Chapter Text
If not for the porcelain glare of the moon swallowing the midnight sky, the two toons atop the train would only be illuminated by the red brilliance of a firing pistol.
In the pinprick of time that the freshest bullet emerged from its barrel, she ducked with grazed hair and a new stain of blood that wasn’t his on their colorful vest.
Cackling hysterics followed every bang and pop of the gun that was trained to her dodging silhouette. “Boy, Dex’, ya sure are gettin’ on my damn nerves!”
With no choice other than a bitter path, he dug their fingers far past the threshold of her pocket until he could touch cool metal, and they ripped hard outwards.
From the depths, she materialized his trusty mallet, the only thing that could protect them now from the wrath of Blu Portobello.
Click. They squarely cocked the pistol at her head. It was aimed to shoot, with the barrel full without further notice from the bloodthirsty person behind the trigger.
“D— drop th’gun, Blu.” Ruth’s voice was hoarse, his common stutter falling into place like a second tongue. “Ya w-won’t gain nothin’ from sho— shootin’ me, or killin’ me, or whatever!”
The toon in question strickenly laughed, and it came out as more of a hiccuping scoff than the intended giggle at hand.
“What’re ya gonna do, then? Hit me over the head with that big mallet of yours?” They gestured at their cartoonishly large hammer. Moonlight flashed on its silver head as the train continued its course.
The comment made her shift his iron grip around the thick handle, the wood sliding around in their rosy opera gloves.
“I’m going t-to arrest ya. God, fer doin’ all ‘f this. Ya always s— sing ya praises ‘bout givin’ tha’damn humans a ta-taste o’ their own medicine, but ya have got to be kiddin’ me if ya r—really think any of ‘em—” she glanced at the writhing bodies that Blu had left in their trail, one of former humans tattered with blood and bent limbs, and growled— “Deserved this. It ain’t justice, ‘cause it’s th— the—”
“Oh, will ya get off your high horse an’ just admit they were harshing ya too? I bet’chya a whole fistful of my remedy that they hate ya, too! It’s not justice in your eyes, pal, but it’s justice in mine!”
Ruth frantically sprang out of the way at the last split second when the now furious toon pulled the trigger. The bullet found its broken place in the cabin wall instead of the inner flesh of his head.
“That’s it, ya son ‘f a bitch!” They used the leverage of awkwardly crouching on the ground to lunge at them, hammer poised to smash their head over.
If Blu was going to choose violence instead of admitting that the crime of worming their blood in humans and ‘curing’ them into living corpses was horrible beyond comprehension, then so be it.
She swung and missed, and the sharp rim of the head barely graced their black locks flying in the traintop wind.
He didn’t want to do this. They never wanted to be on the top of a train, brawling who they formerly believed to be a friend to ensure they were arrested, but what choice did she have?
Blu dove backwards, then spun, wheeling up a tight fist. “Heads up! Or down, if ya prefer!”
They punched him in the face with full force, and the nasty crack! that flashed in big, colorful letters behind the detective’s spinning head was the sign that they were far more adjusted to physically fighting.
They saw literal, flying stars, still widely throwing the mallet around to grasp for at least a graze of their shoulder. The hits of the head left dents in the metal flooring.
The top of the Luxury Express was frighteningly slippery, and she nearly tumbled off the short railings of the train’s sides, but regained enough composure to dodge another lethal punch from the dead-set fugitive on his suit tails.
They scrambled off her shaking knees, mint-green curls bouncing off his shoulders, and the toon shot out towards their offender.
“Just give it.. up!” Ruth desperately panted, and landed a blow into their gut with the ends of the hammer’s head, causing their responding attacker to cry out.
However, unlike her, they recovered faster from the quick-handed blow, and jumped over the hammer to try and grab his throat in a ditched swipe to strangle them into submission.
She kicked them away, and timed the puzzle pieces sliding together when Blu’s far more animalistic side came out, snarling and pouncing to shoot him once more. The gun was poised to shoot, and Ruth fell into hectic bounds to avoid the impending shot.
Thunk. They resolved the issue with the sickening throw of slamming her mallet as hard as he could muster over their open head, and they stopped dead in their tracks. If she hadn’t been wearing his gloves, they would’ve dropped the hammer from the scared sweat.
She could catch a breath of rushed air, seeing their blue eyes turn into dizzied spirals as they groaned in pain.
“L— let’s settle— this— maturely, Blu!” He grabbed their loosened arms and grunted, the action meant to drag their body over to the cabin wall.
Blu was surprisingly heavy, but the aid of cartoon physics helped her scrape the limp toon on the train’s metal to the destination.
They tossed them up on the wall, and pinned them there with a thrust of her boot on their chest.
The spirals were gone, and they fuzzily blinked. The defeated expression on their face was presumably the sign he finally had the upper hand for once.
“I-I don’ care how much ya protest, I’m gonna a— arrest ya.” They held up the mallet, no matter how it trembled in her quaking hands. “Don’ try anythin’. I have ya squared down.”
“Well, I guess.. ya.. win, Ruth.” He shuddered when they used their name for once, no longer referring to her with silly titles or rude nicknames. “Even if I try to fight ya over this whole fiasco, I’m.. the bad guy, aren’t I? You’ve always been one for deciding things.”
“Wasn’t th—that obvious?”
They smiled, the signature toon grin of white, flat teeth flashing into view.
He glared in suspicion. It was clear as day that Blu was planning something if they weren’t thrashing out of their pinning vise by now.
“Yeah.. I get it now. Ya get it, too. A blasted world like this just can’t handle us if we didn’t become enemies right now! Two toons, ‘specially our kind, wouldn’t survive. And I know how much ya love sucking up to authority.” They delicately grabbed her leg. “Congratulations, Detective. You’ve won a picture without the only toon with sense in it.”
“What are.. ya..” She looked down. “Are ya—”
The bang of an empty gun behind him made them squeal loudly, and she jumped backwards. It carried Blu with him, still hanging on, and they now grabbed them full force, riling up into a spin.
“Buonasera, Detective! Clean this up for the Azure Shapeshifter, won’chya?” The sharpened malice that cut through their twisted face into their loony voice was what made Ruth shriek. “See ya next round!”
They ironically slammed her against the metal wall, and ran with unprecedented speed through the whistling wind, cape outstretched into gliding sails.
Blu turned back, and their blue eyes shone, wishing a glorious goodbye as they waved through the air on airborne feet.
They disappeared over the edge of the flying train, becoming nothing more than a flying cape.
And there Ruth laid on the wall, unmoving and crushed. “God.” He buried their teary-eyed face into her hands. “It’s.. it’s all fallin’ apart, ain’t it?”
Just last night, Blu had appeared normal, those disturbing plans of harming humans seemingly eradicated from mind. They’d even calmly had dinner together! It was their trip on the Luxury Express!
And yet, hours later into the nonsense of today, Ruth was tasked with trying to stop who he thought was their closest friend. Their physical tussle was short on the traintop because it was only the tip of the iceberg of their bickering during Blu’s, apparently adopting the bizarre nickname of the Azure Shapeshifter, disastrous plan.
The future looked bleary. Blu was right— many humans disliked, even hated toons, and her careful reputation of being a signal of hope for any cartoon trying to make it in society would probably tumble down because of a toon’s planned violence. Blu was a catalyst.
He sighed. There wasn’t much to do now other than help who was alive from the experimental shots Blu had administered and ensure they weren’t in hot water for letting the one responsible slip out of her palms.
I’m comin’ fer ya, Blu. Whether ya like it or not. He stood to their boots, and gazed out at the moon that flashed through rows of poles and tents, like a broken, signaling light.
