Previous: Boarding Party, Post 4
This short borrows from StarBreeze, my own setting. I thought about giving StarBreeze its own series but I am yet undecided. For now, because it's exactly the same type as the others despite the possible difference in settings, I'm going to just associate it with the Ampersand Adventures. Edit: I never change this and even strip the Settings Label/Tag thingy from the navbar entirely. Pretty sure I stripped out StarBreeze as a Label too. It's not that there wasn't enough of it, necessarily, its just that it 1) made navigation a little more confusing and 2) I genuinely don't know if I will do more of it. There's some problematic aspects to it that I want to strip out, some holdovers from its origination as a dragon game setting and some from my buy in. Also, even after all this time, it just kind of floats around in a very unfinished state in my head, mostly. It's all just sort of...bleh. Divorced from all that, there are some neat ideas ahead, though, I hope.
(Content Warning: Violence, Attempted Abduction)
The man in the worn brown duster stepped down quietly from the train onto the busy platform. He was broad shouldered and imposing, standing a full foot above anyone else in sight. His face was mostly hidden in shadow beneath the brim of his hat and the leathers he wore creaked ever so slightly as he began a slow scan of the platform. A keen observer might have noted several other characteristics as the man turned and the brim of his hat rose a fraction. The rugged handsomeness of his lantern jaw and aquiline nose offset by the menace in his shockingly coal black eyes and the dark scruff of his ill kempt beard, for instance. Or the silver and crimson flash of the tsukoito on the katana he kept somehow so well hidden beneath his coat, perhaps. Almost anyone who was paying attention would most certainly have noticed the thick leather gunbelt he wore at his waist and would quickly have surmised that the bulge in the duster on his right hip was very likely not a coinpurse. This was a dangerous man and it was clear from all the available clues that this was the kind of man that did nothing without purpose.
Several of the men and women of the various assembled species gathered and waiting to board the 3:10 to Caern Daeberth stared openly. Out here in the sticks, or perhaps this close to the Night Light City, decorum was less in fashion than in the Capitol and rude, audible declarations of lust and appreciation were only to be expected for such a fine specimen as the man in the duster. A lean, moderately well dressed young man leaned over and made a lewd comment about "saving a horse" to his lady friend, who giggled and hid her blushing face behind a cheap paper fan. Local aristocracy, new money by the look of them. Ill tailored clothing, barely noticeable under all that garish makeup and imitation jewelry, and the clearly giddy, slightly unhinged, excited expression one gets when one is either on mood elevators or a yokel new to the many splendored sights of the bigger cities made up that look entirely. Imperials, through and through. This was not surprising, though. On Valeis, the Empire was everywhere, even out here in the boonies. The pair stammered awkwardly, finally went mercifully silent, and dropped their eyes as the man in the duster's gaze swept past them. Just a moment, an unconcerned and disinterested look later, and they were scurrying like vermin to board the train. The Last Stop on the Train to Nowhere was very likely to eat those two poor souls alive.
A bleary eyed conductor stepped down onto the platform and began working his way up toward the front of the train. He began to call out final destinations by rote, his booming voice echoing out over the station, and implored ticket holders to please board. The noise level rose considerably as the travelers gathered their baggage and began shuffling forward toward the train, talking excitedly. "One at a time, if you please! One at a time!" the conductor yelled, flustered, as the train's RF engines began to power up. The hum of the engines rose to a white noise that nearly blanketed the hubbub on the platform and within the nearby station house.
In the midst of all this, just near the ticket gate, the short, truncated sound of a woman's scream was drowned out and, with almost all eyes forward, only two people noticed the thrashing woman being carted off by two overly swollen thugs. One was a small man in a derby hat and a quaint green vest with a simple brocade over a long sleeved button up. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, as if he were ready to fistfight, but he simply stood by and watched, a small smirk alighting his narrow features. He crossed his arms and leaned lightly against a nearby post as the two men manhandled the poor lass away from the train station.
The man in the duster noticed this transaction as well. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He took two brisk steps to the right, directly into one of the crowds of boarders, and simply...disappeared. This was no mean feat for a man of his stature but he appeared to blend right in with them and then was gone, as though he had never even stood there. The little man in the derby noticed the disappearing act, though, and chuckled lightly before flicking his gaze back toward the abduction in progress.
