He'd never thought that the trip to the afterlife would involve a train, but the vivid colors of the autumn leaves catch his eye and distract him for just long enough that he's not on guard when the violent jolt hits. Everything gets upended; metal screams as it warps, trees cracking and splintering, and the world seems to revolve around him, spinning. Something solid hits the back of his head.
He wakes on the shattered remains of a window, grass and torn soil. The cabin has fallen on its side. And for a long moment, his eyes hurt. The colors are too vivid. The red of the fire starting to rouse in one corner, the verdant grass, even the shining silver of the train walls opened up. So much more vivid than his home and its dying, withering, barely revitalizing colors. Pain hits, then. An old friend.
Holland climbs to his feet. It seems safe to assume that he's not dead. But where is he?
One thing at a time.
There's someone else nearby. Holland lifts a piece of luggage off of them, and stares downward, gaze assessing, one eye green, the other eye edge-to-edge black. Despite the visibly broken and bloody arm that hangs at his side, there's no pain on his face. Instead, he offers his other hand.
"Can you stand?" he asks, seemingly unruffled. "There's a fire starting, and I don't think I can do anything about it." He thinks he can feel it, but-- his magic should be gone. Sacrificed. "So if you don't want to die here, I suggest you move."
β βΈ» assimilation
Backpack slung over his good shoulder, Holland takes some time to adjust once he makes his way out of the crashed train. Everything is still so vivid, like the other worlds he's traveled through, but he doesn't think this is another version of London. The air is too different, the sense of magic unknown. The other people on the train are dressed too electically.
Besides. He didn't travel here. He died. And then woke up on a train. Wherever this is, it's not anywhere he knows.
Holland has kept a wide berth from the remnants of the crashed train, especially the one with the metal crates spilling out of it. But other people are apparantly more curious -- or stupider -- than he is, and are either looking through them or just standing near.
Something's moving through the grass.
He grabs the nearest person's arm and yanks them back. The motion sends ripples of pain through his broken arm, but that's the least of his issues. And it's then that he notices the black goo climbing up the person's hand.
"You might want to do something about that." Holland's voice is perfectly neutral. Like there's not a burning train car and people with injuries and black goo crawling over this person's skin. "I have a knife if you want to hack it off."
β βΈ» two truths & a lie
un: londoncalling
1. I killed a man by turning him into stone and shattering him. 2. I killed a man by breaking all his bones simultaneously. 3. I killed a man by forcing air into his veins until he exploded.
β βΈ» wildcard
[ ooc: also open to any wildcard prompt! holland is being taken from the end of the third book in the series (shades of magic by v.e. schwab) -- for the uninitiated, he's a magician that can do various types of blood-triggered magic and elemental control, and he's never had a good thing happen to him ever. i think he's smiled like once lmao ]
holland vosijk | shades of magic
The last thing that Holland remembers is-- dying.
He'd never thought that the trip to the afterlife would involve a train, but the vivid colors of the autumn leaves catch his eye and distract him for just long enough that he's not on guard when the violent jolt hits. Everything gets upended; metal screams as it warps, trees cracking and splintering, and the world seems to revolve around him, spinning. Something solid hits the back of his head.
He wakes on the shattered remains of a window, grass and torn soil. The cabin has fallen on its side. And for a long moment, his eyes hurt. The colors are too vivid. The red of the fire starting to rouse in one corner, the verdant grass, even the shining silver of the train walls opened up. So much more vivid than his home and its dying, withering, barely revitalizing colors. Pain hits, then. An old friend.
Holland climbs to his feet. It seems safe to assume that he's not dead. But where is he?
One thing at a time.
There's someone else nearby. Holland lifts a piece of luggage off of them, and stares downward, gaze assessing, one eye green, the other eye edge-to-edge black. Despite the visibly broken and bloody arm that hangs at his side, there's no pain on his face. Instead, he offers his other hand.
"Can you stand?" he asks, seemingly unruffled. "There's a fire starting, and I don't think I can do anything about it." He thinks he can feel it, but-- his magic should be gone. Sacrificed. "So if you don't want to die here, I suggest you move."
Backpack slung over his good shoulder, Holland takes some time to adjust once he makes his way out of the crashed train. Everything is still so vivid, like the other worlds he's traveled through, but he doesn't think this is another version of London. The air is too different, the sense of magic unknown. The other people on the train are dressed too electically.
Besides. He didn't travel here. He died. And then woke up on a train. Wherever this is, it's not anywhere he knows.
Holland has kept a wide berth from the remnants of the crashed train, especially the one with the metal crates spilling out of it. But other people are apparantly more curious -- or stupider -- than he is, and are either looking through them or just standing near.
Something's moving through the grass.
He grabs the nearest person's arm and yanks them back. The motion sends ripples of pain through his broken arm, but that's the least of his issues. And it's then that he notices the black goo climbing up the person's hand.
"You might want to do something about that." Holland's voice is perfectly neutral. Like there's not a burning train car and people with injuries and black goo crawling over this person's skin. "I have a knife if you want to hack it off."
un: londoncalling
[ ooc: also open to any wildcard prompt! holland is being taken from the end of the third book in the series (shades of magic by v.e. schwab) -- for the uninitiated, he's a magician that can do various types of blood-triggered magic and elemental control, and he's never had a good thing happen to him ever. i think he's smiled like once lmao ]