I’ll stop ya.
“Aaaaallll aboard the Luxury Express!”
Ruth jolted up from her seat, previously snoring away. Curls of hair fell into his vision, and they grumbled as she blew them away.
He’d just had the recurring nightmare of fighting the Azure Shapeshifter atop the express train. The event may have been from four years ago, but being aboard the train’s cabins once again was certainly haunting them to no end.
Mumbling something in her thick accent, she swiped up his heavy notebook and chewed pen to sit at the entryway train car.
Today’s trip onto the Luxury Express was incredibly different from the friendly retreat of 1933.
Rather, it was a business opportunity that the developers of the company had offered them. Ever since the express train was shut down for repairs and a break from the exploding publicity of the Luxury Incident, the four-year reopening was a way for them to coax Ruth back in.
She wasn’t here to necessarily relax, no— he was here to study the remains, plots, and plans that caused the incident in the first place, and help to aid the train developers in making sure nothing that horrific ever happened again.
They’d insisted on paying for the expensive trip across the small continent, the train’s course being from the Grasslands to the heart of Show-Stoppolis in a week of onboard sightseeing and pure bliss, but she was shut down with the explanation it wasn’t something they wanted to milk.
(He couldn’t argue with that inch, though.)
Not counting yours truly, there were nine passengers that had paid for a ticket and would be expected to join for the seven-day journey. Even that made Ruth cringe— normally, the max capacity of the train held nearly a hundred and fifty guests, but considering the radio silence of the Luxury Express and the history that came before, it was hard to imagine many people being attracted.
It was pre-planned to organize a welcome bureau for Ruth to sit at on the first day. Although they’d requested to have a mini-study set up in her cabin to be able to have all his information in one place, this was another place to collect their things. (It gave her a good view of the passengers, too.)
Looks like no one’s gettin’ on, he absentmindedly commented, eyes on the wide-open entry door. I should flip a coin an’ make a bet ‘n how many passengers cancelled.
“What, is this— you want me to look in?”
Ah, here we go! Not a moment later had a voice come from the entry door, the only motion to the person it belonged to being the ends of a black suit.
“Well, I— I don’t know, are we early? There’s no one else here. What, it’s good if we’re early? I can’t.. disagree in any capacity to that, sure, but— okay, I’m goin’ in!”
Very awkwardly a human walked in, the one the light, masculine voice had come from, and the person flashed a tight smile at them when they spotted her.
“Hey there!” He waved a hand and smiled, buck teeth and all. “Don’ be shy. You’re right, just early!”
“Oh, thank heavens.” They chuckled, brushing back black half-curls of hair.
A toon followed in, far shorter than their human companion (they assumed, at least). Their eyes lit up when they saw her sitting at the introductory desk, and approached rapidly with an odd eagerness.
“You must be Ruth Dextrose! I’ve been waiting to see a familiar face!” They cheerily peppered, hands on their cheeks. “Salutations, then!”
“We got the memo about your investigation, Ms. Detective, so the two of us ought to introduce ourselves.”
Their polite formality and recognizable French accents made him tap their right cheek in thought. “Oh, ya— ya can just call me Ruth! Don’ need to be formal. An’ ya two seem real familiar, but I.. juuust can’t put m’finger on it.. I don’ believe we’ve met, though.”
Taking a closer look was required to recall who these two were. She wasn’t lying— he’d never met either of them, but both of them were ringing a rather chiding bell in their head.
The toon came off as more of the memorable one, being a small, pale charmer of rosiness and a big grin. They bore a shiny head of blonde hair, trimmed short with a large, cartoonish curl that stayed put on the left shift of their forehead. They were thin, and their miniature demeanor gave them a curvy outline. Their pretty locks of gold went well with the electric-blue suit they were dressed up in, cut to be a vest with darker, French-button sleeves and fishnet patterns peeking through the uncovered wrists and ankles. They wore matching heels, high enough to increase their minimal height and short enough to ensure they weren’t tripping.
Their human associate was tanner, red-toned and kind in expression. Instead of combed, blonde hair, they wore a soft mop of black waves that curled around the ears and eyes. They had baby-blue eyes, ones that highlighted their button nose, pairing up to the matching synchronization of both their azure-themed outfits. The human’s clothing was far less flashy, in referral to their tailored black suit that hid a straight, dark tie, a white dress shirt, and silk gloves. Atop their head was a hat, somewhat similar to a conductor’s cap. It was accordingly black, squared across the top, and tied with a blue ribbon and a symbol of a card-like diamond. The human, though similar in body shape of their toon counterpart, was apparently wiry.
“Ah!” Ruth snapped, and its paired sound effect popped up behind her fingers. “Ya two must be Tulip Delacroix an’ Mason Margarine!”
Tulip Delacroix and Mason Margarine, as spotted out by his intellect, were an incredibly well-known duo of wealthy status. Though they both lived in the Delacroix Estate that took up a sizable chunk of the French quarters of Show-Stoppolis, their continent’s main city, you could more often find them taking multiple rounds a year around the delights of their world. Tulip, more specifically, was known for being sort of a shining idol in the world of cartoon for being an openly genderfluid toon.
Not many were sure how they’d actually come to find each other, but toon Tulip had abruptly gained a human bodyguard, and the two magnates had become the best of friends (despite their clear differences).
Mason gave a warm smile and waved two thumbs-ups as an approving form of praise. “You got that right, Ms. D— ah, Ruth! As you said, my name is Mason, and I use he/him pronouns. Apologies, I didn’t want to interrupt the jogging of your memory.” He outstretched a gloved hand for him to shake, and they took it up with reciprocated affection.
He’s.. really too polite fer his own good. She laughed to himself, not in a mocking manner but in appreciation he was this outward.
That, of course, left Tulip, standing akimbo in waiting for their friend to finish introducing himself. “Yes, I’m Tulip. Please, use she/her for me. Mason here is my bodyguard, for your information. Very good at his job, make sure to write that down!” She complimented while giving her confrère a teasing bump of her elbow.
It prodded Mason to smugly elbow her back. “Yes, I didn’t want to frighten you by pointing that out. Not that I’m threatening, I suppose.”
They were somewhat surprised by the fact he was her defender, but nodded, and took the fleeting time to scribble down in her notebook to replace the barren logs for the new arrivals.
He made sure to write down the details of their affiliations with one another— that being that Mason was her bodyguard, so forth.
“Okay. Well, thank ya fer th’info here! I should get ‘n with introducin’ myself, right? I’m the detective on board, obviously. I’m here ‘cause of a request fer a study an’ investigation of th’previous incident that happen’d on th’Express here. Ya know, th’one that closed down the train f’four years?”
Tulip displayed a face of pure annoyance, comically slumping over the smooth wood of the desk. Her eyes flicked into lidded white circles. “Ugh. I’m quite glad they reopened, I feared I’d never see the Luxury Express again!“
“Ms. Delacroix is very fond of the express.” Mason maturely smiled. “I.. kind of had the same fear. The express lives up to its name, doesn’t it? It’s a nice leisure trip.”
“Completely agree, sir. Completely agree. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t keep ya two waitin’! Y— ya two should unpack in ya cabins. Not to urge ya ‘way, ‘course.”
“Oh, right!” The blonde-haired toon of the three lit back up, and she got to tugging her and her bodyguard away. “Au revoir, Ruth!”
Mason simply waved in a calm contrast to the alluring excitement of his consort.
That’s two passengers down. I’ll haf’ta find a random picture of them to tack up ‘n m’book. That was one of their many goals, and a new feature the developers had requested her to help implement. It was getting general personal information out of the passengers to ensure none of them were assorted with the Azure Shapeshifter, or worse, the toon themself. He fully supported this decision— plus, it came off as wonderfully friendly!
