the world is quiet here

“I’m trying not to, but my mind isn’t exactly cooperative. my imagination tends to get the best of me.” He fanned out the cards as answer to the other’s question. “Do you play anything?”

ernest could not decided whether or not he had lost his appetite just in time for dinner. either way, to have some food be at last served came off as a breath of fresh air. he figured they could all do with some nourishment in their systems ---- no, maybe not that, but rather, some wine in their bloodstream. it sounded soothing enough as it was. 

   amidst the clinking of the china and the cutlery, ernest leaned over to the brunette, an intrigued expression playing on his features.

   “----do you think they’ll finally let us go back to our cabins after this?”

“MY INSTINCTS tell me i better stay a man of mystery,”

“..but i’ll be completely transparent here, ernest, i believe i enjoy your company all too much to keep up any facade.” did he have some place to be? no, not at all. unless he planned on hanging out in the engine room, dinner sounded fantastic for an evening’s plans, and it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice in the matter, anyway. right then, he’s got a belly full of content conversation, but a steak didn’t sound all too bad. “ah, i can’t even remember the last time i was served food  — ‘sides the occasional roadside diner. i mean the fancy stuff. sometimes when we uh, had work on the actual railroad, we got whatever was left over in the meal cars at the end of the weekend. we called it lucky sundays.”  jack takes it upon himself to shimmy back on his coat, which had been removed earlier in the afternoon (what? murder gives him the sweats.) “..ironically all that was ever left was the banana splits. kids never finish their dessert, no matter how excited they are about it prior.” he says it like he has direct experience; a flickered image in his mind, ma’s apple pie. 

“so, uh, yes. you’ll be seeing me. cheeks full like a hamster on thanksgiving day.” a pause, expectant. “save me a seat?”

while he offered but a small smile, the word ‘mystery’ now left a bitter aftertaste. not that he’d let jack know. it no longer produced a sweet sound, not since the prospect of a group of strangers being trapped with a murderer had become a reality. their reality. 

    but his doubt and uncertainty faded away, quivering before going out like the weak flame of a candle. it seemed almost surreal -- his company enjoyed without his need to be the provider of something ever being relevant. it was rare, far too much it felt distant, unlikely. it felt like the shakiness of the car would wake him up any moment, or that he’d jolt awake at sewell’s knock on his door calling him to breakfast. “would you be offended if i said i am enjoying your company just as much, jack?” the last thing he wanted was to be distastefully blunt. “you’re the right kind of person to be trapped in a dining car with.”

   “oh, me neither,” ernest chuckled, shaking his head. “doesn’t sound like the tastiest meal.” it soon dawned on him that every time jack spoke, he’d become flooded by a tide of familiarity and nostalgia. oh, how he wished with all his might they could’ve seen each other sooner. had it been so, perhaps ernest wouldn’t think back so sourly to his time at the railroad. “lucky sundays,” he repeated, as if savouring the words. “didn’t you grow tired of so much banana split?”

  finally, his grin widened as he nodded. it was like promise made during one’s youth, one loaded with unparalleled importance. the image painted by jack made him chuckle yet again. “goes without saying. you’ll even get one by the window -- after all, it’s the one with the best view.” 

Her arms were crossed over her chest, her back pressed to the wall of the car; it had been commotion, commotion, commotion until they were all packed into the dining car. The jump from sudden, intense movement to having to do nothing but sit, or stand, or pace, around until they were freed, was not one Vika liked. She moved that was her thing; she hated rigidity and this was rigid. 

She longed for the movement again, for chatter that wasn’t related to what had happened – though, the likelihood of that happening soon was very slim; it was a murder in their very train, after all – and she could already see herself re-discovering the corners of the train she had when she had first boarded.

So, when she heard the voice, the person approaching her, she couldn’t help the relieved “oh, thank god,” that slipped out of her mouth. Perhaps inappropriate, Vika readjusted herself, pulling away from the wall and looking to him, her head dipped to the side slightly. She recognised her own inability to stay here any longer within him. It made her smile.

“You read my mind, kind sir,” she told him, lifting a hand to wag her finger in the air ever so slightly. “We’re on a moving vehicle and yet, being still is a common problem.”

