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[Dwarmin]

"I guess most of us are looking for work we'd like to do..."

The only person who hadn't spoke in the compartment was Mr. Sterns silent bodyguard. Fiona wondered if he was bored-people like him him were probably being used to being socially invisible and actively ignored as things just went on around them. They sort of faded into the background. She decided to try and befriend him on an impulse. You never knew who someone really was until you took the chance to talk to them. Maybe he had a story of his own.

"But, you look like a man who might already be on the clock. If I might inquire, who might you be, good sir? Do you work for Mr. Stern?" She said politely, speaking across the aisle with a smile. It was always good not to make assumptions-if he was proud of his work, he'd want to admit it.

[Digital Hellhound]

Sir Rimelight

Rimelight inclined his head with a smile.

"I like to consider myself a man of opportunity, good sir. Alas, I tend to find that vigorously resolving disputes is by far my most reliable form of enterprise. I understand you are neither foreign nor limited to such endeavors."

Stern takes a moment to decipher Sir Rimelight's meaning. 'I think I catch your drift, sir,' he says with a chuckle. 'I see my reputation precedes me. Well, pleased to meet you. You're not lookin' for employment, are you? I always got need for good shooters. That goes for all of you.'

He casts a magnanimous look over the rest of the compartment. Ulien and Fry receive a much briefer look than the others.

***

Fry

The bodyguard is a lanky and wiry sort of fellow, with a dirty hat pulled low onto his ears. A few errant locks of black hair peek out from underneath it. A rough wool scarf covers his chin and neck - a rather dismal and threadbare piece, almost certainly self-made. He looks almost startled by Fiona's question.

'Yes,' he says. After a brief glance at his employer, he adds: 'Uh. Ma'am.'

Stern cuts in. 'Mr Lowe isn't much for talkin'. Never really got the hang of it. Rest assured, he's got plenty of other uses,' he says. His eyes fix on Fiona and linger there for a long moment before he speaks again: 'You - now, you're from the city. No, no use denying it, miss. I can smell it off you. You're the only one here that don't stink of shit and dirt, pardon my bilge.'

***

[Dwarmin]

Fiona had been about to comfort the young man-at least she thought he was young, older folks didn't frighten as easily-who had looked apt to jump out the train window. When she was interrupted, she momentarily averted her eyes before responding, as if the bad language was something best not seen. She met Mr. Sterns eyes afterwards, however, with the air of someone trying on a pair of uncomfortable shoes.

"...Mmm, yes. You have my pardon, sir. It's been a long trip.

And, I doubt you would have heard of it. My city, that is. I came from a place called Cormwall-it was fairly humble city, compared to some of the others in Camelon." She said, not really sure if he was asking a question, or making a series of statements to her. But she had been through this type of social interrogation before, and she knew it was generally going to be the sort of conversation you had to merely weather, before you could whirl away to the snack plate. Of course there were no helpful and oh so polite waiters here.

So, while she had always been something of a babbler, something about him froze her normal talkative nature cold (no pun intended). She studiously fell silent, seeing how he would react next. Sensing that the silence between them could say what she was too much of a Lady to.

[Stirk]

Stern takes a moment to decipher Sir Rimelight's meaning. 'I think I catch your drift, sir,' he says with a chuckle. 'I see my reputation precedes me. Well, pleased to meet you. You're not lookin' for employment, are you? I always got need for good shooters. That goes for all of you.'

He casts a magnanimous look over the rest of the compartment. Ulien and Fry receive a much briefer look than the others.

"I ain't for sale quite yet. Can be rented out if the job's good, but I'm already occupied at the moment."

[hector13]

Sir Rimelight

Rimelight inclined his head with a smile.

"I like to consider myself a man of opportunity, good sir. Alas, I tend to find that vigorously resolving disputes is by far my most reliable form of enterprise. I understand you are neither foreign nor limited to such endeavors."

