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The plan was simple. Board the Astral Express, “convince” a Nameless to help him impersonate one of their ranks, get into the Penacony Dreamscape, and put a bullet in the head of that darn imposter.
According to the intel from the Memokeeper, there were six people on board. He watched them from afar as they left the train.
One, two, three, four…
Well slap his ash and call him Sally! Two remained. Good forking enough!
That is of course assuming they truly were the Nameless. Now Boothill ain’t heard of any other space trains, much less any coming to this corner of the cosmos, but with one imposter having the gall to pretend she’s a Galaxy Ranger to get into the Dreamscape, someone pretending to be a Nameless to do the very same thing wasn’t that far out of a thought.
After all, he was about to pull such a scheme himself.
And one could never be too careful with these things. Those who didn’t stay alert didn’t make it far in his line of business.
It was surprisingly easy to break into the Express, he practically waltzed in through the front door! Or rather he dropped in through an emergency hatch in the ceiling, but who was there to forking correct him?
No one, apparently.
The inside was pretty fancy, he’d give the owners that, with big windows and fine fabrics on the furniture, but no one in sight to guard it.
Did that darn Memokeeper lie to him? He knew he shouldn’t have trusted that creepy- nope, he shouldn’t think that. She was probably listening in.
Still, the carriage was empty…
With one hand over his pistol and ready to draw, he stalked through the carriage towards the door on the other side.
…and something caught his eye.
On one of the curved couches lay a discarded book left open by whomever was reading it, and right next to it slept a coiled-up lizard-thing, kind of a snake if it had legs and some fur. Probably a pet of some sort. Were the owners irresponsible enough to leave the little critter alone while they went off to Penacony? Or maybe its caretaker was still on board…
He approached the strange creature, inspected the vibrant teal scales and soft-looking fur running down its spine.
Fork, it was adorable.
“Hey there little fella, now ain’t ya cute as a button- and I do mean cute not cute- ah fork it, y’can’t understand what I’m sayin’ anyway y’little cutie pie now can ya?” He said, reaching out with a finger to pet it. Even if he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to give it a scritch by the mane.
The lizard’s eyes snapped open at the touch.
And its jaws snapped shut on his finger.
Or at least tried to. Small lizard teeth weren’t exactly made for piercing metal.
He yanked his hand back and the darn critter had the forking nerve to hiss at him.
“Feisty, ain'tcha?” Boothill laughed “That ain’t gonna work, little fella. Can’t exactly bite through metal with them tiny t- AH YOU LITTLE SHIRTBAG-”
The lizard lunged at him and tried sinking its teeth into his very-much-still-fleshy face.
He managed to pull it away from where its fangs barely managed to graze his cheek, holding the squirming creature up at arm’s length with both hands.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya’ y’little muddlefudger! Stop throwin’ a darn hissy fit!” he was, fruitlessly, trying to reason with the lizard.
Without a warning the weight in his hands shifted.
Thankfully a good Galaxy Ranger’s reflexes were fast enough to react, because suddenly instead of a handful of lizard he was holding a whole forking person.
“What in the forkin’-”
—
“-heck is this???” the stranger holding him off the ground asked.
This was just great.
Usually someone had to stay behind to help Pom-Pom take care of affairs on the Express during longer expeditions, and Dan Heng volunteered. Mr. Yang allowed him to stay, understanding the reasoning behind his decision. After everything that happened on the Luofu, he wasn’t exactly in the right mindset for a proper Trailblazing expedition, even if it was just an invitation to a festival.
Penacony wasn't the type of place he'd enjoy either. Too loud, too bright, too crowded… He didn't exactly do well in these conditions. Usually the issue of noise could be avoided by him just turning down or completely removing his hearing aids in the worst case scenario, however he didn't know how their use would translate into the environment of the dreamscape. Considering how big of an event the Charmony Festival was, it was likely all the overstimulating factors would be even more intense.
Simply put, Trailblazing might be all about gathering new knowledge and experiences, but the last time he went into an amusement park all the lights, crowds, smells and noises made him feel miserable and nearly drove him to have a panic attack. And the Planet of Festivities’s Dreamscape is one big inescapable amusement park.
So for those reasons he stayed behind.
Besides, it’s not as if he was shirking his responsibilities. Someone had to help Pom-Pom, and so Dan Heng spent a better part of the day assisting the conductor in the standard docking procedures. It was mostly maintenance and powering down half the systems into standby mode since there were only the two of them on board and the train would be stationary for a while.
Sitting down in the parlour car after a long day of his on-board duties with a book and a cup of tea was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
It was nice, quiet, and peaceful, even if he did miss the presence of his companions. The parlour car’s windows presented quite the sight outside. The Reverie loomed over the train on one side, impossibly large and shining like a gilded beacon of decadence and luxury. In the distance Dan Heng could see rings of buildings surrounding the hotel, blurred by the shimmering ripples of lingering Memoria that permeated the space around Penacony.
He didn’t mind the bit of solitude, and it’s not as if he was completely alone. He had Pom-Pom for company, with the train’s conductor checking in on him periodically and insisting they don’t need any more help today.