Vika shook her head, hair falling around to frame her face. “A drink would be splendid right now.”

he would be lying if he didn’t agree that remaining so confined and motionless despite being in a vehicle that moved at an average speed of 60 miles per hour. they rushed past trees and valleys and mountains like threads of lightning piercing the sky and yet his limbs were riddled with that pins and needles sensation. 

   ernest had never truly minded small spaces that much. however, the uncertainty of what would follow, the idea of the imminent interrogation, as well as the speed at which the far-fetched belief that they would be forced to remain here crept up on him ---- it all eventually became a lot. too much. more than enough to make him want to push windows open or fill his legs with restlenessness. he so desperately wanted to be allwoed back to his cabins, to get some well-deserved rest after all the raucous. 

   however, he would be pleased with whatever source of distraction he could get his hands on. thinking back to past dates and old parties made him feel as if he escaped the suffocating dining car. “perfect,” ernest smiled at the brunette at last. he walked toward the bar,  standing behind the counter and eyeing what was available for him to work with. he pictured his parents -- his father, especially -- being particularly disapproving of him getting his hands on anything containing even the most remote, minuscule traces of alcohol. why it was he was thinking of him in times like this, he attributed it to the paradoxical exhaustion of being still for too long. and in the end, t was understandable that any of passengers would be looking for something to take their minds off the entire ordeal.

   “so, what’ll you be having?” 

charlotte watched him masterfully shuffle through the records. she never had so much grace in doing anything, not even something as mundane as browsing records. as he perused the titles, charlotte desperately tried to recognize something, to no avail. all the names meant nothing to her, unfamiliar titles of songs she could never have known. she began to feel flustered. she knew there was a whole other side of life she didn’t indulge in, but for it to be vast, she never could have imagined. 

“oh,” charlotte said, jumping at name that she recognized. “i know this one!” she took the record in her own fingers when it dawned on her what exactly this record was. jingle bells and winter wonderland, the front said. “but, er, i suppose the rest of the passengers wouldn’t enjoy christmas music at the moment,” she murmured, placing the record back with embarrassment. 

charlotte knew she was the wrong one to be tasked with selecting music. “perhaps we could simply…pick one and hope for the best?”

the man smiled at her selection. he didn’t mind allowing for some room for discrepancies between the current season and the music of choice. however, it was recognized that it would be somewhat of an odd selection that not all passengers would be fond of. something in him found itself feeling ever so sad, as if he recognized the other’s gesture of concealing in bashfulness as one of his own. 

    “i think you are quite right there. let’s see...” once more, he shifted throuhg the selection, swiftly fishing for a record and extracting the disc before placing it where it belonged, and subsequently adjusting the device altogether. right after the familiar crinkling drowned out, some instrumental piece of jazz flowed out and colored the air of the car. 

   “what do you think? i guess there’s no going wrong with some mellow jazz, is there?” 

She looked at the book cover, considering the question. She supposed it wasn’t surprising that anyone might be considering existential things at a time like this, though that didn’t make it less irritating to be trapped in such conversation when there were certainly far better concerns. She was perfectly capable of tamping down on that feeling to give a genuine response, “In honesty, I’m just glad I won’t be here to see it.” 

With the state of things, she couldn’t imagine they were headed in a good direction. If it weren’t for the promise of good pay, she might have been on a boat toward America instead of returning to her home country. She felt a turn in her stomach to think of what might happen should politics proceed as they were. 

She realized she’d let herself be silent too long, lost in her thoughts, and she shook her head. “But maybe I just read too much science fiction.” 

All he could offer was a nod, as if he were expressing agreement. he thought it incorrect to invalidate her opinion. there were the ‘glass half-full’ and ‘glass half-empty’ kind of perspectives, and while the presence of this disctinction became clear before him right then and there, ernest didn’t think any less of her for it. 

   “maybe that’s good,” he commented. he’d browsed through enough works to recognize unsupervised pursuits of knowledge and foresight for what they were: dangerous. “i don’t think reading too much is a bad thing. or if such thing as ‘too much’ exists.” what kind of world would this be if it adhered solely to the familiar, to the repetitive and mundane? no, they needed fantasy to fly, to dream, to hope. “unless it’s before bedtime. stories have ways to seep into the mind at night. maybe it’s just me, but sometimes i find myself having the weirdest dreams.” 

