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[hector13]

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Stern adjusts his spectacles. 'God is God, miss. If you're lookin' for more details than that, there's plenty of missionaries 'round to ask,' he says. 'Preacher-man's like any other man, if you catch my drift. Plenty of 'em have been shot dead without any retribution from above. This one's askin' for beatin', anyway. Lying to everyone 'bout me and mine...'

Mr Lowe grimaces at being addressed. Again, there's a glance at his employer, who gives him no response either way.

's fine,' the bodyguard says. His eyes dart up to Fiona's scarves. 'They're nice. Keep them. Suit you.'

Stern guffaws at that, but offers no further comment.

Cormac cringes internally. It didn't sit well with him that Mr Lowe apparently felt the need to get permission to talk.

He addresses Stern:

"What sorta lies is this preacherman tellin'?"

[Dwarmin]

"I thank you for the kindhearted compliment, Mr. Lowe. You keep warm." She said with a friendly smile in his direction, turning to regard the other man.

Rimelight graced the overhealthy Inner with an unpleasant smile. "It is my experience, fair lady, that higher powers are unreliable, out here or elsewhere. Churches or no, I believe you'll find most folk pray as an afterthought."

Fiona blanched somewhat at the terrible man, though she did not avert her gaze, meeting his steadily.

"I've found faith to be something like a spare carriage wheel, myself. There's no harm in keeping it around. If you don't end up needing it, no real loss. If you do need it, you're sure glad you have it. A prayer to the Stones now and again never hurt anyone.

Though, I'm of like mind to you. I wouldn't use a spare wheel if the one I had was working fine." She remarked thoughtfully.

[Digital Hellhound]

Cormac Hess

'Lies about how I've dealt with my workers before. Little things blown out of proportion. The man distorts unfortunate tragedies into somethin' he can blame me for, and who knows why,' Stern says. 'The details are irrelevant. The ill work he's doin' is not.'

He looks irritated to have to say even so little.

***

Ulien

The conversation carries on for a little while longer, unheard by any but Ulien in her corner. The wall swallows most of what's said, but she catches a few sentences by straining her ears: '-no, I don't. But it's gotta be-' and '-there's nowhere to move 'em. It has to wait 'til we get to town.'

There's certainly emotion in the voices, especially in the male's - strained anger, to your ears. The conversation quickly draws to a close, though. The sound of feet stomping away on the train floor soon announce the departure of one of the speakers. The other either moves lighter away or lingers close by.

***

[IronyOwl]

Fiona blanched somewhat at the terrible man, though she did not avert her gaze, meeting his steadily.

"I've found faith to be something like a spare carriage wheel, myself. There's no harm in keeping it around. If you don't end up needing it, no real loss. If you do need it, you're sure glad you have it. A prayer to the Stones now and again never hurt anyone.

Though, I'm of like mind to you. I wouldn't use a spare wheel if the one I had was working fine." She remarked thoughtfully.

Rimelight chuckled politely, but genuinely. "Well said, miss. If you don't mind my saying so, I do believe you to be a more practical sort than I originally suspected."

He paused a moment, tilting his head slightly as though considering whether to proceed.

"I certainly do not mean to pry into your private affairs, but might I idly inquire as to the circumstances of your departure from prior accommodations?"

[Dwarmin]

Rimelight chuckled politely, but genuinely. "Well said, miss. If you don't mind my saying so, I do believe you to be a more practical sort than I originally suspected."

He paused a moment, tilting his head slightly as though considering whether to proceed.

"I certainly do not mean to pry into your private affairs, but might I idly inquire as to the circumstances of your departure from prior accommodations?"

"Folk from Camelon tend have to that affect on strangers." Fiona had replied friendly enough. "To rattle off some kind cliches-we are by nature civilized, and this is often mistaken for a certain levity. But most Camelonians are by nature adaptable, pragmatic, and self-disciplined. Our faith is strongest in ourselves-and each other-rather than metaphorical and spiritual concepts. We absolutely have confidence that we'll succeed in whatever we do, and this faith is buffered by a grounded view of reality. Something of a paradox, yes?"

..

To his other question, she paused herself for a moment, watching the icy ground roll past.

"I take no offense. We will be sharing this cabin for a few days and I'm sure by the time we get to the end of the line-not metaphorically, I'd hope-we'll know each other quite well.

It was something a cosmic joke, really. I was previously something of a Lady of Means-the sole owner of a highly successful eatery for upper class clientele. Unfortunately, this recent year was a warring season. As soon as the crops are planted, there's no shortage of dashing young men willing to pick up whatever weapons they can find and fuel any Lords territorial aspirations...in this case, the neighboring Lord of Drevon took my city in a mostly bloodless battle. The artillery barrage was somewhat perfunctory, only as a prelude to polite negotiations-and it was hardly needed, as our City Marshal surrendered in hardly thirty minutes. Hardly any one died. But, parts of the city still burned down by sheer bad luck. One part had my eatery in it.