Stern takes a moment to decipher Sir Rimelight's meaning. 'I think I catch your drift, sir,' he says with a chuckle. 'I see my reputation precedes me. Well, pleased to meet you. You're not lookin' for employment, are you? I always got need for good shooters. That goes for all of you.'

He casts a magnanimous look over the rest of the compartment. Ulien and Fry receive a much briefer look than the others.

Cormac catches Stern's eye, before shaking his head.

[IronyOwl]

Stern takes a moment to decipher Sir Rimelight's meaning. 'I think I catch your drift, sir,' he says with a chuckle. 'I see my reputation precedes me. Well, pleased to meet you. You're not lookin' for employment, are you? I always got need for good shooters. That goes for all of you.'

He casts a magnanimous look over the rest of the compartment. Ulien and Fry receive a much briefer look than the others.

"Likewise. As it so happens, I am indeed seeking out gainful employment at this very moment. Heard there was work in Stalwart, but I am quite amenable to earlier business."

He glanced briefly at his more reluctant neighbors. Their loss not to at least inquire.

[Digital Hellhound]

Fry & Sir Rimelight

Stern's interest seems to fade as soon as Fiona starts talking. Her words go in one ear and out of the other. If she pressed him on the matter, Fiona suspects he couldn't quite recall just what she'd said. She knows that sort of man, too - speaking only for a chance to speak in turn. Preferably about themselves, usually. She's quickly proven right in her assessment.

'I'm a Rimer, right down to my bones. 'Course, where I was born don't count as Rime no more. Green's come in. Used to be the edge of the world, but now they've got crops growin' an' cities buildin'. Whole place's thawed right out.'

He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

'It's no place for me, the Thaw. 's why I'm here, I reckon. Chasin' the edge of the Rime... damn thing keeps movin', so I gotta be movin' right with it,' he says. 'Trust me, miss, it's better out here than in any Inner city. The world's got less an' less to offer for a real man the further you get inland. Places go to rot the second they call it Thaw'd. Blink an' you got gov'nment lackeys and bureaucrats up to here, comin' in with their laws an' regulations. Soon they're telling you everythin' free's gov'nment land now and you've got a delver's chance of ever gettin' any of it. The unions, we-hell, they sneak in an' ruin your workers. Can't do nothin' no more. Naw, I'll take the Rime any time. Out here, a man can do just what he was born to do. Got nobody holdin' you down. Got nobody proppin' you up. Free enterprise, my friends. I swear by it.'

He doesn't seem to care that his spiel is drowning out the rest of the conversation or that nobody asked for it. You get the sense this isn't his first time making this speech.

To Sir Rimelight, Stern inclines his head. 'I've a ranch in need of security up north of Shoal. For one, there's a preacher-man, been talkin' to my workers. He needs a lesson. Damn Mer been disappearin' off into the sea, too, an' I'm even payin' them too. You seem like a man who's not afraid to get rough, sir. Take my card; tell them I said to give you a job.'

That's beyond Stalwart, nearer to the black waters and the edge of the Rime. He offers a small business card from the folds of his clothes. It simply says 'STERN' in big, blocky lettering, with 'CATTLE & PRODUCTS' in a neat hand below.

***

[Dwarmin]

Fiona commented on the secondary conversation.

"A preacher-man? What sorts of Gods or faith do you hold out to here in the Rime?" Fiona asked curiously, not directing her question at any one person. Ask anyone in the streets of Cormwall and they'd suggest the Rime was filled with Godless Barbarians who worshiped squamous sea-monsters from deep under the ice.

[Egan_BW]

"...Hmm." Ulien glares at the rancher but decides not to say anything. He's deluded, but there's no reason to piss off the rich, powerful, and sociopathic.

Wait for something to go wrong. Something always does. Hope it happens soon so that I won't have it hanging over my head anymore...

[Stirk]

Fiona commented on the secondary conversation.

"A preacher-man? What sorts of Gods or faith do you hold out to here in the Rime?" Fiona asked curiously, not directing her question at any one person. Ask anyone in the streets of Cormwall and they'd suggest the Rime was filled with Godless Barbarians who worshiped squamous sea-monsters from deep under the ice.