   “well----” ernest sighed, smiling politely at the other ---- “i won’t take up more of your time and let you get on with your reading. i just hope they let us go back to our cabins sometime soon.”

   “see you at dinner--” he asked before walking away from her, looking back over his shoulder with an expression of hopeful expectation-- “i suppose?”

HE’S PLEASANTLY SURPRISED by their choice of wording. “gregarious.” a smile plays at the corner of his mouth with it, what a wonderful word. he thinks about it for a short while, just another small thing to find wonderment in, and figures yeah, okay. i’m gregarious.

“i’ll have to reuse that one, if you don’t mind. how professional would that look on my verbal resume?” jack’s face is already lit up with the idea. “well hello, my good sir. what are my STRONGEST qualities, you ask? why, i’m quite gregarious. in fact, i’ve been told so on multiple occasions.” a finger lifts, wags along with his point quite theatrically, “..many, which have taken place on fine and extravagant train rides where my fellow passengers have brilliant accents.” 

periodically through their conversation, jack feels like a bubble being prodded at relentlessly with a long, sharp stick. so sharp, in fact, that it would be perfectly capable of injuring a man with such fervor that yes, he’d end up dead, crimson in the back and all. that’s the bow atop this present of his; how long can he keep himself distracted? well, if you asked him, he might say as long as it takes. a blunt laugh, “well, i do count myself lucky. these hands have seen many things, but never staples. still, i can’t rule it out  —  that’s just asking for bad luck.” he was prone to superstitions, after all. his smile is quite unmatched and a bit strange paired with such a subject, like a children’s teacher trying to explain the concept of death.

then came an introduction, well timed and glorious to jack. even when it felt like he couldn’t do anything, he could meet new people. oddly, he looks at this man like he’s proud of him for introducing himself. ernest ernest ernest, “..and what a pleasure it is to meet you, ernest. ernest, the man on the train,” he mused like it was the title to a movie or the name of a classic jazz group, like he was writing it down in a book of contacts. he’s meeting their hand gleefully, and smiling tighter at the contact. “jack. jackson mayfield.”

yet again, ernest laughed. he wondered when it’d last been he had enjoyed someone’s company as profoundly as he currently did. he didn’t get to speak much while at work. he’d taken to listening to whichever crumbs visitors left for him to gather. now, he was doing similarly, simply gesturing as he let the other speak. however, something felt different, something WAS different. he questioned whether it was a cruel thing to think of enjoyment in the present time ( what was that common expression? dancing on someone’s grave? ) but he was quick to appease his paranoia. he doubted the mysterious, late charles sheridan would ever mind. 

      “i don’t mind in the slightest. just let me know how it goes, and whether or not it does the trick,” a smile lingered. was this man always so lively? he could surely be the center of attention at any party. 

    “oh well, then let’s not jinx it,” ernest commented, words laced with an indistinct shade of worry. he was not the superstitious kind ( truly, he’d mostly ceased being a devotee altogether some time ago ) but he did not want to bring misfortune upon a potential believer. if anything, he felt ever so guilty for even posing the possibility. “they’ve carried you this far without much issue. might as well keep it that way, right?” the other reminded him of his own father, or one of his brothers ---- hardworking and appreciative to no avail. 

    ernest, the man on the train. ernest smiled as though he had just been knighted, or crowned king of some far away land named after something frivolous. his own smile widened in gratuity, the other’s kind gestures but displays of acknowledgement he could’ve only ever dreamed of. “jackson mayfield ---- sounds like the name of an inventor you’d meet at one of those world fairs, or the protagonist of a film noir movie. in my eyes, this makes you the man on the train. jack, the man on the orient express. ” jack from the railroads; jack, the gregarious; jack, the man on the train.

  “will i be seeing more of you, jack? maybe at dinner later tonight?” if the staff decided to carry on with the ride itinerary after all, that was.

“Dinner with a killer, sounds like a dime novel doesn’t it?” He sits there, barely looking up, nervously thumbing through a pack of playing cards. 