But now the good energy of the Margarine-Delacroix duo (Margacroix, they guessed?) had passed over, most likely trailing them into their cabins, and she was left to lean back in his seat with their pen between her full lips.
He perked up just moments later when an unaccompanied human came through the door, their judgemental eyes drawing over their surroundings.
They jumped on the window to be able to examine the new passenger(?) before she ended up stalled on their impending conversation to remember their identity.
They were tall for a human, bearing warm, orange-brown skin free of blemishes and full of velvety goodness. The human was surprisingly skinny, making their fingers long but soft and their pant legs concealers for sticks. Upon their face was a round, flat-bridged nose. Their hair was done up in a well, fashionable manner, being an admirable color of a more golden blond. Russet eyes were covered with shining lids, and it framed an upright but clever face. They were dressed entirely in green, an interesting detail he couldn’t take their eyes off of. The human had donned a chartreuse vest with horizontal, dark-green lines, and their neatly cuffed pant legs and sleeves were a light, more yellow color that connected into a collared jumpsuit, the triangle shirt top peeking out of the vest. A red, diamond-like earring was pinned into the earlobe of their right ear.
“Hello there?” She cautiously announced, and waved a spindly, suited arm to get their attention.
They dropped their censorious expression and managed a low simper that abruptly shifted into a smug jeer the second they leaned over the counter.
“So, this is the detective they’ve got down here in the Grasslands!” They had a firm, upper-class British accent, and it punctuated their swinging, virile tone. “Tell me, this is the Luxu’y Express, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Ya m—must be one o’ th’passengers. If ya are, you’re ‘n th’right place.”
“I sure am!” They widened their eyes, pushing their thumb into their puffed-out chest, and perfect white teeth gleamed in view. “Say, don’t you know who I am, Deeee..tective Dext’ose?” (Ah. They’d clearly read his obligatory name card, propped up on their desk.)
She blinked unceremoniously. “Sorry, but I.. dunno ya. Also, ya can call me Ruth, it’s fine.”
They rolled their eyes, somehow in a passing manner, and adjusted the cufflinks of their sleeves. Shockingly, this wasn’t a display of disappointment in him, but rather an exhaustion from not being recognized.
“You would not believe how many people haven’t recognized me of all men today. My name is Julius Cuccumb, he/him. Won’t that please your intellectual banks?” (Was.. he referring to their memory?)
“Julius Cuccumb? Cuccumb, Cuccumb..” She parroted the name, throwing his gaze down to the papered desk. “You’re listed ‘n th’passenger list, alright, but I ain’t rememberin’ nothin’ ‘bout a Julius Cuccumb.”
“For the love of god,” he muttered, and rubbed the bridge between his eyebrows and his now closed eyes.
The man in green fidgeted further into the conversation, his gripping of his sleeves transforming into an iron vise. “I’m Prince Julius Cuccumb. I should’ve brought some sort of form of identification to let everyone know I am walking royalty!” Makes m’wonder why he didn’t bring guards or wear anythin’ to gesture to him bein’ a prince.. even Tulip has a bodyguard..
“Oh, Prince Julius Cuccumb! ‘pologies, Your Majesty. It’s gotta be frustratin’ fer even the detective t’not recognize ya.” She wrote that down in his log, and made a note to not forget the fact that Julius was a prince, not just a passenger. “Right, from th’Brazilitain Isles? Next to this continent?”
“Yes, thank you! I feel you’re the only person here with a sense for where I am from, Ruth. So, I had received a message that the Luxu’y Express was open, and you’d be investigating while the passengers were aboard? It sounded intriguing to me.” His exasperated voice had shifted to one of fluent curiosity.
They tapped her pen on the journal page a couple of times to support his claims.
“Yeah, ‘cause of th’Luxury Incident that shut it down. Don’ worry ‘bout my investigation, ‘cause this is just fer information ‘bout the passengers. Here’s your file.” They flipped the notebook around, and repeated her lingering pen movements by using the inner end to underline his annotated name, pronouns, and identity. “It’s meant fer a new security system t’log th’passengers. S’posed t’eliminate any evildoers.”
“Great idea. Not to downplay what’s occurred, but I believe this express train’s in dire need of a security makeover..” He gave a sudden, shifty look before inching the sleeve he hadn’t been playing with down to reveal a pristine, silver watch. “Ah.. I would love to chat longer with what seems to be the only intelligent person in the station, but I must open up my cabin. Shall I see you at dinner?”
“Mhm. May be a detective, but I’m still joinin’ the masses. See ya later, Your Majesty.”
He pulled away from the desk, hushing a humored statement about how he could just get called Julius, and dragged his rolling suitcase after him. “Goodbye, Ruth.”
The detective twitched his weighty eyebrow. What a strange man. He did compliment me every other sentence, though, so.. ain’t gonna jab.
They wondered to herself if the next passenger would be a toon or a human, considering the back-and-forth manner of the arrival of people boarding the train. It was only a matter of time before the next person came on board, so he settled back into their seat and moved the pen around her toonish fingers.
I don’ really wanna dwell, but.. I’m glad that things are gettin’ back t’normal ‘n the express. He lowered their eyes, and glimpsed the slight reflection of her face, pink fedora and freckled, hickory complexion and all.
He tucked a fallen curl behind their round ears. No more funny business, eh, ‘pal’?
“Uuhh-huuuumm, Detective?”
She shook the clogged thoughts out of his brain, and looked up to see who had called them from her day-dreamscape.
It was a human, losing the bet that the next passenger would be a toon to even things out. Though their tone was incredibly impatient, the enveloped look on their face contradicted any manifested anger.
They had brown skin, a tone darker than Julius’ ginger color, and their perky face was sprinkled with black freckles and the faintest nicks of scars. What thoughtlessly snatched Ruth’s attention was their bright green hair, a head that was pulled up into two, fluffy twintails and spiraling forehead bangs. Their large nose was just barely noticeable to be crooked to the side, hooded downwards. Behind their (subtly damaged) round glasses were staring red eyes. The rest of their characteristics were defined by more bright colors, that being a heavy, violet scientific coat and matching green scrubs to fit underneath. They wore massive, rubber gloves, and their cubular fingers were tightly wrapped around the metal handlebar of a large medical cart. They weren’t as uncommonly angular as the first three passengers, due to the fact that they were less thin and wavy and more heavy and straight.
“Detective? Is that it? Or should’a call you Dextrose? Ruth? Well, you’re not saying nothin’, so maybe I’ll call you quiet.” Still, somehow, they weren’t coming from a rude place.
“Sorry fer keepin’ ya waitin’, I was just thinkin’ ‘bout things. Ya can call me Ruth, no need fer formality or somethin’ like that. Um.. do ya need help with your cart?”
On further inspection, the cart this mystery human was holding onto for dear life was strapped down with secured medical instruments. He breathed a huff of relief at seeing that the sharper objects, like the scalpels and scissors, were capped with plastic covers. The lower shelves were hidden by fabric, wired into the metal to enact a covering that let nothing fall over and off its keeping space.
They cocked their head to the side and bore unusually sharp teeth that translated into a kind, appreciative smile. “Oh, I sure do. Offerin’ to help me pull it into the cabin cars, aren’t we?”
“Ya got that part right. Luggin’ stuff around has gotta pull a muscle or two, right?”
“Yes, exactly! Everyone’s bulging their eyeballs at me like I’m carryin’ a dead body!”