"Same god ya got back home, 'less the priest is a Mer. I heard of a couple of Mer converts getting the cloth, so it might be the same one anyways."

He then looks out the window the best he can.

"Either way it ain't exactly good manners to beat on preacher-men. Just askin' for trouble with that."

[hector13]

“People need something to keep ‘em goin’ out here. If somebody with prettied up words and a fancy coat can give ‘em that, ain’t my place to tell ‘em they’re wrong.”

[Dwarmin]

Fiona briefly turned back to the bodyguard.

"Oh, and by the way Mr. Lowe! I noticed your scarf is in somewhat unfortunate condition. Would you like to have one of mine? I'm wearing two, but I really only need one.

I'm still learning how to dress properly for the Rime, but this one is quite nice." She said, kindly. You'd think Mr. Stern could afford to pay his bodyguard well enough to afford a decent scarf.

...

Fio's adventure in clothes shopping had their ups and downs-she had quickly found material was quite important. Recently she had found a merchant selling scarves and other pieces fashioned from the cut length of a warm fleece tapestry, and it had graciously added some much needed warmth to her wardrobe. She had suspected, but been too polite to ask, that they might have been looted from someplace down West. Or perhaps carried by a desperate person and sold at bargain. Here in the Rime, every piece of cloth had value.

The two scarves she was wearing were effectively two in a set-she had chosen them with a buyers eye, looking for the tapestry pieces in adjacent cuts. It had been quite a martial tapestry. She recognized the images of Steamknights from Camelon History, with their heavy steam armor and chain-blades. They battled with fierce looking Dragoonians (she remembered these from her history lessons as well, though in Camelon's past they had been much smaller and had only two feet, not four) armed with wicked spears and fiery breath, all of them dancing among snow flurries down the length of the tapestry-scarf, forever fighting a war no living person remembered fighting.

Fiona wasn't even quite sure if it was historically accurate together, however. She bumped Ulien in the ribs, as she considered that she didn't even know if Steam-Knights had existed during the Old Dragoonian wars.

[IronyOwl]

To Sir Rimelight, Stern inclines his head. 'I've a ranch in need of security up north of Shoal. For one, there's a preacher-man, been talkin' to my workers. He needs a lesson. Damn Mer been disappearin' off into the sea, too, an' I'm even payin' them too. You seem like a man who's not afraid to get rough, sir. Take my card; tell them I said to give you a job.'

That's beyond Stalwart, nearer to the black waters and the edge of the Rime. He offers a small business card from the folds of his clothes. It simply says 'STERN' in big, blocky lettering, with 'CATTLE & PRODUCTS' in a neat hand below.

Rimelight inclined his head in return, graciously accepting the card, examining it, and placing it within an inside coat pocket.

Fiona commented on the secondary conversation.

"A preacher-man? What sorts of Gods or faith do you hold out to here in the Rime?" Fiona asked curiously, not directing her question at any one person. Ask anyone in the streets of Cormwall and they'd suggest the Rime was filled with Godless Barbarians who worshiped squamous sea-monsters from deep under the ice.

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."

[Digital Hellhound]

All

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.

***

Ulien

Ulien waits for something to go wrong. She's grown quite good at it since the shop was attacked. Something inevitably always does. The rest of the conversation's tuned out - instead, she picks up voices from the corridor outside. A woman and a man are speaking very quickly. She catches only a few words - 'turn back' and 'emberheart'. The latter's interesting; it's an archaic Rimer term for a murderer and for someone who steals fuel - steals even the last embers from the campfire, so they say. The two meanings are inseparable; essentially, it means 'someone who steals fuel knowing it will lead to another's death'.

***

[Egan_BW]

"Ah, there it is." Ulien whispers to herself.

Hmm. Well, keep listening. If the conversation outside seems to get more heated, I'll mention it to the others, but there's no point in making everyone shuffle around so that I can get out.