FOR JACK, THEIR CHUCKLE (albeit brief like a vehicle in passing) lifted some of the weight in the air, looming over the train car like a hand on everyone’s shoulders; came as a small blessing. jack leans back some, and gets to thinking. “..i’ve always liked being in groups rather than hustling on my own. i think that’s why i liked workin’ the railroad so much  — all the ruckus, all the busybodies. hard to feel like you’re alone in a place like that.” 

but he digresses, “so, you know, for somethin’ like this, i can only think, hey, at least we’re all in this together.” and a warm smile follows in suit, a little tight against his somewhat tired features. “that’s why i couldn’t pass up this trip. what’s better than moving like a little traveling neighborhood? that’s the future right there. totally communal.” but just how communal is mystery?

jack barks out a nice, wholehearted laugh at their comment; perhaps far too loud considering the size of the space they resided in. “yeah, yeah. that’s oklahoma for you. interesting injuries from not very interesting folk. it’s like a black and white circus with indifferent farmers instead of clowns. wonderful vacation spot for anyone seeking a thrill.” a moment goes by, and he he nods at the source of their accent, eyes brightening with the newfound information. he sits up and leans in, “gosh, can’t say i’ve ever been. think i came close once  —  almost followed a brunette to someplace called oxford.” he speaks it like it’s foreign on his tongue, “..oh man, i was crazy about her at the time.” a brief pause in remembrance, “..turns out her ma and pa didn’t like the idea of her being cheek to cheek with a factory chump from america. how’s that for a heartbreak?” jack inhales, comes down from his story and just looks at his company for a small moment. jack likes this guy; he seems modest enough, conversationally understanding. “i just wanna capture your voice in a box, take it back home and amaze people with it. you sound like a great movie star, y’know.”

ernest nodded along, letting the other weave a tapestry with their words. he didn’t remain quiet out of indifference, but curiosity. it was a personal preference, as well as a habit, to have him interject second. the man had remained still until now, eyes briefly narrowed at the other. but then the world RAILROAD came up, like the chiming of a bell or the sound of a metal spoon scratching the porcelain suface of a cup of tea a bit too harshly. up until now he had felt isolated from everyone else. perhaps he liked the isolation, or perhaps he detested it but like many things in his life he had enticed himself to enjoy it. the skin on his hands was rough, scarred by having foolishly touched or held hot iron rods during his own time amidst piles of coal and railroad tracks. something inside him wanted to interrupt, to explored a shared backstory point like the ordinary kind would. 

   but instead, he remained silent, nodding and gesturing as form of reacting to the other’s story. 

the brunet laughed a soft, short-lived chuckled. ALL IN THIS TOGETHER. it sounded like something he -- they -- would’ve been told, the salt of the sweat on the temple. but soon the thought turned scary. if they were all together, were any of them truly safe? his mind blurted out. but the thought died down, sunk to the depths by other thoughts less flustered than it. 

  “so you’re the gregarious kind. the type that likes company... and the type they tailor these trips to” ernest conceded. he saw the value in the other’s reasoning. men were no islands, but train coaches were nations. it clicked. all of them, bound together by an identity the way people were connected to each other through nationality -- they were, at the end of the day, all PASSENGERS. 

  “what an amusing way to advertise it. though, i fear some people might find it too wild for their taste, seeing as people have a tendency to get injured as often as you say. might be a good vacation, but at what cost?” he joked, nonchalantly. “must’ve been quite nice ---- the girl, not oxford. can’t say i’ve ever been, though.” it was funny to think that he knew countries other than his own the best. “hey, at least you didn’t staple your own hand to a fence.”

   LIKE A GREAT MOVIE STAR. he found himself chuckling, shaking his head as a sign of modesty. the kid within him found it overly flattering. “a movie star?” ernest smiled, somewhat in disbelief. “that’s too kind. i could say the same thing. hearing you makes me feel like i’m in a scene of ‘passion flower’.” 

   “i don’t think i caught your name. i’m ernest --” he smiled, reaching out a hand for a shake.

She knew that asking Ernest to leave her be wouldn’t be proper or right, but the temptation was very strong regardless. Given the circumstances, the less attention she brought to herself, the better off she might be. She wasn’t forging eternal bonds - simply getting through a train ride. This reminder helped her to maintain composure, shrugging at his question. 