He did as they’d promised, and aided the externally creepy but endearing passenger’s cart of materials into the next cabin through the connected doors. Once her work was done, and the squeaking wheels had fully transported the luggage into the next cabin, he did the funny gesture of pretending to wipe sweat and giving a loud sigh.
“Thank you, Ruth! Very glad to see someone has the frontal lobe to make the better decisions around here.” Being a handful of inches shorter than the six-foot stance of the assisting toon, they rolled back a look at more of their sharp teeth. “And, look at that. I haven’t even introduced myself. The good name of thee is Dr. Contessa Mitocon, and I use she/her!”
“Must’ve been your medical supplies, huh? You’re a doctor, right? Or a scientist? Lots ‘f occupations use ‘Dr.’ b’fore their name.”
She aggressively nodded. “A scientist, to clarify! I’m on this express to see the continent and also head to Show-Stoppolis to confirm my patent for a few new creations of mine. I’m smart enough to know not to disclose these inventions, since you know how greedy other people get.”
“Yep, that’s a good plan, alright. Good fer ya, Contessa! I’ll look f’your name in the copyright of things, won’t I?”
“I’ll see to that! And I also joined the group of passengers because I wanted to know more about your investigation. Since it’s a scientific whatever. And I like science, you can very clearly understand.”
Her keen eyes darted to the journal and active pen in their hands, and took a step forward with twitching hands.
“Your investigation’s in action, I see!”
“I’m writin’ down information ‘bout the passengers. It’s supposed to help implement a security system, yadda-yadda, I’ve already gone over it twice today.”
“Twice? Not includin’ this moment in time?” She tilted her head like a fixated cat. “I should leave you to your devices, then. Less work for the detective here!”
She scratched his head underneath their fedora, all done underneath an apologetic smile. “If ya wanna keep talkin’, ya don’t have t’leave me alone!”
“No. A great mind must focus on her work, so I insist. Farewell, Ruth, my business must be attended to!”
Within the milliseconds of Ruth blinking, the evidently mad scientist having sped away with a head bent backwards at her, cart in gloved hands.
I swear, they’re gettin’ more peculiar every time.
However, despite his dismissive mental commentary, they had actually taken a liking to Contessa. She was definitely on the list of more.. intriguing characters she had met, but she carried the air of someone charismatic and social, even if she constantly had a look portraying the most intrusive of thoughts.
He took a seat down in their chair, returning to the front desk after the brief conversation with the— fourth passenger, was it?
She flipped through the gradually filling journal to view what he had collected throughout the last few interactions. Four logs were now filled to the bare minimum, minus their own page she had logged, and it aired a sense of satisfaction he was making progress in implementing the new security system through this manner.
They digressed from respectfully staying seated with the habit of chewing on her pen accompanying him by standing back up to stretch.
“Wouldn’t mind gettin’ a break every now an’ then.. can’t wait ‘til I can catch some sleep..” Ruth murmured to themselves. While her whole world was his detective work, no matter how rickety it had been over the past few years, a toon like them did deserve some time to relax. “Ghuh. Feelin’ like a silly straw right ‘bout now.”
She was back to spinning around in his chair, flipping coins on whether it would be a human or toon making their personal entrance through the door and earning themselves a log into their book.
When a figure rushed past her desk, he debated for a moment if they’d imagined that person’s presence.
Then, judging from the trailing wisps of hair that followed a flying brown coat, she ultimately decided it had to be someone darting out of view.
“Hey, stop!” He called in an attempt to not yell but still seize their attention while they had the chance. “Ya haven’t checked ‘n yet!”
“Oh. Right. I have to do that.” The sound of a slow, grumbling voice came from the doorway, and the person turned back around.
Now she had a better look at their brief appearance instead of struggling against time to try and see what they looked like.
Unlike most of the passengers, they were somewhat short in height, and it bordered on average for a human if he had to wildly guess. The unknown boarder was relatively light in skin tone, just slightly scratching the ends of a pale hue. Their hair was a mustard, brunette color, waves of long hair and a low-rise ponytail giving way to a warm chestnut tone. The human had hazel eyes, ones that were defiant against the shine of the overhead light, and a nose that was humorously pointy and pressed upwards in angle. Their outfit was standard for a typical bygoer in the station, a brown overcoat that was as heavy as snow gear and multiple wristwatches strung around their thin wrists. They wore polished dress shoes that contrasted with the lighter colors up north by being a cool black.
After they came up to the desk, having returned to the entry car from their sprint towards the doorway, she sat back down and smoothed out his vest.
“Sorry t’interrupt ya, but all passengers now hav’ta introduce themselves. It’s a new policy now, ‘cause of the incident.” Contessa had some good ideas in mind— spouting the reasoning behind the passenger check-in would get tiring eventually.
They contained an incredulous amount of disapproval in one look. Ruth halted in perplexion, considering that a request to at least confirm your name wasn’t as rude as their attitude implied.
When they exhaled and straightened the broad lapels of their trench coat, they clicked the end of her pen and prepared to begin writing.
“My name’s Roosevelt Ticket. He/him, since.. that’s relevant.. I make clocks for a living, that’s why I’m taking this train to the main city. I should be on the passenger listing.”
“Umm..” He tapped through the guest list, their pie-eyes sorting through the different names. “Here ya are! Okay, that’s all, ya can go to your cabin. Again, sorry t’interrupt your.. um.. rush.”
“Ah? No, it’s.. fine.” He gently dissolved into pensive silence, and looked at her with a quizzical intention.
Roosevelt rolled his fingers through the largest lock of waves in his hair, then stepped forward and leaned in.
“I should be apologizing for rushing through. Believed I was late to the train because of the lack of passengers. The dash to the platform was rather peeving.” He spoke quietly, as though someone unsavory was listening in on their conversation. “Hadn’t the.. Express Incident, is that it? I’m not familiar with the event.”
“Luxury Incident.”
“The Luxury Incident had shut down this express, so.. that must be the reason why it isn’t attracting many passengers. Working in business gives me this notion, sure. I’ve never been, but an elegant machine like this should be drawing in more people.” He glanced backwards over his shoulder and loose ponytail to glimpse the scarce crowds outside the platform for the Luxury Express, meant as a gesture towards his remark on the lack of traffic before the bronzed doors.
As he was a clockmaker, he understood what he was referring to— anyone who had ever worked in metals was always fascinated by the craftsmanship of the Luxury Express and its, to quote its official title, luxurious interior and exterior design.
They stifled a giggle. “I’m sure ya’d like the clocks ‘n here, then. Ah, ah— I ain’t teasin’, t’clarify.”
“I didn’t believe you were. I’ll make sure to take a look at them. Do you think I could ask about how they’re designed? Or at least, who they’re delivered from?”
“Yep! The fellas runnin’ the organization are super open t’questions about the express, so don’ feel shy, Roosevelt.”
“Excellent.”
He tapped one of many wristwatches, presumably one of his very making, then summoned what was a fraction of a small smile. “I’m a few minutes off schedule.. and hence why I was running, it’s all a mixed bag. I suppose I’ll be off to my cabin space. This was a nice chat.”
“It was! Will ya be joinin’ fer dinner, I hope? It’s, uhh, kinda mandatory, but nothin’ a guy can’t shake.”
“Uh. Sure. Well, good evening.”
Thanks to Ruth’s perseverance in interacting with the passengers, the clockmaker had retreated to the next train car over in a far better mood.
She held the guest list up to the light in newborn intrigue to scratch off guests with a pencil (to eliminate who had already arrived). “Tulip, Mason, Julius, Contessa, Roosevelt.. four more passengers, an’ I’m free t’do my business.”
