It had been a long day on the train. The lot of you, coming from the city of Richmond, had bought tickets to New York City. Why had you gone? Was it to look for work? A new way of living? Or perhaps it was just a pit stop upon a longer journey.
But look outside for a moment. New York is a little colder than you are used to, but you are astonished by some of the greener fields dotting it all.
This thought is distracted by the stuffiness of the train. Far too warm! A man in the same cab as you had fallen asleep, and he was snoring loudly. And the porter… Always too late with the food. What kind of dining was in this train anyways? Horrible.
Whatever your complaints or thoughts, the trip was coming to a close. In about an hour’s time, you would finally arrive in New York City. You have some time to bide. What are you doing? @ProfSrlojohn@Traykar@Ghid@Tarkur
There hadn’t been a proper dining station for over nine hours. The food passed about for noteworthy sums of money was edible, at least. He was tired from keeping his skin normalized for several hours, only ever relaxing when he napped with his face wrapped tightly in his scarf.
Looking about the car, he tried to spot any of his other passengers. He was the furthest possible distance from the snoring man, and undoubtedly irritated, was not disturbed enough to prevent from occasional napping.
A woman dressed in outdated Victorian fashion, probably from 1880 from your best guess. Makes sense; she seemed to be in her 60’s and not very wealthy. It was her nicest dress, you’d guess, that she kept for decades.
A mustached man in a top hat, messing around with the locks on his case to pass the time. Or maybe he locked himself out?
Yet another man, carrying a guitar case and wearing a bowler hat with dark hair. He seemed rather still, only tapping his foot occasionally.
A man well dressed, tall and lanky. He has a cane at his side, and seems to have a pack of fine cigars on the table in front of him. Oh, not to mention the gun with his luggage.
A man you’d guess in his mid-50’s. And… What in the world? One of man’s hands has been replaced with a gun. Suppose you are not the only stranger in the world.
Finally, another man. A tall man with a beer-belly with a long brown beard. He looks like a man whose worked well all of his life.
Hedvig was frankly quite annoyed by the snoring man beside him and not at all happy about the trains menu of beverages. When the porter had visit him he had been very open with his opinion on the beverages, maybe that’s why he is taking so long, Hedvig thought. He might’ve used some strong words to make his point.
After another 10 minutes or so he got bored and left his seat. He took down the bag from the rack above his seat and headed off leaving the sleeping man, searching for the porter.
The porter just finished delivering some food. The porter, whom you got to know as “Henry”, was coming down the train cab’s corridor when you bumped into him. The porter slightly smiles.
“Hmm… Second question first. Yes, there is. It’s in the next cab in front of us.” Henry rubs his chin. “Now, a decent beer. We have whiskey here, there’s this nice Spanish wine. Vodka if you want some exotic Russian taste.”
He starts to get lost in thought as he continues to remember all the alcohol that the train is carrying.
“Why can’t trains serve a proper American beer” he mutters before thanking the porter for the directions. He makes his way to the toilet and does his buisness, when he is done he makes his way back to his seat.
Before this, you did notice a fellow in the next cab over. He was blonde, burly in stature. The way he was dressed, you’d guess he was an immigrant. Maybe Russia or Ukraine? His choice of poor fur clothes resembled what you’d hear to be “Russian” style. In truth, this may have been the first ever slavic man you’d seen.
Otherwise, unremarkable. Something seemed awfully suspicious, from your memory, on the guy across from him. You remember a man in a bowler hat and a goatee. From the tan pigment on his skin, you’d guess he may be somewhere from the lower Southern States. His look was off.
Richard Whitaker, feeling the need for a smoke, decided to head to one of the smoker cars. He sat down on a nearby bench, and removed a cigar from his box. He stick on end in his mouth, and with his knife, cut the tip off. He then drew out a matchbox, and struck it. He brough the match to the end of the cigar, and puffed a few times, lighting it. He shook out the match, and took a long draw off the cigar, then removing the cigar, and letting the smoke puff out.
You would be around two other men in the car. Probably just American men, minding their own business. You can smell that they’re using inferior cigars than yours.
Richard sat there lost in thought, occasionally taiking a pull from the cigar. He hoped his sister could run the buisness while he was gone. His younger sister had always had a head for buisness, just as he had, but at 17, it was a big responsibility. He hoped she could handle it.
“Yes,” he says, nodding. His voice is very croaky, while his skin shows signs of liver deterioration. “I heard something about a box of gold on this train from this young man next to me. It’s making me nervous. I’ve been in two train robberies in my life, and I don’t want another one happening. My doctor said it would be bad for my heart.”
Fate decided to have a twinge of irony in this statement, as the train comes to a sudden halt.
TWOOOT TWOOOT!
Everyone feels the train slam on it’s breaks, and some of you get thrown out of your seats from the inertia. You can hear people yelling in the other cars. From the outside of your windows, you see a few man galloping in the distance, holding rifles.
@Ghid@Tarkur n the distance from you, the Victorian old lady lifts her skirt, revealing a strong rifle. She picks it up, and points it at The Invincible Man.
“Alright, the jig is on. I need people to stay calm.”
She is joined by the man with the guitar case, who takes out a rifle from his guitar case. He points it at the sleeping man in the cab. The sleeping man was awake now, since the train’s stop shook him up. He raises his hands.
Suddenly, the suspicious looking man Hedvig noticed earlier also breaks into your guy’s cab. He is holding a revolver, and gives a malicious grin.
“Some cash would be nice 'bout now. What do you all think? Your life in exchange for 'em dollars?”
@ProfSrlojohn@Traykar The young man in the smoking cab with you pulls out a gun from his pocket, and shoves it at the forehead of the old man. The old man starts to breath heavily, and his eyes go blank.
“Oh, we’re not just try’n. We’re DOING. Don’t you dare fire at me, or this man dies.”