“All that’s left is some cleaning in the locomotive, passenger Dan Heng. Pom-Pom can take care of that! The locomotive is off-limits to passengers.” they said when he tried to convince them it would be no issue for him to help out with anything that still needed doing.
It was best not to argue with Pom-Pom…
The atmosphere of the parlour car had a tendency to make people sleepy when there was no one else around, something about the soft lights and pleasant temperature mixed with the quiet to create the perfect napping conditions.
Even Dan Heng, who generally disliked sleeping in open spaces such as these, was not immune.
So he just shut his eyes for a moment.
The moment became several moments, which in turn became a nap.
Apparently a good enough nap for him to have shifted into his draconic form mid-sleep.
He had the whole voluntary transformation thing down pretty well, having nearly full control over his draconic form’s appearance, but sometimes his subconscious mind would just… turn him into a dragon while he was asleep. The feeling of being coiled up probably made that part of his brain feel safe, even if the dragon’s small size left him vulnerable.
Such as now, when some weird cyborg cowboy (???) broke into the Express.
Dan Heng’s body acted on its own, suddenly chomping down on the man’s metal finger, before lunging to bite the man’s face. He only really became fully aware of what was happening once the cowboy was holding him in outstretched arms.
He hoped to break free of the hold by returning to his human appearance.
To his frustration and embarrassment, that didn’t work. The cowboy was still holding him, Dan Heng’s feet dangling a few inches off the ground.
Fuck. His legs were curled up a bit, but even fully extended he probably wouldn’t reach the floor. He knew he wasn’t the tallest person around, and this guy was definitely larger than an average human, but this was ridiculous.
He couldn’t exactly try to pry himself from the man’s hold, as his hands were underneath Dan Heng’s armpits and thus somehow majorly restricted his movement. Kicking him would be useless, as a glance at a hole in the side of his pants (???) revealed the man’s legs were metal, just like his torso.
“...Put me down.” he said, staring the cyborg dead into his crosshair-shaped eye.
The cowboy just blinked at him, clearly still in shock over witnessing a dragon turn into a human in his grasp.
“Now ain’t that a fudgin’ sight? How’d you do it, pretty boy?” The cowboy asked, looking almost starstruck.
Dan Heng desperately tried to ignore the burning flush at the tips of his ears upon hearing that deep voice call him pretty boy while said voice’s owner was still holding him off the ground. Now was not the time to learn new things about himself!
“I-it’s none of your business!” He stuttered and fuck he was doing an absolutely abysmal job as a guard right now, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The cyborg just chuckled in response, sharp teeth on full display. “You’re still pretty darn adorable like this-”
Dan Heng finally managed to swing his legs enough to kick the man holding him hostage. It didn’t do anything in terms of harming him, but at least allowed the Nameless to push himself out of the cyborg’s grasp and land on his feet.
“I will ask again. Who are you, and why are you here?” He tried to keep his voice firm and level despite the previous blunder as he gathered Cloudhymn at his fingertips, ready to summon his spear at a moment’s notice.
The intruder just chuckled. “No need to get hissy ‘bout this, little fella-”
“Please leave passenger Dan Heng alone, Intruder!” Dan Heng could see the conductor’s form at the edge of his vision “Pom-Pom is certain we come to an agreement on whatever your problem is!”
The cowboy briefly looked at Pom-Pom. “Well fork me, another critter!”
He then pulled out a gun and pointed it straight at Dan Heng.
Well shit. Better not provoke this psychopath further. He didn’t want to end up with his brains splattered on the parlour car’s windows, or worse, the others returning to a sight like this.
“Not another step, cutie pie, or my finger might just slip.” He said before turning to face Dan Heng again. “Now, pardner, it’ll be in your best interest to cooperate. It’d make things whole heck of a lot easier for the two of us.”
“I-I already told you! We can talk things out!” Pom-Pom tried to ease the tension.
“I'm sorry, fluffy.” The cowboy chuckled, “I really have something urgent to attend to, so I had no choice but to resort to asking this favour of you all.”
Favour? And there goes any hope for this resolving even remotely normally… Dan Heng thought to himself.
He could already tell this was going to be a long one and resigned himself to whatever fate brings next.
—
Boothill seemed to be under the impression that they were friends now.
They’ve only known each other for two system hours, and so far he has held Dan Heng at gunpoint, convinced him to help him commit identity fraud, and harassed multiple people while calling himself a Nameless. Dan Heng genuinely considered either burying himself from embarrassment or just dunking water on the man and short-circuiting him when he “used his street smarts” to “stand up for his rights”.
Although, if Dan Heng was being honest, he was arguably one of the better incredibly violent and chaotic weirdos he knew. He definitely made for better company than Blade.
He was loud and left Dan Heng feeling more exasperated than whenever he has to drag Caelus away from trash cans, but he made for an interesting conversation partner, especially since Dan Heng was forced to actually talk to the man.
