Chapter Text
My editor tells me the number one question he gets in- besides whether or not Ellie is real and not merely an invention of mine for the sake of good storytelling- is when and where and how I met Ellie and Sheska, and how we came to be traveling companions.
To the first, as the confusion seems to be rooted in some folks’ difficulty in locating any of Ellie’s maps; as I’m sure at least some of you must have noticed, Ellie is an intensely private gentleman.
Ellington is his name; it isn’t the name he signs to his professional work, but out of respect for him not only as my employer but as perhaps my dearest friend, I’m not inclined to discuss the subject further. You will just have to settle for my word he and Sheska are every bit as real as you or I am, and every bit as ridiculous as I have reported. I’m no Faeri, but frankly neither am I clever enough to make half this nonsense up.
But as to the second:
I first met Ellie and Sheska coming home from Brazzi. Some of you have guessed- correctly- I’m Cassian; my father was a native of the Hahawe territories, but his mother was from south Brazzi, and before she died she’d asked if I would take her ashes home to her family. They weren’t close, but… well. Cassia’s come a long way in the last century, but employment prospects for Halflings still aren’t what they are for most anyone else. I think it was her way of making sure I had the chance to travel.
It was the start of autumn, 11871. The Overland Railway had just been completed the year previously, and Cassian passenger cars were finally starting to catch up to the rest of the world in the matters of accessibility and comfort. First class was a luxury beyond my means, but I had savings enough for middle and was hoping only having to share a sleeper with only one or two other people would afford me a little privacy to better organize my notes- I was working on an article for the Bossun Herald; a friend of a friend of mine had recommended me for a salaried position and they’d asked for a collection of Brazzi folklore as a sort of sample of my work.
We were booked to share the same sleeper car; a model I had been assured numerous times I would find most comfortable- but with such honest enthusiasm it was hard to take offense- I think I might have been the connecting line’s first Centaur. (Still I was surprised at the layout, it was an incredibly clever use of the limited space. There were still the two bunks you lowered from the ceiling by means of a small hand crank, but instead of two bench seats across from each other taking up the width of the car there were only two armchairs- specially crafted of course, and bolted securely to the floor- the rest was left open; with the far wall hosting a fold-away bench installed a few inches lower to make it easier for me to use.)
I double checked my ticket. “This is second class isn’t it?”
But the porter was already gone, disappeared back into the poorly lit chaos of the train’s corridors to help someone else.
But the young lady in one of the seats snapped her book closed with a smile like the sun. “It’s brilliant isn’t it! The design means they can actually fit more people in the car, for the shorter trips, more than making up what they lose accommodating the occasional Centaur passenger needing an overnight ticket. I read Forder and Wells were furious- all that rot about how expensive the retrofits were going to be and how few Centauro actually take trains- as if anyone would pay to have their bones rattled all day and all night when they can be paid to pull a coach only a little slower- and then Union Atlantic does it for pence to the pound-“
“Sheska-“
My attention snagged on the gentleman accompanying her- he was Elven, wearing a full three piece suit of that understated quality and style really only the obscenely wealthy tend to favor- gold rimmed sun-spectacles rimmed in what was probably actual gold. The girls dress was just as finely made, I realized, her petticoat embroidered with the same pattern as his waistcoat.
“This is second class?” I repeated, feeling every inch the fool I’m sure I sounded.
She waved me off. “Ellie doesn’t believe in private carriages- he’s not the best company on long trips and I’m the absolute devil when I get bored.”
“Apologies in advance.” He said wryly. He didn’t look up from his book, but moved his feet to give me a little more room to shuffle by. The girl had already wound her skirts up to throw her legs over the arm of her chair and was bouncing one shoe with shameless excitement.
I gave up on making any sense of the whole situation in favor of finally being able to unload my bags and shuffled by, unlatching the bench and discovering to my delight it was padded, and upholstered, just the same as it would have been for majority seating.
“I’m Sheska,” She said, having the courtesy to let me get settled- but I suspected only barely. “This is my brother Ellie- yes yes get your gawking done with- can I borrow your hat for a selfie?”
I couldn’t help it, I’m afraid I did gape a little.
Now, I’m told as of writing this I have described Sheska as beautiful no less that one hundred and thirty-four times (and been offered the use of a thesaurus twenty-two- you’re not the only one who can count you snoutband stop reading over my shoulder) but I’m not sure I’ve ever actually described her, or Ellie. It isn’t that people struggle to believe they’re related because he’s Elven and she’s a Halfling, love strikes where it will after all, it’s that everything about them specifically is as different as different comes. Where she’s dark, hair blacker even then mine with the whole of the night sky freckling her face and arms, Ellie is (or he was at the time) almost impossibly blond. And not just their appearance, everything about his manner cautious, measured- intent against effect- he’s a creature of precision; Sheska was, is, and I dearly hope always will be the most ungraceful mess you will ever have the good fortune to meet.
“Corbin,” I said, and leaned across to set my hat atop the pricked hopeful ears poking out of her hair. “And yes, if we can take one making faces, too.”
She made the most terrible noise in delight, and I saw something like the shyest of ghosts pull at the edge of her brother’s mouth.