A school where he might finally learn something that didn't involve sitting through the same old lessons he'd spent years trying to avoid. And he just walked straight through a damn wall barely moments ago. Of course he was excited. And, in a way he hadn't yet admitted to himself, also a little frightened. Because his father was right. The moment Damon stepped onto that train, he was alone. "Yeah." Damon murmured, lacking his natural unjustifiably flippant tone. "I understand." Aiden waited for a moment, studying Damon as though expecting another joke to follow that, or anything to give the indication that there wasn't actually a single serious bone in his body. Then, he sighed. "Just promise me you'll give a try, ok? You don't have to be perfect. Just give yourself a chance to make something of this." There was a strange feeling that settled in Damon's chest that he had no particular interest in naming. He often dealt with feelings like this in the same way he dealt with things that inconvenienced him. By ignoring them until they become someone else's problem so he won't have to deal with it. But this was his Dad. So he let himself be serious for once and he nodded slightly. "I promise." Aiden exhaled quietly and returned the nod. "Good." "And if I do get expelled, I'll make sure it's for something impressive-" "Damon Reid Delaney." "Sorry! That was the last one, I swear." Aiden shook his head but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He then reached forward and pulled Damon into a hug. Damon was caught off guard for a second- mostly embarrassed that they were still in the middle of the station, surrounded by strangers. But he soon curled his fingers into his father's shirt regardless and leaned into him. Damon wasn't entirely sure what to say next- anyone with the ability to render the boy who talked more often than he thought speechless had a very powerful weapon. But the sincere conversations were always a nuisance to Damon. There was no clever way for him to deflect them without sounding like a complete and utter idiot. And he was absolutely not about to get all sentimental in the middle of King's Cross. The English already thought poorly of Americans. So, Damon simply settled for the truth. "Love you, Dad." Damon murmured into his father's shirt, earning a squeeze from Aiden before pulling back, large hands still resting on his boy's shoulders. "Love you too, son. Be good." Damon grinned as he received one final pat on his shoulder before being ushered towards the gleaming red steam train, the final whistle blowing as it was preparing to depart. Damon took off, ditching his trolley to haul his singular trunk up into the train with him, looking back to wave at his father once more. He received a wave back. That was good enough for him, his grin only growing wider by the second, as well as his excitement. He was off to go learn about real magic. And his father expected him to behave himself. Bullshit. - Finding a compartment to sit in, however, proved to be more of a challenge than Damon thought. He assumed, for whatever reason, that there'd be plenty of room. But he didn't realise just how many students would be attending Hogwarts until he actually scoped out some of the compartments. There were already groups of friends, siblings, or people who had apparently decided the best way to spend the train ride would be to sit in complete silence and stare at strangers, filled each compartments. Damon tried one compartment with a few people in it. They noticed his accent. They didn't seem like they wanted him there. He slid the door shut and moved on, not letting that dampen his spirits. The next compartment he tried pretended they didn't hear him knocking. The one after didn't even try to hide the fact they didn't want him sitting with them. 'Actually, we're saving seats' said a girl. "For who? The King?" Damon grinned when she frowned, giggling under his breath. "Nevermind. Enjoy the trip." And he walked away before she could answer. He wasn't bothered in the slightest. Genuinely. It was their loss, really. They could sit around looking miserable with their matching little cliques and miss out on the blessing to wizardkind known as Damon Delaney. He'd find someone else to talk to. Someone interesting. Even if he had to pass a thousand occupied compartments to find that person. And then, there was an empty compartment. Well, almost empty. There was a girl in there sitting by the window, looking calm and peaceful, and not at all someone who would appreciate the human tornado that was he. Perfect. Damon slid the door open. "Hey, can I sit here? Thanks." Before he let her answer, he plopped down in the seat across from her and shoved his trunk on the seat beside him. Who's saving seats now. But now, his problem was solved. And he immediately stuck his hand out to her as apparently introductions were important. "I'm Damon. Damon Delaney." Then, without a skipping a beat nor waiting for her to even shake his hand, he continued. "You're a first year too, I'm guessing? Unless, you're like, one of those people who just look really young but you're actually really old- but I don't think you're old. If you were older, you'd have friends. So I think you're a first year too- so hey, if you're a first year, then you'll get sorted too! What house do you think you'll get? My Dad read the Hogwarts book, or whatever- apparently, there's a damn talking hat that looks inside your mind and says what house you belong in. That's insane, huh? Talk about a breach of privacy- what if there's things up there I don't want it knowing?" Damon paused just long enough to take a breath, turn sideways in his seat to lean against the glass and kick his feet up atop his trunk, and produce a deck of cards from his pocket. "Anyway, you seem nice. Wanna see a trick?" He asked with unyielding enthusiasm and a particular glint in his eye as he skillfully flourished the deck in his hands, creating a sort of flower with the cards. Damon grinned at her. "Pick a card, any card." |