The toon held up his head through the means of laying it on the table, distraitly flicking the loose end of the sheet back and forth in the air.
Wonder what they’re servin’ at dinner. It’s been four years since I’ve been ‘n this train, I’m ain’t gonna remember what they served ‘n th’first night.. As expected, their thoughts trailed towards the customs of the train. At least she’d have an opportunity to actually enjoy it for once— an unspoiled evening between acquainted passengers. Huh. That sorta reminds me o’.. what’s th’game again? Clue? Yeah, Clue. Evenin’ meal with a small dinin’ group. ‘cept nobody’s gettin’ murdered.
That was something to pass the time, thinking of the various courses that would be served. It prompted him to flip to their concept section of her dog-eared journal to throw down the different ideas. (Hey, maybe he could recommend these to the hotel-car chefs when dinner came around?)
“Baked potatoes..” They huddled in her chair as he flew through different ideas. “D’they still serve meat? Of course they do, Dextrose, why wouldn’t they?”
“What’s this.. mumbling about the food choices?” Their talking was paused by a warm laugh.
A familiar one, at that.
She maneuvered around at once to be able to recognize who had spoken, and a stray lightning bolt of pure excitement shot through him.
“Sage!” They nearly bounced out of her seat, tucked under the lip of the desk, and jogged around the counter to dive into a hug with the aforementioned person.
Sage, the visitor in question, grinned and hugged him right back. There was a brief moment of compression between them before the toon of the pair released from the embrace.
“What’s going on, Detective?” They beamed.
None of this intimate greeting made any sense without the proper context.
Ruth was the head detective of Show-Stoppolis, considering their statistical experience and years of work in the business, and that meant she was to take up professional projects considering his line of work.
Therefore, this smiley human they’d just snuggled up to was the equivalent of her understudy— a younger, more novice investigator named Sage Juniper who was normally stationed in the Valley of Typhoons, working underneath him to gain enough status to be able to rise in the ranks of detective work on the continent.
He was lovable in appearance, being a sunkissed and chubby bundle of colors. They had a round nose that crossed over their almond, navy eyes. His hair was short and fluffy, merely a tad lighter than Roosevelt’s brown waves, and was strung up on the left by a shamrock-green pin carved to be a leaf. A pairing earring was stuck in their right ear to have an adjacent look. They were dressed up in countlessly less colors than his rainbow-colored principal, a notion towards their light red topsuit, crimson tie, and green dress pants. Sage’s breast pocket was stitched up with a patterning of cartoon daisies, yet another sign of their obsession with the flora and fauna of their world. Though he appeared short next to the tall Ruth, they were actually average in height. On their cheeks were faint patches of spotty freckles.
Realizing they were being questioned as such, they shook away the storm of question marks popping up over her curls. “I’m all good! Wha— um, what’re ya doin’ here? I saw ya ‘n th’passenger list, but I had no clue if it was ya or nah.”
“Didn’t I send a letter?” Sage inquired, then groaned in frustration. “The post office must’ve gotten bent somehow!”
“Don’ get’chya tie ‘n a twist. This was a nice surprise! I’m admittin’ this now, uh. I’m nnnot so familiar with most’ve’the patrons up ‘n here, so ya takin’ a leisure trip is relievin’.”
He curled up into a smile, obviously amused by the exchange of Ruth experiencing tribulations with his surroundings, and it made their freckles come up like poppies. “I’m your hero, then?”
They cocked her head. Instead of having heard that rhetorical question, he was focused on that detail on their tan cheeks.
“Where’d ya get those freckles?” The toon cooed. “Don’ remember ya havin’ many.”
They touched his cheeks, eyes flipping into confusion before they gave an understanding sound at what in the world they were referring to. “Ahh, you mean these! Actually, they’re sort of the reason I decided to dally west to the Luxury Express’ station. Being cooped up in my office so often meant I didn’t get a lot of sun, and goin’ vacationin’ was one of many solutions. If I’m your understudy, I may as well get a scope of where I’ll be going! I’ve got the genes for freckle development.”
“Yeah, ya only had a few here an’ there th’last time I saw ya. Good fer ya, gettin’ out there! One o’ th’main things t’do as a bloomin’ investigator!”
Their regard had moved from Ruth’s presence to the foyer of the next train car. He tightened their grip on their things, that being a sizable suitcase and a purse.
“That’s the cabin car, yes?” His excuse for their cluelessness on the train’s interior mapping was shrugging hard. “I’ve.. never been, obviously. And I think I’m gonna lose feeling in my fingers if I keep carrying this darn thing.”
“Right through th’door there. If ya wanna go unpack, an’ meet back up at dinner, that’s fine.”
“Thanks, Detective. I’ll be seeing you there!”
They waved backwards at her once he’d started moving towards the exit of the entryway car, and they requited the parting movement.
Sage was a promising understudy, in her opinion. They were a tad oblivious to their surroundings, a referral to their question with a clear answer, but he had skill and wit! They’d be chief detective of the Valley of Typhoons in no time, as long as he oversaw their development into the post-university advancement of investigative work.
Even with their lighthearted criticism, Ruth couldn’t deny that she was happy to have Sage aboard.
He drew up their journal once more and sketched in a new log for him, a certain amity wiring her active fingers. The thought of sharing this special task of gathering aging information on the Azure Shapeshifter with them crossed his mind, and it prompted them to hide a smile behind the lean of her head on his hand.
That’s a learnin’ experience there, gettin’ to be a part of the works? They staunchly attached a crisp image of her understudy to the paper of their effortlessly scribed log. They’ll be as weirdly well-known as me!
The amusing interaction between a guide and his understudy left an imprint of anticipation in them, so she got back into position behind the desk like it depended on him.
They easily reinstated the need to mentally flip coins on the common species of the next arrival, now that Sage had eliminated his name off the short guest list and left three more people to arrive.
But then there was the complex of a guest cancelling. The amount of people that were supposed to walk in could totally change, she brazenly thought!
“Aaaaallll aboard the Luxury Express!” The express’ captain cried again, the same yell that had been his literal wake-up call.
Ruth, having involuntarily had their eardrums rang, shifted backwards in the seat to resentfully rub her ears. Christ’s sake! ‘f that damn toon shouts again, I’m gonna hav’ta get me some ear plugs.
Despite the negative emotion of an intruding, loud noise, he became aware that was the call for the remaining passengers. The Grasslands Station was moving into the evening departures and arrivals, and Luxury Express was set to leave its designated platform as soon as the clock hit 7:30 P.M. and everything had to be rolled up.
That left even more to factor into the debate of whether all three of the remaining passengers would arrive. What if one was delayed, and had to be picked up at the next station tomorrow?
The possibilities were endless. And also very entertaining, they confirmed.
Heads ‘f it’s a human, tails ‘f it’s a toon. Because of th’statistics. She sorted through the frontal desk for an actual coin, the bets becoming a reality. He found a quarter and pinched it between their fingers. An’ then I’ll be free. Not that I’m bored or anythin’.
Once flipped into the air, the miniature silver disc rolled on its rims before it landed on heads.
She flicked it back into his bag of things, hidden in the covers of the desk for mere accessibility to them and them only. “Let’s see..”
It was genuinely odd they were experiencing this frightening level of ennui towards her surroundings. As a detective, it sure as day wasn’t listed in his job description to revel in boredom, so their inner avidity bubbling up seeing the newest passenger walk in was rather bizarre.
Guess they're human. She congratulated his coinsmanship.