They were waiting around for that Memokeeper informant of his, sitting by the bar in the VIP lounge (Dan Heng still can’t believe that brazen approach worked, he felt so bad for the lobby manager Boothill pressured like some entitled tourist). Dan Heng wasn’t exactly a hard liquor person, and considering his companions might be in danger, he declined Boothill’s offer of single malt juice.
“Your loss, pardner.” He said, dropping a bullet into the glass when it was brought out.
Yeah. Sure. He’d just stick to his weird, vaguely fruity non-alcoholic cocktail. He took a sip through the straw and tried not to grimace once the liquid hit his tongue. Is this what counted as “refreshing” around these parts? It was way too sweet and syrupy.
It’s not as if he could afford to get drunk in these circumstances either way. He couldn’t get in contact with the rest of the crew and there might be an Emanator of Nihility in the Dreamscape with them-
“Hey, breathe, little fella. Your friends are gonna be alright once we get in.” Boothill’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He sounded almost gentle.
“...I’m fine.” Dan Heng grumbled, taking another sip of that overly-sweet concoction the bartender suggested.
“You look more nervous than a nice lady in a confessional.” he said, putting down his glass.
Dan Heng gave him a confused blink. “...Why would a nice woman be nervous…?”
And Boothill just let out an amused chuckle in response.
“Oh that’s a good one- Why would a nice lady- Ah fork, the darn Synaesthesia Beacon. Y’know what I meant, right? Nice lady. Friendly fella. FUDGE. Darn piece of shirt, that one wasn’t even a bad word- ”
Did he mean whore?
“Something’s wrong with your Synaesthesia Beacon? Is that why you have such a… strange way of saying things?” Dan Heng asked bluntly.
“Wrong doesn’t cover half of it. Some corporate ash-vole IPC clock-strucker rewired the darn thing and now whenever I say anything that doesn’t meet their broadcastin’ standards or some other bullshirt…” the cowboy sighed “...y’heard it yourself. All just a bunch of forks and cuties.”
“...That’s messed up…” Dan Heng stated before immediately asking “...wait a second, when you called me cute earlier-”
“I did mean cute. Like cute cute, cute-as-a-button, adorable lil’ cutie pie.” And as if to emphasise what he was saying he pinched Dan Heng’s cheek.
The Nameless just swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Alright, no touchin’.” Boothill raised his hands in mock surrender. “But you’re a forkin’ adorable lil’ lizard. I know the Xianzhou has them dragon folk…uh, what was the name again? Video… Vidyuh…”
“Vidyadhara.”
“Yeah! That. You’re one of ‘em, right? Didn’t think y’all could actually turn into dragons, much less that dragons are this tiny.”
Dan Heng let out a deep, exasperated sigh.
“...Yes, I am ‘one of them’. It’s not a common ability among our people, and no, I won’t do it on command.” He simply answered, choosing not to address the tiny part, before immediately redirecting. “So your Synaesthesia Beacon just censors all profanities as they’re spoken?”
“Ain’t’cha a curious one, pardner. But fine, it’s only fair if I answer a question or two. It just happens as I speak and there’s not a muddlefudgin’ thing I can do ‘bout it. It works for any language, I learned one from a guy from the Slavia system once and it ends up as curry. Or it fudgin’ gives up sometimes and just says fork.” Boothill explained.
“...huh. I wonder if it’s an intent thing…” Dan Heng muttered, his interest piqued. It was then he remembered a question that’s been on his mind for a long while…
“Can you say Christ?” he asked the cowboy.
He could have sworn the man made a sound similar to a buffering printer.
“Huh, rice?” He asked, before trying to pronounce it again. “Crust. Rice… Ah fork this, is it a Xianzhou word? I just told you it doesn’t fudgin’ work for other languages!”
“So it is a swear…” Dan Heng mused to himself. “Apologies. It’s a word from Mr. Yang’s homeworld, as far as we know, but we never knew if it was a profanity or not. Although it is interesting how it caught up on that despite you not knowing the context…”
He absentmindedly took another sip of his drink, immediately regretting his decision the moment the overwhelming sweetness filled his mouth. There must have been a visible reaction on his face, because Boothill let out a hearty laugh.
“That bad, huh? Should have taken the malt juice, little fella.” He teased, and Dan Heng barely suppressed a groan. “Speaking of malt juice… Still no Asdana White Oak. Darn it, where’s that fudgin’ Memokeeper?”
“...what should we do?” Dan Heng asked, uneasiness rising in his guts.
“It’s still early. We can do with waiting another system hour…” Boothill looked around, scanning the room for something, before looking back at Dan Heng. “And don’t worry about your friends. Nothin’ seems to have happened yet, and stressin’ out ain’t gonna do anyone any good.”
He raised his hand, almost as if to ruffle Dan Heng’s hair as he spoke, but then retracted it after a pause.
That felt… oddly reassuring.
All they could do was wait, so wait they did, occasionally talking until the message from the Memokeeper finally arrived.
Was this how friendships worked? Was Dan Heng’s first closest-to-a-friend-thing outside of the Express a fucking cyborg cowboy fugitive?
Only time would tell.
And unfortunately for Dan Heng, the answer to the latter was yes.