𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ━ edmund pevensie¹

Eleven

╔═══════ ೋღ🌺ღೋ ═══════╗

...𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝖚𝖘 𝖆𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙!

╚═══════ ೋღ🌺ღೋ ═══════╝

━━━━━━━Ｃｏｒｎｅｌｉａ 

"MISS? MISS, are you alright?"

As she blinked awake blearily, her world was titled slightly and she realized that she must have toppled over. Her ears were ringing and it felt like someone had stuffed cotton balls through her nose. Her brain felt clogged with them and her vision was blurry. Her thoughts were scattered like marbles in her mind.

"Miss, can you hear me?" the man asked again. She felt his hands gently grip her arm as he helped her sit up.

Cornelia tried to formulate a response, "I— I—"

"What's your name, Miss?"

"C—Corne—Cornelia," she was finally able to get a full word out, "what—"

"There was some trouble on the tracks, it gave everyone quite a scare," the man answered her unasked question, "you were one of the few who took a spill. I'm sorry about your papers."

"Papers?" she echoed, staring at him uncomprehendingly.

He bent and collected some of her fallen notebooks before placing them on the seat next to her, "I'm certain any order you had them in is lost now, but I don't think anything spilled on them. Do you need anything, Miss? You seem quite disoriented."

"I— I am," the girl replied, suddenly realizing that her mouth felt very dry, "I don't—"

"It's alright, Miss Cornelia, just take a breath. I'll fetch you some water to help your recovery."

She didn't know how long it was after he disappeared down the corridor but she tried to take stock of her surroundings during that time. Cornelia could feel the train still moving underneath her and she looked out the foggy window to see the station up ahead, so she knew they'd be arriving shortly.

The fabric of the bench was rough under her fingers (odd, because she'd thought it was the plastic-y, pleather material and not woven cloth) and the lights seemed a bit... dimmer. Well, not dimmer necessarily, but noticeably less fluorescent. There was a man sitting across from her wearing a bowler hat as he drank something warm from a white mug, the matching saucer held in his right hand. She frowned.

When had the Underground started serving food? 

People often brought their own, but it was usually packed in travelling containers, not ceramic like what the man was drinking from. There were also distinctly less people in the car than when she'd first boarded the train in London (while Finchley wasn't a popular stop, the car was often at least half-full) and the floor was carpeted.

Cornelia gave the man across from her another once-over. He was wearing a dark suit and had a newspaper folded next to him, his brown eyes regarding her curiously. There were two other men standing near the door to prepare for the arrival in the station, both wearing dark suits as well. She tried to listen in on their murmured conversation but found that either they were talking too quietly or she'd suddenly stopped understanding English, though she'd heard the first man just fine.

Speaking of him, he was returning with a glass cup in his hand which he gave to her, "you seem to be recovering," he noticed, sounding relieved, "this will help." She regarded the glass warily but didn't take it from him, causing him to smile slightly, "you are right to be suspicious but I promise it hasn't been tampered with. If you'd like, I'd be happy to bring you to the counter so you can ask the bartender yourself."