There was the briefest of flashes, the ringing sound of released steel, and the unmistakable, intimidating click of a pistol hammer being drawn back and the two thugs found themselves on the business end of death itself. The man in the duster stood between them, eyes blazing with fury, a deep crimson beginning to bleed into the edges of the blackness of his eyes. His katana was expertly positioned directly across the throat of the thug to the right and his pistol sat squarely against the skull of the thug to his left. The two men were frozen like statues. The bald thug on the right tried to swallow nervously and a small trickle of blood ran down his neck from where the katana had made the briefest contact.
"Release her," the man in the duster all but whispered in a rough, gravelly tone. This was not a request or a question and the two thugs knew it. That whatever they came for was forever lost to them was a foregone conclusion. So they did as they were told, eyes wide with fear. "Now, leave." Again, the tone brooked no argument and, faster than they had appeared, they were gone down a side alleyway.
As the man in the duster slid his weapons home and extended a hand to help the woman up from the ground, a rapid applause sounded across the plaza. The man in the derby strode briskly toward them, clapping his hands in obvious delight. "Oh, wonderful, wonderful! You, sir, are just in time. And what an entrance! Wasn't that something, my dear?" The man took the woman's other hand and together, they helped her to rise. The man in the duster frowned slightly and the woman began to voice her thanks but the derby hatted fellow cut her off. "Here, take your fee, my dear," the short, energetic man said as he pushed a coinpurse into her hands, "I won't be needing it and you have far to travel to make it away from here."
She began to shake her head in negation, protesting, "but Mr. Greyson, you--"
"Besides!" he laughed, cutting her off again, "I did very little. It was this man here that saved the day. Now, you best be off. And remember, straight to the docks at Daeberth, understand. Stop for nothing. Hurry on, go, go, go girl. Train waits for no one!" It was true; the platform was nearly empty. The young woman nodded her thanks again to the two strange men and dashed off to board the train. The watched her go, one grinning ear to ear and the other stoically staring.
"Nice of you," the man in the duster grumbled.
"Well...she's a good sort and deserves better," the man in the derby returned, slightly embarrassed.
"You're Detective Greyson."
"I am. Please call me Basil."
"Alright."
"And you are Mr. Balthazar Cyncaid."
"I am."
"I know. Come! We have much work ahead of us, Mr. Cyncaid!" Detective Basil Greyson fairly bounded off in the direction of the city center, the mysterious Mr. Balthazar Cyncaid in tow. "Tell me, can I call you Caid?"
"No."
Next: A Light Con, Post 6
(Content Warning: Violence, Attempted Abduction)
The man in the worn brown duster stepped down quietly from the train onto the busy platform. He was broad shouldered and imposing, standing a full foot above anyone else in sight. His face was mostly hidden in shadow beneath the brim of his hat and the leathers he wore creaked ever so slightly as he began a slow scan of the platform. A keen observer might have noted several other characteristics as the man turned and the brim of his hat rose a fraction. The rugged handsomeness of his lantern jaw and aquiline nose offset by the menace in his shockingly coal black eyes and the dark scruff of his ill kempt beard, for instance. Or the silver and crimson flash of the tsukoito on the katana he kept somehow so well hidden beneath his coat, perhaps. Almost anyone who was paying attention would most certainly have noticed the thick leather gunbelt he wore at his waist and would quickly have surmised that the bulge in the duster on his right hip was very likely not a coinpurse. This was a dangerous man and it was clear from all the available clues that this was the kind of man that did nothing without purpose.
Several of the men and women of the various assembled species gathered and waiting to board the 3:10 to Caern Daeberth stared openly. Out here in the sticks, or perhaps this close to the Night Light City, decorum was less in fashion than in the Capitol and rude, audible declarations of lust and appreciation were only to be expected for such a fine specimen as the man in the duster. A lean, moderately well dressed young man leaned over and made a lewd comment about "saving a horse" to his lady friend, who giggled and hid her blushing face behind a cheap paper fan. Local aristocracy, new money by the look of them. Ill tailored clothing, barely noticeable under all that garish makeup and imitation jewelry, and the clearly giddy, slightly unhinged, excited expression one gets when one is either on mood elevators or a yokel new to the many splendored sights of the bigger cities made up that look entirely. Imperials, through and through. This was not surprising, though. On Valeis, the Empire was everywhere, even out here in the boonies. The pair stammered awkwardly, finally went mercifully silent, and dropped their eyes as the man in the duster's gaze swept past them. Just a moment, an unconcerned and disinterested look later, and they were scurrying like vermin to board the train. The Last Stop on the Train to Nowhere was very likely to eat those two poor souls alive.