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[ability] [ability] [ability] [ability] [ability] [ability] [ability] ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ [ sta 05 ] [ eva 10 ] [ str 3 ] [ wis 4 ] [ arc 2 ] [ acc 6 ]
train to nowhere
post ▬▬▬▬▬ ▬▬▬▬▬ number
@Liesolette Grimm
solo • private single • private group • open
Previously Cirrus Mooney
train to nowhere
| xxxxtrain to nowhere | xxx |
| xxxxxxDATE september 1st, 2026 xxxxxxTIME morning xxxxxxPLACE platform 9¾x |
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTAGS @damon delaneyxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWC x703xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxNOTES hehe |
| xxx | Unfortunately, the peace in her compartment was short-lived. A few sheepish first-years had peeked their head in to ask if they could sit inside with her, only to be met face-to-face with the disinterested face Liesolette Grimm. Well, to her, it was just her neutral expression. She hadn’t been too miffed with the interruption, having been distracted with the book in her hand since they left the station. To the other students, however, it must’ve seemed like an expression of anger. It hadn’t been the first time; even now, the girl could hear her twin sister’s voice in her mind, whining about how a few of her friends would avoid them whenever they were walking together in the hallways of their school. Had she been similar to Giselle, Lettie might’ve been upset by that detail. Thankfully, Lettie was anything but that, and she preferred her own company. It was a plus that her resting expression seemed to be more than enough deterrent to keep all the other noisy students away. Content that she was unlikely to be disturbed again, Lettie turned back to her book, blue eyes immediately landing on the paragraph where she had left. The chapter on the page was just reaching its climax, and she was itching to find out what happened next in the story. Not even a moment passes when another student peeks his head in, his mouth already opening to ask. Thick eyebrows furrow in a growing sense of distaste as she spared him a glance. “No.” She said in a curt manner, not even letting the boy speak. He stepped back out with a half-hearted apology and a frown, grumbling under his breath. “..mean girls,” her ears picked up on the phrase, indicating that whatever he had mumbled was likely a dig, but the girl didn’t bother hearing the rest. Instead, she turned her head back to her book, the feeling of irritation bubbling underneath her skin. Her father had warned her not to cause trouble, and even though Lettie had initially brushed him off, she’s planning to make a sincere attempt to follow his plead. That sentiment was thrown out the window as soon as the door slid open for the third time for the past hour, preventing her from reading her book once again. This time, it was she who didn’t get to respond, as the boy had barely asked about wanting to sit before entering the compartment and sitting right across her. For a moment, Liesolette’s annoyance faded away, replaced by a temporary feeling of bafflement. He hadn’t even waited for a response before he sat, and he didn’t even bother to put his trunk on the overhead space unlike she had, opting to put it on the space beside him. It came crashing back as soon as he held out his hand. “I’m Damon. Damon Delaney.” The boy introduced himself, then didn’t even bother to wait for a response once again, continuing to ramble on about first-years, friends, and houses. He had paused just enough to take a breath and adjust his position, bringing out a deck of cards. “Anyway, you seem nice. Wanna see a trick?” Damon grinned at her. “Pick a card. Any card.” Now thoroughly irritated, Lettie scowled. “No.” was all she said as she turned back to her book, fixing the blanket that had been wrapped around her. Stupid interruptions, the girl grumbled to herself internally, feeling her anger spike already. Despite her annoyance, she spared him one more glance as she processed his presence properly now that she actually had the opportunity. The boy was fairly fair-skinned, and his hair spiked everywhere. When he had spoken before, his accent wasn’t British. It wasn’t Welsh or German either.. perhaps American. It certainly explained the casualness of his actions.. and the lack of boundaries. Even his attitude, which screamed nothing but trouble and mischievousness, seemed to point to that conclusion. And that meant the girl wanted absolutely nothing to do with that. “I’m not interested in your tricks.” Lettie again, placing emphasis on the word ‘tricks’. “You invited yourself into my space without even letting me respond, so don’t expect a conversation from me. It’s bad enough I have to share a space with a blabbermouth.” |
❝ if you value your ability to speak, you better keep your mouth shut around me. ❞