“I suppose I just think it’s a bit vain to assume to know what our world will look like hundreds of years from now,” she remarked as she looked down at the book, offering it up to him to see the cover. “It seems Mr. Wells here thinks he has those answers, though.” 

his brows raised in intrigue, a concoction of interest and amusement brewing behind his eyes. ernest always enjoyed hearing what others had to say, from accurate anecdotes from their own personal drawer to novel synopsis and opinions on books or films. it made him feel as though he could see the world through someone else’s eyes, as rooted to his workplace he was. 

  ernest nodded along. “h.g wells? oh, must be the same man who wrote ‘the time machine’. might be a habit of his delving into the future. ”, he commented. “ well, what do you think our world will look like hundreds of years from now?”

charlotte was sitting toward the end of the dining car, silently staring down at a passage in her bible. in all honesty, she wasn’t so much reading it as she was using it as an excuse not to look up at the other passengers. she was acutely aware that her presence unnerved some passengers, the way she spoke under her breath and sat stoically, not upset in the slightest. charlotte was calm, knowing that the person who committed this heinous act would pay retribution for their sins. it was all a part of a bigger plan. charlotte had immense faith in this plan, and it gave her comfort in times such as this.

she glanced up at the other at the question. music? charlotte did not listen to music, with the exception of hymns, but she supposed music was a source of soothing for others. “i’m doing perfectly fine without,” charlotte responded candidly. “however, it may be a help to the others. perhaps there is something…neutral in the collection? i rather think a happy song would be inappropriate, but a sad song would only emphasize the situation.”

his fingers browsed through the records the same way they browsed through pictures, dusty files, money notes. it felt almost strange, not to be wearing a pair of gloves after so long. perhaps it was foolish to focus on such insignificant a sensation, but he couldn’t help it. maybe it was the weight of time and the heat to the tense air, all creeping up on him to slow everything down and finally making him notice the small things he so rarely paid mind to. 

   he’d taken some time to eye the car and its passengers, gaze trailing along features like he were strolling around a museum hall full of portraits demanding to be admired. he noticed the glow to their jewelry and cufflinks, the elegance to their robes and garments. ernest felt so unlike them. but he guessed it did not make much difference now. unbeknownst to him, they were all equal; unbeknownst to him, they were all liars and actors in their own way.

   the man nodded at her initial comment, briefly regretting even posing the suggestion. she had very valid points. now, his music knowledge and judgement were limited, so he simply took a couple of them and approached her. 

  “ do any of these look... appropriate? ”

“NEVER SAID it was directly similar. just in the same..” vein? “..category.” weirdly, he doesn’t want to defend himself any further. IT DIDN’T MAKE MUCH SENSE  —  even an optimist could spot that much from a mile off and then some. his slice of observation didn’t quite land ideally, “i’m.. sorry. jus’ trying t’make sense of all this, is all. i’m no professional, but i can’t help myself.” he might have his mother to thank; he was always so desperate to make her feel better about anything and everything. a loose, half smile blooms, “..to be truthful, i couldn’t tell you a stab wound from a bad paper cut.”

a moment passes, and jack shifts in his seat a bit. “..say, where’re you from, if you don’t mind my asking? that’s quite an accent there.”

the smallest of chuckles escaped him, the comparison briefly comical once placed under scrutiny. it lacked sense and it lacked reason, but then again, so did all of this. ernest shook his head, sending the other an understanding smile. he needn’t direct rudeness toward where it was not deserved. “aren’t we all?” the man offered, though not in a harsh, criticizing manner but rather a somewhat supportive one. “that’s good. means you haven’t seen more than you should’ve. but then, it doesn’t sound like your hometown was the quietest of places if you had people stapling their hands all the time,” he commented, lightheartedly. 

   however, something then caused him to shift in his seat. he straightened his spine, briefly and incredibly subtly looking around to make sure their conversation didn’t transcend them. “nottingham, in the east midlands. nothing like london. what about you?”

When? Day one, part one

Who? w/ Ernest Bishop (@thebvtler​)

Clarissa Hayes was not the sort of person to contend with lunacy of this kind. Granted, she wasn’t sure who was the right type for it to happen to, but she was absolutely sure that all of it – all of this waiting around! – was beneath her.