A bleary eyed conductor stepped down onto the platform and began working his way up toward the front of the train. He began to call out final destinations by rote, his booming voice echoing out over the station, and implored ticket holders to please board. The noise level rose considerably as the travelers gathered their baggage and began shuffling forward toward the train, talking excitedly. "One at a time, if you please! One at a time!" the conductor yelled, flustered, as the train's RF engines began to power up. The hum of the engines rose to a white noise that nearly blanketed the hubbub on the platform and within the nearby station house.
In the midst of all this, just near the ticket gate, the short, truncated sound of a woman's scream was drowned out and, with almost all eyes forward, only two people noticed the thrashing woman being carted off by two overly swollen thugs. One was a small man in a derby hat and a quaint green vest with a simple brocade over a long sleeved button up. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, as if he were ready to fistfight, but he simply stood by and watched, a small smirk alighting his narrow features. He crossed his arms and leaned lightly against a nearby post as the two men manhandled the poor lass away from the train station.
The man in the duster noticed this transaction as well. His eyes narrowed dangerously. He took two brisk steps to the right, directly into one of the crowds of boarders, and simply...disappeared. This was no mean feat for a man of his stature but he appeared to blend right in with them and then was gone, as though he had never even stood there. The little man in the derby noticed the disappearing act, though, and chuckled lightly before flicking his gaze back toward the abduction in progress.
There was the briefest of flashes, the ringing sound of released steel, and the unmistakable, intimidating click of a pistol hammer being drawn back and the two thugs found themselves on the business end of death itself. The man in the duster stood between them, eyes blazing with fury, a deep crimson beginning to bleed into the edges of the blackness of his eyes. His katana was expertly positioned directly across the throat of the thug to the right and his pistol sat squarely against the skull of the thug to his left. The two men were frozen like statues. The bald thug on the right tried to swallow nervously and a small trickle of blood ran down his neck from where the katana had made the briefest contact.
"Release her," the man in the duster all but whispered in a rough, gravelly tone. This was not a request or a question and the two thugs knew it. That whatever they came for was forever lost to them was a foregone conclusion. So they did as they were told, eyes wide with fear. "Now, leave." Again, the tone brooked no argument and, faster than they had appeared, they were gone down a side alleyway.
As the man in the duster slid his weapons home and extended a hand to help the woman up from the ground, a rapid applause sounded across the plaza. The man in the derby strode briskly toward them, clapping his hands in obvious delight. "Oh, wonderful, wonderful! You, sir, are just in time. And what an entrance! Wasn't that something, my dear?" The man took the woman's other hand and together, they helped her to rise. The man in the duster frowned slightly and the woman began to voice her thanks but the derby hatted fellow cut her off. "Here, take your fee, my dear," the short, energetic man said as he pushed a coinpurse into her hands, "I won't be needing it and you have far to travel to make it away from here."
She began to shake her head in negation, protesting, "but Mr. Greyson, you--"
"Besides!" he laughed, cutting her off again, "I did very little. It was this man here that saved the day. Now, you best be off. And remember, straight to the docks at Daeberth, understand. Stop for nothing. Hurry on, go, go, go girl. Train waits for no one!" It was true; the platform was nearly empty. The young woman nodded her thanks again to the two strange men and dashed off to board the train. The watched her go, one grinning ear to ear and the other stoically staring.
"Nice of you," the man in the duster grumbled.
"Well...she's a good sort and deserves better," the man in the derby returned, slightly embarrassed.
"You're Detective Greyson."
"I am. Please call me Basil."
"Alright."
"And you are Mr. Balthazar Cyncaid."
"I am."
"I know. Come! We have much work ahead of us, Mr. Cyncaid!" Detective Basil Greyson fairly bounded off in the direction of the city center, the mysterious Mr. Balthazar Cyncaid in tow. "Tell me, can I call you Caid?"
"No."
Next: A Light Con, Post 6