Snippet #1276139

The young woman found herself in the middle of a polite curtsy to the bus driver when Mister Jackson advised her to sit quickly. Unsure of why she needed to be in such a rush, Isabella sat down beside him, holding onto a very smooth handle made of metal. It was nothing like the wrought iron she was accustomed to. The gates around her home and the homes of many socialites were rough and black, and yet this was as smooth as silk and a shimmering silver color. Perhaps it was silver?

A sudden jolt threw her mind away from odd metals and tossed her body sideways. Isabella reached out and gripped the bar with her other, once free hand. With wide azure eyes, she turned her shocked face to Jackson and gasped.

"My goodness!" It was all she could muster as she sat upright and held onto that smooth, metal bar for dear life. This place would definitely take a lot of getting used to. After the initial surprise wore off, she moved in closely to Jackson and whispered as loudly as she could over the rumble and roar of the machine they rode presently.

"Is this something I will have to ride often, or would walking suffice? I prefer walking most of the time." Biting down on the inside of her bottom lip, she smiled nervously. "And this beast will make my heart jump right out of my chest!" Was there anyway she could just go back home? The thought had occurred more than once since her arrival in New York City of the future, but not as strongly as right now. It was quite obvious she did not belong here. Isabella was not one to be rushed about, she wanted to take the time to observe. She wanted to feel the earth beneath her feet and not the giant wheels on a machine made to look like an over-sized caterpillar. It was horribly bumpy, like the awful carriages her parents made her ride in, and only made her fear of a new world greater.

By now, all her hair had fallen from it's plait. Waving and heavy, the mass of black hair fell over her shoulders and was hiding her face from the other passengers. It was a nice veil to mask how badly they were making her feel. They passed odd stares at her skirts and painted shoes, which had grown dirty from the walk in the woods and the streets of this city. Adjusting her petticoats and linens, she tried to hide the shoes she suddenly felt ashamed of.