As she looked around at all the nervous, bored faces in the dining car, she clapped her eyes on an unassuming figure. Among the first-class refinement, this man stood out.

She wandered over to him at a slow, loping pace and gave him a tap on the shoulder. “Excuse me. You wouldn’t know who I might be able to speak to, in order to get out of this ghastly car, would you? Some other drab creature who might know what is going on, or when we might be able to go back to our cabins in peace?”

As strange as it may have seemed, a part of ernest kept forgetting why it was that they were there. it was as if every half hour or so, his recollections and awareness were wiped clean, the slate cleared, and he would fall victim to the false illusion that it was yet another ordinary evening. however, it always came back to him that there was only a cart’s distance between them and a corpse.

  ( part of him dreaded thinking about this. he wondered what it would’ve been like to enjoy a trouble-free trip, and allow himself to indulge in the shallow luxuries the upper class so often did without having to worry about this grave and dark of an occurrence. )

  thankfully, he wasn’t left alone with his thoughts. he perked up, gaze intertwining with the brunette’s as he offered the subtlest of smiles. of course he’d grown used to making himself available at every request. 

“ oh, i’m... i’m afraid i don’t know for certain, ” ernest replied, somewhat sorry his help was limited, “ but my best guess would be the doctor. ” after all, it was her who would oversee the due process involving the deceased’s body. “ though it seems to me she’s quite busy at the moment, doesn’t it? is there any way i could be of service? ” they did have access to the bar, kitchen and their refreshments, after all. 

She settled into the seat without a second’s hesitation, a pleased smile gracing her lips; a rare, genuine one. While the spot was perfect for reading, it was also secluded enough that she could keep tabs on the room. After all – someone here was a murderer. 

She looked up at Ernest when he continued to speak, unfortunately unsurprised. She knew she ran the risk of a conversation by approaching him. She pasted on her best smile. “It’s called ‘The Shape of Things to Come’. I picked it up on a whim. It’s a bit… far-fetched.” 

his eyes diverted from meeting josey’s, tracing over the book outline from where he stood. he found it admirable how she could so effortlessly deflect her attention from the murder and read. read -- such a simple delight, an innocent enough thing to do. one read on sunday mornings, over a plate of oatmeal and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. one read while waiting for the tram, as they shielded themselves from the rain. one read late at night, right before drifting to sleep. rarely did one read on a train where a man has just been recently murdered and where one’s head made them imagine the air smelled more strongly of copper with each passing minute.

   “ far-fetched? ” ernest chuckled. he enjoyed josey’s company, especially now when circumstances appeared dire. “ how so? ”

OPEN

“WHAT IF IT was actually some freak accident?” was there ever a wrong time to try and look on the brightest side possible? probably. he’s kind of combating logic here, but it might be worth it for the possibility of defusing some tension (or rather swapping it for a different kind).

“..i hear stories like that all the time in the paper. some, uh.. some guy in my hometown actually stapled his own hand to this wooden fence he was workin’ on by mistake, and was out there for nearly a whole night before someone came to the rescue. almost lost a limb i’m sure   — could you imagine?”

At first, all ernest could do at the other’s theory was frown. the words echoed inside his head ---- a freak accident? people didn’t accidentally stab themselves twice in the back. while he understood everyone got by via different coping mechanisms, he couldn’t find there to be rhyme or reason in the other’s logic. 

   “ no, i-i guess i can’t. must’ve been in an awful lot of pain, ‘m sure, ” the butler commented, his expression indicative of his consternation. “ but how is stapling you hand similar to ---- ” getting stabbed? getting murdered? why did he worry about speaking ill of the dead? ernest swallowed -- “ dying? ”

the man had been quiet so far ( a murder, so close to them all. he’d only read about crimes like these in newspapers ). he’d stayed seated down for so long the cushioned surface against his skin would become adjunct to his frame were he to remain there any longer. a brief sigh left him as he stood up. 

   “ pardon my instrusion -- ” ernest asked the other -- “ but would you care for a drink? i’m afraid i can’t stay still much longer. ” more on that, he feared he would go insane if he weren’t to make good use of his time (  in this case, dedicating it to making himself useful as usual ).