They were languid and slim in nature, their almond-colored face relaxed with a curiosity for the express they’d set boot into. The human had a hooked nose, and the extended bridge was topped by squared glasses, ones that were admittedly crooked over the dark of their dark, lissom eyes. To the left of their full upper lip was a black beauty mark. Their hair was raven black, and was tucked behind their small ears to flow down to the middle of their back. Their outfit was what caught their eyes more, being an overshirt split from collar to bottom that was as turquoise as the oceans. The shirt in question was stitched all over by subtle but intricate weavings of a blue imugi. The dress shirt serving as their underclothes was more contrastingly blue, surprisingly being of knitted composure. Their chestnut pants were quite baggy, pooling over the ankles and grooved shoes, and their enormous pockets were kept closed by golden charms that sparkled in the overhead lights.
The toon, still giddy from the thrill of winning her own coin game, waved to the captivated arrival, and they perked up at his gestures.
“Oh! You must be the detective that’s investigating the Luxury Express, right?” Their wavy voice whistled through an accent when they spoke up. “You must be excited to be on such a historical train, like me, Detective..”
“Dextrose. But ya can call m’Ruth. And, yes, I’m real happy t’be onboard! Been runnin’ a long while, huh?” (They’d pointed to her name plate to further clarify.)
They authentically laughed at his introduction. “I have the same name-experience as you! Everyone wants to call me Doctor, but I really just prefer my name. Actually, speaking of my name..”
After rummaging in their cosmically large pants pockets, they pulled out an unharmed business card and gave it to them.
“My name is Kibone Kahmel-Hwang. My nickname is Ki, though! Much shorter than that.. spiel. I use she/it pronouns.” The brief pause in Ki’s further explanation of her transfer of the card was to button its pockets back up. “Though I like to delve into other studies that fall under my occupation’s umbrella, I’m a cultural anthropologist. I’m heading to the busy world of Show-Stoppolis to study it! And to see the sights, too. You know someone who studies culture couldn’t resist passing through every major sector of the continent.”
“Can get that feelin’. More with forensic details an’ investigation, though.”
She rapped its fingers on the desk all of a sudden, pupils dilating with a hurried jump of delight. “You do forensic investigations? That’s remarkable! This must be a wonderful case to take up, then?”
“Maybe not wonderful, considerin’ m’history with th’case.” They tittered. “But ‘s fun. Th’scientific work that goes ‘nto th’most commonplace ‘f investigations can be surprising, ya know?”
“I do. Maybe I could participate in the investigation of the express over the trip, if that’s.. legal, would that be the formal way to describe it? It would certainly be a pleasure to work with you.” The mystified anthropologist brought up the question. She had the same eyes for her notebook that Contessa portrayed, though this was more of a friendly intrigue.
He slid their pen over her right palm, and the metal looped over gloved fingers as he twiddled the writing utensil around as a thought provoking method.
“Technically, th’passengers are already participatin’ by bein’ on th’Luxury Express. Though, I wouldn’t mind direct involvement.” They used the movement of the pen to tap its log in her passenger journal. “I mean, it’s legal, sure. This ain’t private information I’m handlin’ here. Studies are public.”
“Not an unexpected development.. ah. Hold onto my card, please, I think it’s cabin time.”
“Huh, the late call th’station captain gave. Shouldn’t keep ya here waitin’!”
It waved pardoning hands when he excused her from their stationed desk. “Oh, no-no. You’re not keeping me waiting! I should be getting to my cabin soon, though. I can only assume you’ll be at tonight’s evening event?”
“Every’ne’s been askin’ if I’ll be at dinner! Ya know, it kind’f surprises me? But, uhah— yep, I’ll be there.”
“Right, I can see why. Again, hold onto my card! I want to unpack, that’s all.” The anthropologist indicated the adjustable handle of its suitcase. “Such a short conversation. I wish I could stick around, but you know the drill.”
I sure do, she absentmindedly trilled.
“I’ll still be on th’train, s’ don’t fret ‘bout my showin’ to dinner, Ki. Headin’ off to your cabin is a much better decision.” The clock was starting to tick, both metaphorically and literally. From when the doors first opened to their rapidly arriving closure, there was a window where passengers could unpack and settle in before the pre-departure meal. Ruth’s duty had begun to fall into ‘ensuring the boarders weren’t dillydallying’.
She beamed a skewed smile with a kind hand gesture to boot, then it was sent off to the next car, relieving another weight off his shoulders.
Of course, they savored the interactions, but a part of her was tremendously fearful about the boarding issues! Was there time to sit and chat with the passengers or not?
Even with his impatient frights, they still took the time to mark off Ki’s name. That left two more names out of the handful of boarders she had been handling.
As gathered from his many checkings of the neatly compiled guest list, they surmised the next passenger out of the final two would be yet another distinctly familiar face to her, Polla Vitula.
To explain, Polla was one of the passengers from the last ride through (in other words, a patron from the Luxury Incident), and was also a loose friend-companion-acquaintance. Getting to see her again would be delightful! Unless they cancelled, of course, which he strongly hoped against.
The memory of Polla did dredge up a pinch of sadness, to their dismay. Polla was a string member of the Corkscrew Orchestra, a symphony orchestra that commonly travelled between the main continent capitals through riding the Luxury Express, but that form of touring had seemingly gone to waste since the last incident.
It had to be inevitable that the orchestral members weren’t returning to a tragic stage, she supposed.
Everything came full circle— the thought of former regulars now refusing to touch the very station of the Luxury Express was yet another paper on the mental board of wishes. The express’ll have traction again ‘f nothin’ bananas happens. That’s really m’only aim.
Through an unnatural sensation of blocking the incoming sound, Ruth steeled himself and plugged their ears once the train captain yelled the call of a boardable train once more.
That was most definitely the last call of the night before the doors shut down for the departure time and the train left the Grasslands’ terminus.
It turned out that the toon coming through the entrance with a lugged case in hand was experiencing the same turmoil the intense calling did, white gloves held over their ears.
The echoes of the captain’s hollering stopped ringing through the metal corridors of the express. “Oh! Polla?” She pointed towards the proceeding toon, stumbling from the sound.
Polla, correctly identified, blinked upwards towards him, then nearly spun in circles seeing Ruth in the flesh. “Ruth!”
Like a dramatic, black-and-white scene in a motion film, she ran forward with sparks behind their square glasses towards the outstretched hand before her.
There was the stifled noise of ruffling fabric as they vigorously shook hands, the perfect greeting for the two of them.
“I was searching all over for you! I received the messages about you boarding the express for another round?” They chirped with an explanatory wave about the air.
The detective snickered behind their opera gloves. “Another round, haven’t heard that one. Th’same could be said f’ya, Polla, since ya came back!”
“Yes, I should have contacted you, maybe sent a letter.. but enough of that, how have things been? I’m near dying of curiosity.”
“Lookin’ up, that’s true. Gotta gig here ‘n th’Luxury Express to study th’incident an’ all, which I shouldn’t haf’ta explain t’ya of all people.”
“That’s excellent! You came to my last performance, so there’s not much to catch up on, is there?” (Ruth went to all of the Corkscrew Orchestra’s stagings whenever she could afford it.)
She wasn’t fibbing in the slightest— all he ended up checking up on was to see if their orthodox uniform had changed in any shape or form.
Polla was a leveled, informative toon with lanky legs and a pretty face ringed with dark spots of acne. She wore squared glasses, slim-templed and pedantically cleaned. Sprucely wrapped around their head and neck was a crimson hijab that was adorned on the upper lip with a bejeweled clip of matching colors. Over the ends of the headscarf was a mulberry bowtie. Unlike her head and neck garments, the rest of their loose attire was formally monochrome, being a black, English-cut suit with a loud dress collar and long coattails. The toon stepped about with large dress shoes and violet socks. Though onerous to spot out, her body type was one of meanders that balanced their posture.
