"Welcome to Hell"

[Strike]

Long, widening grassy fields decorated the small country side the train took the path on. Small houses dotted the land here and there, even some cows and such, nothing big. But it was a sight and it there was always something new to see and stare at.

The train ride had been something of a bumpy one. People snored and gave minor sounds of distruption. Elderly folk gave weary eyes at him. All of them. Silently sitting there, head phones over his head, silver hair gleaming in the sun through the window, and a bag on his lap. Strike stared out the window, lost in thought as music filled his ears.

The stares didn;t bug him so much, for Strike had grown very accustomed to them by now. His old town used to always stare, always pressed words of lies around. Gossip. All false rumors. No one understood his family or their ways, no one knew why they were so different. But no one had the guts to ask. For years they lived this way, until recently, Strike had decided he needed something new.

Instead of continuing on to another city for a career path, he wanted to start fresh in a city he knew no one had known him in. He had been in almost every single major city in each state, this one would have to do. Strike had never been here before and it was a great opportunity for change and something new. Meet new people.

The train came to a squealing stop, the train's rails sparking as the big machine came to a complete halt. People began to stand, yawning and stretching. Some gave odd glares but Strike shrugged it off and rolled his eyes. The roll was hidden very well by sunglasses, thus he hadn;t felt too bad in doing so.

Being one of the last ones off the train, once he stepped off, a train attendant shut the door behind him, mummbling something.

"Excuse me?" Strike had to ask.

"Huh? Oh! Welcome to hell." The attendant gave a wry smile and walked towards the front of the train, continuing his job.

That response left a very confused Strike standing still in the middle of a mass of people. A lot of them matched him, dark clothing, freakish appearances, spikes, etc. But most didn;t have a very friendly appeal at all. With a shudder, Strike began to push through the mass of people. But as soon as it seemed they were there, most had found who they wanted and left. Anyone who seemed normal in any way left with a rush and didn't look back.

[Jen]

Like the strange man who had gotten off the train, another stuck out like a sore thumb. But this was for a much different reason. It was a girl, and she looked like something out of an anime. Her hair was long and white even though she was so young, and kept up in two pigtails. She wore a schoolgirl outfit with a skirt that you could see up when walking up a flight of stares behind her. And she normally would have been cute and chipper.... but now her icy blue eyes were about to cry.

She stood not too far from where everyone had come off the train, a school text book clutched in both hands in front of her. The girl's eyes almost sparkled with wetness as she watched the remaining people leave the train, then they closed to let the warm saline flow gently down her cheeks. Daddy hadn't come off the train. Ohter than the fact that she was crying, there was something very strange about the way she was acting. She was just standing there without a single fear in her body. These strange people didn't spark anything in her. She seemed so.... immune.

[Strike]

Upon looking around at the group, now left, a clearing showed a girl. She was a little standing out to him, the white hiar much like that of his sister's, and her clothing. In his old town, Strike wasn;t used to such wear, but here, he gathered he'd just have to get used to it. But it still somehow fit her, most would think it something skampy or whatever the word was, but seemingly on her, it did not give that word to his mind.

At first, it had taken him a moment to notice, but soon, those tears were visible. Obviously there was something wrong. A frown cursed his expression, but he just watched an extra moment. It would be rude to go up to her, not even knowing her, and butting into her personal life. But the curiosity was nipping away at him now. Still, he managed to stand there, holding his bag in one hand and the CD player in the other.

[Jen]

Slowly, the girl brought a hand up to try and wipe some of the tears clean from her cheeks, but her hand stopped before it got there. She felt someone's gaze upon her, and it sent chills up her spine. She quickly turned and saw a dark figure in the blurred world before her, something sort of white on his head. Trying to see Strike through the tears was a hard thing to do, and for a moment, she thought it was the person she was here to see. But once the tears cleared, she blushed and turned away, feeling stupid now. It wasn't her father, just some random man she didn't even bother to look at for more than a split second.

Slowly, the girl trudged over to a bench and plopped down, her book now in her lap. She wiped away a few more of her tears and sniffled. Daddy hadn't come. There was no hope now that he would ever show up. The man had never been late once in his life, so why would he even start now? Her teary eyes traveled down to her hand and to a gold ring. She slowly pulled it from her finger and looked at the inside enscription. "love forever, Jen. ~Daddy".

[Strike]

Watching her a little more, of course Strike began to feel a slight guilt build up in him. He didn't even really know her at all, but still felt bad for her. Something was the matter and it was hard to see a girl cry like that. As soon as she found herself at the bench, Strike began to work his way over there. Upon reaching his destination, he pointed to the spot next to her. "Erm, is this spot taken?"

((short >.< I know and I apologize sorries! lol))

[Jen]

Upon hearing another voice, the girl known as Jen quickly replaced the ring on her finger and tried to wipe away the remainder of her tears. "No it isn't, Sir." she replied, using manners but not even looking up to see who he was. Her hands went back to grip her schoolbook and she wished that her hair was down, for then it could cover her face. She hated to cry in front of people. Sure, she had cried a few times to get her way, but that was when she was barely old enough to do anything else. It seemed so wrong now to show such emotion.

[Strike]

Strike turned and took a seat on the bench, taking small glances at her here and there. Finally he came to the conclusion to say something. "Not to seem rude or anything, Miss, but what is troubling you so. If I may not be so bold to ask." Something his mom taught him, be proper to a lady. It stuck for years and became a nonrefundable habit. But hey, so far it hasn;t done anything terribly wrong. In fact, it has worked well so far. It also gave Strike his own kind of personality. He awaited her answer.

[Jen]

Jen bit her lip a little as she was asked that. Then she took a deep breath and wiped away more of her tears. "I've been waiting here for 6 and a half hours now. You see, I got out of school early so I could greet my Daddy here when he gets off the train, but he never came. I thought he would be on this train, but he wasn't and I haven't even gotten a call from him in weeks..." The tears began against and she burried her eyes against her forearm. She never was this open with strangers, but this was a vulnerable time for the girl.

[Strike]

Strike jerked his head back at this, taken aback by it. He knew what fathers were like, but his was an exception, his was a psycopathic killer. But still Strike listned and thought. "Well, what does he look like, maybe I could tell you if I saw him on the train or at the station before I left." it was an attempt of help, but probably a failure. Strike had always tried to help people, tried to make them feel better, but usually he couldn't or was just plain ignored by his attempts. This girl did seem mighty depressed about this, upset and tired. It was something sad people dislike to see a young woman have to deal with.

[Jen]

That meant that Strike and Jen had something in common. Their fathers were both maniac murderers. Her Daddy maybe went a little overboard by eating out the hearts of his victims, but it was still a similarity. "Well," sniffled Jen, "he's quite tall, and normally wears dark colors with a white trench coat. His hair is longer than mine, and and almost silver in color, and his eyes are blue, yet a little grey." her bottom lip quivvered as she imagined his face in her mind. She wiped her cheeks a little more and timidly added, "He doesn't look very old..." Part of her just wanted to throw herself into Strike's arms, just to be held and told things were going to be all right. She was so worried that something had happened to Daddy.