I was properly insured, but since the city government had been taken over, there was some confusion as to who would make good on it. Which meant my family was set to squabble over our remaining riches and over what to do with the land, in what I have no doubt will be years long and vindictive court battles...frankly, I preferred to avoid such a lengthy and unhappy entanglement by starting over out here in the Rime. It was a tragedy, truly. I lost almost everything I ever wanted..." She finished.

...Leaving out the parts she wasn't sure he could understand-about how she had never felt more free than when she had seen the flames rising on the walls of her former business. It had after all been inheritance, not choice, that landed her there. She had loved the work of a chef and making people happy with good food, but her job had been mostly signing papers, doing numbers, and hobnobbing with folks like Mr. Stern. Her marriage and romance prospects had been best summed in one word-boring. Laws in Camelon made a woman owning a business a rarity, since all her property and funds would pass to a prospective husband when she married. Every man she met inevitably had a financial stake in charming her. None of them realized she would have gladly given up the money to find someone who really cared.

...And thus she had felt a long and simmering unhappiness in her life, and a desire to see new shores and strange lands while she could still enjoy her youth. It had gotten to the point where fleeing was impossible, persisting was inconceivable, and the concept of spending another day as she had galled her beyond reason. So when war came to the city, it was a natural excuse for buildings to burn. Why-hardly anyone would look very closely at the cause of a fire, would they? As if by miracle, all the strings tangling her up had been burned away.

She turned back to Mr. Rimelight with a somewhat catty smile. It was not the smile of someone who burned down buildings for fun, but it certainly shared a secret-just between them-that she just might be a person who wouldn't have been sad to see something they dislike burn down.

"But the past is past, and the future is set out before us. I've more desire to see what comes tomorrow, than linger on the yesterday. How often do you linger on your past, Mr. Rimelight?" She said meditatively. It was an impulsive question, and she nudged Ulien in in the ribs with her elbow as she asked it.

[Egan_BW]

"Ow."
Ulien half-listens to Fiona's story while staring anxiously at the door out to the corridor.

Something about losing her business to invaders? Hm. Ulien had assumed that the inner regions were more stable than that. How often did that happen?
Her thoughts snap back to the other overheard discussion. Chances are, it means trouble. Best to investigate before that trouble comes here.
"Um, would you excuse me for a moment? There's something I need to check."

Leave the compartment.

[Digital Hellhound]

Ulien

Ulien makes her excuses and gets up to leave. The compartment door slides open, releasing in air that's just a little less heated. For the other passengers, a reminder that the luxury they're currently enjoying will not last.

The corridor outside is narrow and utilitarian by most standards. Fur pelts line the walls and a thick woolen carpet covers the floor. The floor heating offers faint warmth through her boots. These necessary additions bring a survivalist kind of beauty and comfort to what would otherwise be bare wooden walls and floor. A kelper's broad flat skull has been mounted above the nearest doorway as some sort of decoration. Faint voices carry through the two compartment doors - hers and the one opposite. The mood in the other compartment sounds to be quite a bit more jovial or drunken than in hers.

The corridor ends in a locked door to a staff car on the left. Beyond it lay the coal wagons and the monstrously powerful steam engine that drives this enormous machine. To the right, there's another sitting compartment, then the standing cars, where those passengers without the means to pay or fight for a seated compartment are packed together, shivering and uncomfortable, only able to stretch their feet when the train makes a stop. Even tough Rimers can't claim to particularly enjoy those hellish conditions.

A woman in staff uniform - heavy greatcoats that make them look uniformly big and stocky and cheap-looking white fur hats - stands nearby, inspecting a discreet panel of vials and gauges on the wall. She looks to be about in her thirties, taking into account the way Rime life ages everyone prematurely, with stern and thin features. There are bags under her eyes. She glances your way when you exit.

'Washrooms are at the end of the corridor on the left, ma'am,' she says. 'Heating's not on, I'm afraid. No fuel to spare. Company policy, you understand...'

This could be the woman who was speaking earlier. At the least, you only heard one person leave. There's no sign of them, whoever that was.

***

The Compartment

Fiona's tale draws the cattle baron's interest once more. 'Now, that sounds like you've got Rimer spirit already, miss. That's the wonder of this place. Always somewhere to start over again,' he says, with the self-satisfied smile of man having their life philosophy vindicated. 'I must beg your pardon. I don't care much for Inner cuisine, but I reckon I could use someone like you in my kitchens. Take my card - if you should ever happen to find yourself 'round Shoal-ways.'