Her style staying unaltered was a breath of air, even if their unstirring history at the seat of the entryway desk was relatively prosaic.
They ceased conversing to glance around the lavish interior of the Luxury Express, a train that lived up to its subjective name. “And I see the train hasn’t changed one bit, has it? The designers must have gone for an exact restructuring since the incident.”
“Noticed that, too. They even used th’same fabric fer the seat cushions! Untouched!”
“For real? I will have to confirm that when I head to my cabin..” She winced when their eyes ultimately landed on the wall-borne clock. “..which appears to be soon.”
Ruth rearranged the spooled cuffs of her undersuit’s sleeves on his path to the girth of her violin’s case.
“Now, I don’ normally do this, but ya heard th’last call yourself. Would’jya need any help gettin’ this t’yer room?” The offer was punctuated by patting the side of the black strings-box.
They shook her head with gentleness. “I appreciate your service, but could you assist my luggage onto the bell cart in lieu of that? It’s an easier job than helping me take it across the cars, and I am sure your job has requested enough today with all the guests.”
Right. Polla, kind as usual. Not somethin’ I wasn’t missin’, ‘course.
Their fellow was correct; it was easier to assist their miscellaneous baggage onto the nearest bell carts, lined up in the corner. (And with her limited detective work sufficiently bringing him close to weariness, Polla’s claims were quite precise.)
This bit was a breeze. The acquaintances combined their shared efforts of lifting from the bottom of the detailed case to place onto the metal of the cart, previously rolled out by Ruth.
Once everything was surely secured onto the bell cart, Polla took a new hold onto her claimed deliverer of their things.
“Thank you, Ruth. We’ll need to chat more later, I’m due to unpack. But it was pleasing to see you again! One of the things I was looking forward to on my trip.”
“D’aww, really?” Boy, there they went— as found in the normal response of a praised toon, Ruth’s curls flowered with golden squeans. “Yer too kind, really. An’ I understand, I’ve been goin’ through this all day! Go ‘nd unpack, please.”
She slid their thumb across the bottom left rim of her squared glasses. In a charming sort of way they tucked her gloves behind their back and leaned backwards, beaming a smile forward.
“I’ll be certain to have a whim to do that. Following the doctor’s prescription, after all. I must be off, so therefore, good evening.” His parley with her was enjoyably brief, so they waved a hand at them.
Once they’d waved each other into oblivion, she progressed in wheeling the bell cart forward onto the next cars.
Sitting back down, she glumly exhaled out of earshot of his latest guest. Darn. It’s real unfortunate that th’late call came in. For once, I want in on th’piddlin’ for once, but th’passengers gotta hurry up.
That was the second to last arrival on the guest list at immediate hand. A brilliant red check found its post next to the fine print of Polla Vitula.
They put the gnawed tip of her pen to his bottom lip in pensive calculation of the concise names stuck to the entryway desk.
Just one more. Ain’t that loony? The pen shifted from mouth to finger by winding about their fingers as usual. Really gettin’ that none o’ this ain’t settlin’ in yet! It’s.. been..
She flicked his eyes up at the clock.
Been a while, actually. Only a lil’ bit left of unpackin’ hours, an’ I still can’t believe I’m back ‘n th’Luxury Express, the bonafide incident train. Boy, I’m hopin’ that bent nightmare won’t be hauntin’ me tonight.
A worrisome part of them conjured the thought of her backstory-esque nightmare being some sort of vision. He had the right idea to banish that from mind— why be concerned with foolish memories on an investigative leisure trip?
Ugh. Even the thought of the Azure Shapeshifter’s freakishly wide grin of toonish glory was making the detective nauseous. Dwelling on the past was a pastime better saved for their bedtime.
Ruth frivolously drummed her fingers across the desk’s prime quality. Give and take many minutes, and he’d be into the simultaneously new and familiar environments of the other cars on the express.
Ya know, maybe I ain’t too frazzled over there bein’ so lil’ passengers on th’express. Sort of a break f’ me, I could be interviewin’ a hundred people right about now. They ran a thumb over the print-bordered edge of the guest list. I have m’limits.
That wasn’t the only thing that had changed. While the remnants of the past and its passengers had remained stagnant, something about the energy was particularly unparalleled.
Perhaps that was because she was alone now. Both physically and metaphorically, without a boarder to introduce himself to and without another ticket on their tab. The Luxury Incident was, to say the least, catastrophic— a major disturbance as such would be a shockwave against the familiarity of the deluxe train.
Call her an oddball, but he preferred the comfort of being solitary amidst the extroverted nature of their personality.
Even the most social of toons could want their privacy, she supposed.
Speaking of which, the inner monologue all about solitary privacy was rather removed from Ruth’s actual status at hand with the consideration of a human tentatively treading past the express doors.
“Is.. this the Luxury Express, for sure?” They timorously asked, their unsure tone blooming with a clear discontent. “I heard the late call, but.. I— I didn’t want to show up at the wrong express.”
He looked at the stamped sign above the entrance doors displaying The Luxury Express in golden tiles, despite knowing where they were, and nodded. “Ya are, no worries.”
They shuffled in assumed reassurance before fully passing inside.
“Thank you. Goodness, I always have these.. these concerns about reservations..”
“Can understand th’sentiment there! That feelin’ ya ain’t in th’right place can really get’chya, huh?” She beckoned his hand as a fit indication to come to the desk they were behind.
Her compatible riposte had paid off once the (now known to be) last passenger came up to the desk, like the friendliness of agreeing with social disquietude was some sort of lined hook.
Now that Ruth had a safer look at the peeking boarder, he could properly go through the same cycle of knowing who was who through appearance alone.
The human was a handful of inches shorter than most of the other passengers, if they used memory as reference. Their body was fat and elegant, causing a silkiness to the way they nervously stood. Atop their dark-brown head was a cropped plume of thick, indigo kinks, a hairstyle that was not unlike the looser curls of Ruth’s head. Wide, cocoa eyes, lined with shadowy makeup and endless freckles, cautiously surveyed the area around them. One of the most noticeable features of the human’s appearance was the amount of lace they were donning, from their black lace gloves to their phantom parasol to the fountain of midnight frills. They wore compressed heels that rounded at the grazed ends. Their firm nose was short and bumpy in appearance.
They studied the luster of the name plate that was conveniently placed on Ruth’s bureau. “You must be the detective working on the express. There’s a mandate to.. introduce ourselves? Before my arrival, I was sent a letter about there being a security system based on your presence.”
“Yeah, that’s th’.. whole.. preventin’ incidents security system, alright. All it’s made up of is ya goin’ through your name an’ reason fer bein’ on th’Luxury Express.”
“Ah, it’s that easy?” Their shaky behavior was allievated with a profound sigh. “I thank you and your clients for coming up with a system as simple as that.. it takes off the stress of introducing yourself, if I dare to say myself.”
As the human was holding a gothic parasol over the curl of their head, that was their cue to gracefully twirl it about its central shaft.
“My name is Wishy Washing. I use she/her pronouns, and I reserved a cabin at the Luxury Express to.. oh, you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, but to see the sights, that is all. That is the purpose of the express, after all.” Wishy established the two requirements of the train’s security.
“Would’jya believe me if I told ya most o’ th’passengers said they’re goin’ for travel? Yer a bit of a diamond ‘n th’rough!”
She expressed vivid surprise through a raise of her eyebrows. “I am? Joy, then. I hadn’t mentioned I had an ulterior motive, though.”
The detective, befuddled by a statement as such, leaned back in pause with his pen at hand.
“Ulterior motive? Could.. ya elaborate further?” Their focus came downwards to the log, the script of the name and identity upturned by the newfound interest in her peculiar detail.
While Ruth was aware Wishy had similar status to Tulip in terms of wealthy, esteemed families, she couldn’t possibly imagine what her second reason could be past the reasonable logic of sightseeing.
She twiddled with her parasol again, and the lace stitchings spun in the air. “I have a case of what many may name ‘morbid curiosity’.” Now things were making sense— an ulterior motive of interest in death and the bizarre was a proper explanation. “The incident that took place on this train four years ago fascinates me enormously.”
“It sure is an intriguin’ case from an outside perspective, so can I blame ya?”
“Precisely. As respectfully as I can, I want to experience being in a space with history. It’s the sort of enthrall you experience when in a museum built on the very topic it’s about.”
I ‘ppreciate that she’s respectful, he mirthfully thought to themself. Not many historical students would try that.
Wishy pinched the seams of her on-hand valise, one of the many signs that she was also ready to head out to the cabin space.
“And I hadn’t mentioned— I am glad there was such an amiable detective on hand to be assigned to the express’ reopening trip. You’re all too kind, doing me the favor of treating me kindly! Not many individuals would see someone as uneasy as me and handle my behavior politely.” Without a single stop or fault like when she had strayed inside the train, she congratulated the toon.
She became rubescent at the abrupt admiration coming from the passenger at his desk. (The compliment was unexpected, to explain their wonder.) “Woah, thank ya fer that. It.. may be m’job, but I try t’be nice out ‘f kindness, huh?”
“I understand. I, mmh, believe you heard the late call, having placed yourself at the desk the whole admission, so may I excuse myself to go to the cabins? I mustn’t run out of time to unpack.”
Somehow, it had completely slipped her mind of the free hour passengers were allowed for unpacking and settling in before the evening meal, and he flipped the gesture of waving their hands in excusing implore.
“Oh, yeah, yeah! Go ahead an’ unpack, please. Yer excused.” She jerked a thumb towards the exit of the entryway car and the entrance to the lounge car. “We can chat more at dinner, if ya would like that? Th’introductory window doesn’t allow much more than small talk, I reckon.”
The damsel gently closed her parasol by pressing down on its top spring and collapsing its panels.
“That sounds superb. I shall see you later, then.” She waved her lace gloves back over her shoulder through the fluidity of her pleating her shut parasol into her valise’s pocket.
He returned the wave, then sat in dumbfounded silence that they’d finished interviewing all nine passengers.
Wow. Some part ‘f me feels like there’s more, but there ain’t. The detective inattentively scrawled the sign of a check-in next to Wishy’s name. I’m free! That.. sounded desperate, but I sure am free.
Every objective except her own was now out of the way. The next minute was spent sifting through the guest list to prove he’d met each and every one of the passengers that they’d taken the time to mark off, then shutting her precious journal’s cover and clicking its stability button back into hold.
Brushing a stray pencil shaving off the polished surface of the bureau he’d spent the last hour or so at, they pushed her chair in and headed through the doorsill into the next car.
He felt around the inside of their rainbow shirt-vest before she felt the large pocket inside. Once it was located, he continued walking with a pen now clipped inside the colorful fabric.
She was grateful that all of the finely built cabin doors had adjustable nameplates on them. When he arrived at the numerous cars meant for the personal cabins themselves, they recalled this incredibly helpful detail placed in by the engineers.
This came off as a good opportunity to take one last look at the station before the Luxury Express left its post. A dark backdrop of bronzed metals and cement structures against golden lamps came back at the cartoonish reflection of her peering face.
Someone tall approached behind him. “Ruth? Have you finished the interviews?”
Ah, it was Ki, judging from the slight accent. She swiveled around, away from the glare of the window, and nodded.
“I have. Just, uh, headin’ back t’my cabin now! Have ya unpacked ‘n everythin’?” He mirrored her starter for a conversation.
“Yes, I have. I’m strolling around now. Not much to do when you’re finished unpacking, methinks, so heed that well.”
“Thanks fer th’tip, Ki. Ya have fun now.”
They turned away across the red carpet of the narrow cabin hallway, and she heard it slide her cabin door shut. It was social, so he was in no place to deter a quick parley.
Ruth stepped past a few empty cabins, another sign of scarce reception to the reopening, and reminisced on the naïve delight of four years ago. They’d made small talk like that for ages, emerging early into the unpacking hours.
But things were different now, far different— and she wouldn’t be caught complaining. Even if he was walking through the quiet corridor, the muted sound of their turquoise boots audible, with no one but herself, it was a better experience than fearing what approached with the Azure Shapeshifter’s talk of intended disaster.
He whistled without direction, and inky music notes popped up through the wave of their curls. She was permitted to arrive with the attendants, so he had little to no unpacking to finish up with before the evening events.
Calmly, they unlocked her sleeper cabin’s door and stepped inside. He picked up on the improvement in the lock system built into the doors (possibly to eliminate a criminal easily breaking into the private cabins?).
Their sleeping space was, as she preferred, tidy and well-kempt. The desk was wiped down and organized with his pens and papers, their bag was hung up on the miniature coat rack steeled in the corner, and her slippers were set next to the rim of the mattress.
“Hello, sweet room.” He said to themself through the shutting of her door and the removal of his fedora. A look in the mirror warranted a light smile that bore their prominent buck teeth. “And hello, someone who’s gon’ enjoy their trip.”
She laughed to himself, amused by the encouragement they’d lended to herself through the immersive reflection in the mirror.
Hm.
Now that he was getting a look at themself in the mirror, it became clear she’d barely slipped from his attire and appearance from four years ago, past the effect of age on a twenty-four year old toon like them. That facet alone was eye-opening.
Ruth was tall— six feet, four inches to get into the exact measurements— and managed to fill the mirror’s full height with her svelte bearing. He had pecan skin that covered their cheeks from ear to ear in spotty, black freckles, and lashed pie-eyes that were rung with the shortened black lines of someone well-meaning but worrisome. Under the (currently absent) placement of a rosy fedora with white stripes was a cascade of semi-tight curls, all mint colored in darkening hues as the hair went to the shoulder blades. Her forehead was partially concealed by combed, straightened bangs. Ruth’s continued outfit was more peculiar than his bright hairstyle when compared, as they wore a collared jumpsuit matching in color and pattern to her fedora. Over their jumpsuit was some cross between a suit, shirt, and vest (she barely knew himself) that was patterned in a rainbow of red to violet, starting from broad shoulders to matched waist. The lapels of the oversuit were pinned together by an indigo staple shaped like a lollipop. Their boots explained themselves— while not military boots like the title called for, they were short and matching her curls’ hues in an opaque manner.
If the factor of aging was subtracted, he was a spitting image of the young Ruth Daisy Dextrose on this train four years ago. A thing like that was riveting, in their opinion.
All she was hoping for now as he filed through their suitcase until she found the hairbrush was that, despite the marvel of appearing to be frozen in time, history wouldn’t repeat itself, so to speak.
He had few concerns— the few passengers they’d boarded with were trustworthy.
There was no such thing as impending disaster, right?
…right?
“Don’t jinx yourself!” She gasped at the mirror, the first response he had to the creeping fear that even a vacation-like business trip like this one could have its faults.
They were going to have a comfortable time on the Luxury Express, free of azure catastrophe. The only thing she had to fear was anything bad occurring at dinner, and an evening meal that marked the departure of the express could be nothing but marvy.
Crime or not, the detective was on the case.