He puts another one of his business cards in Fiona's palm. 'Maybe that'd make Mr Lowe real happy too, no?'

The bodyguard doesn't respond, but looks somewhat scandalized. He peers out of the window with newfound interest quite unworthy of the bleak frozen landscape.

***

[Egan_BW]

"Thank you."

Hmm. Head to the washroom. Did I hear if the other person walked away towards the left, or to the right?

[Digital Hellhound]

Ulien

[Wits DC 20: 17+3=20, Pass] Ulien is fairly certain the other person in the conversation walked off to the right, in the direction of the washroom and the other passenger cars.

She follows in their footsteps and makes a stop at the washroom. It's evident even from the outside that the small water closet is not somewhere you'll want to linger. Icy air drifts up from below. Frost coats surfaces. The railway company evidently doesn't have their passengers' comfort in mind for situations like these. Anyone having to do their... business here will want to get back into the heated compartments as quickly as possible. Not that the world outside the train is any different, in this regard.

She pauses. Is it just her, or is the rumbling of the train's engine slowing down just a bit?

***

[Dwarmin]

Fiona took the card with a polite nod and stowed it in her little purse. She briefly wondered where he got all of these cards made. Some businessmen actually hand-wrote their own, but she guessed he might not be of that type.

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Stern. I'll certainly consider it if my travels bring me round those 'parts'.

And you needn't tease Mr. Lowe, I'm just the sort of person who makes an impression on people." She said kindly in his direction, as he diligently scanned the horizon for snow bandits. "Suppose it's part of being easy to miss in a crowd..." She lifted her hand to indicate her short height-and felt a sense that something had changed as her elbow hit only air instead of her accustomed to soft cushioning. "...is learning to make sure people don't forget your name. In that regard at least, we're alike, are we not Mr. Stern?"

She was sure Mr. Stern could work through that one given enough time.

[Dwarmin]

Fiona rolled out her neck with an audible crack. She yawned-the cold had a tendency to make her drowsy. Which meant in the Rime, she was always drowsy.

"...I do believe I'll take a short nap, sirs and ladies. Do wake me if they serve lunch." She said lightly, wrapping herself up in her clothes, and tilting her hat to cover her face. She had been riding quite a few trains in the recent past, and had figured out the best way to pass the time was to, well, sleep.

Action: Fiona engages extreme napping action, having a peaceful and pleasant sleep which totally won't be interrupted by anything

[IronyOwl]

"But the past is past, and the future is set out before us. I've more desire to see what comes tomorrow, than linger on the yesterday. How often do you linger on your past, Mr. Rimelight?" She said meditatively. It was an impulsive question, and she nudged Ulien in in the ribs with her elbow as she asked it.

Rimelight wasn't quite sure what to make of the soft, initially ditzy-sounding Inner before him. Her story was lamentable, truly, but abandoning the situation while the damned courts had the slightest chance of righting the situation was not the act of a woman who had truly lost everything. And then there was that smile... like maybe she wasn't totally out of place out here after all.

He knew what to make of her query, though. A magnanimous smile spread across his face, drawn far too taut to be genuine. "I like to think I remain focused on my future prospects," he half-lied, "but I do believe there comes a time for a reckoning, when old debts ought to be settled in a satisfactory manner."

Like most men who talked about settling debts, he meant those owed to him by others. His own sins and crimes were different. Righteous. Products of circumstance. And perhaps most importantly, committed against far deader and less determined men than he.

Rimelight also wonders if this will be an uneventful trip. Social aspects aside, of course.

[Egan_BW]

Ulien briefly considers using the washroom, but reconsiders after taking a look, and turns back. Before returning to the cabin, however, she decides to ask a question of the staff woman who had addressed her earlier.
"On second thought, I think I can wait until we next stop. By the way, I'd heard a conversation out in the hallway earlier, between a man and a woman. I didn't hear much, but they seemed agitated. Do you know what that was about?"

[Stirk]

Our gunslinger continues looking out the window, absentmindedly ignoring the conversations that don't rightly involve him. His eyes are constantly scanning the surroundings out of habit. Places ambushes would be launched from. Places to launch an ambush. Where food would be found. Good places to set up camp. Places to avoid at all cost. It passes the time, if nothing else. After all, its their job to look out for trouble.

[hector13]

Cormac tilts his head back and forth, making his neck pop. He was feeling a little cramped, particularly with Frostbite and Stern in the same compartment. He'd heard rumours of both men; one a bandit hunter that probably wouldn't take kindly to his former family's occupation, and the other abused Rimers just looking to get by, and wasn't shy about using violence to get his own way. He didn't want to be near either man if he could help it.

"'scuse me, folks." he says, standing up to leave the compartment.

Have a look round the train. People have to waste their time somehow, maybe he could help them waste it.