User blog:Alva the Cliff Jumper/The Crimson Hour Chapter 3: All Aboard!

Ah! It's good to be back with another chapter! I'm sad to say there wasn't a lot of buzz around Chp 2 (Tbf though it was rather long) so I hope it was just a timing thing. But, in regards to this chapter and the next few, they are more or less character focused and not too heavy on plot. A new character that will be with Alex and Amy will be introduced here and it is a slow buildup to the meeting of the Crown (Chp 7) and inevitably the dangerous trip to Belton.

This is 17 pages, I don't have the word count right now though sadly. As for when this came out, it was orignally made on Jaunary 25th 2018, but then recieved edits since then to bring it to the point it is currently at now.

Without further adiue: Enjoy!

Chapter 3: All Aboard!
'''Graywall station, one of the pride and joys of the city-state. It shared many qualities with the city itself; tireless in its function, hard-working by all rights, a distinctly diverse community, and capitalism tied directly to its core like blood in a person's veins. The station had been built by the Frederick Organization as a reward to Graywall for keeping the company's best interests at heart during the Great War. It continued to stand as a reminder of the fact, having both the highest class equipment readily available and the best workers the Chantry was able to find. '''

'''The station truly was impressive in all rights, but its true magnificence only revealed itself once one was inside. The tiled floor was checkerboard in design, while large columns were erected out of the floor with posters, news, and propaganda posted all over them for any passersby to see. Cubicles were stationed around as well, selling food, drink, newspapers, and knick-knacks that held no true monetary value outside of the station. Religion was strong in the station as well with Iscariot Tellers—’wise’ men that wished to preach the word of the Father to anyone and everyone they came across, willing or not—teetering on their boxes, words tempered in the fire of judgment. Surrounding the raving self-titled ‘priests’ were any list of faces from around the Central Dominances. Most of all though were the trains waiting to take off, signs holders standing around with the time listed to leave for each. '''

'''There were people of skin fair as snow, dark as the midnight sky, and any sort of hue in between. Hair and eye color varied as much as skin color did. Regardless, the people of Saint Victoria watched on and moved around the station, no difference in their stride, and no true difference in their eyes, the limitless mirror pools of the soul. They had more important matters to consider than that of the differences between fellow humans.'''

'''Precariously coming down the stairs—two steps at a time—the Hound Captain Alexander surveyed the station with a skeptical look, searching for the familiar face he was set to find, coming back with zero results so far. Behind the Captain was his pair of companions, Chauncey adjusting the straps to his master’s executioner sword and his own coach gun respectively, while Amy waited around with her suitcase casually thrown over her shoulder, smoldering cigarette set between her teeth and recently purchased hatchet tied onto her belt.'''

'''“Who is this big momentous occasion for again?” Amy asked through the white rod, adjusting her grip on the case handle. “Because at this rate the train will leave without us, and we’ll all be in deep shit.”'''

'''“Oh hold yer horses, lass,” Alexander snorted, making a gesture to Chauncey to check the time, who gave him his pocket watch immediately. “It is. . .11:36. The train will be leavin’ at 12, so we have some time to play with. Not much, but Quill should be around here— Shite. . .”'''

'''“And I didn't even have to do anything,” Amy grinned smugly, sticking her tongue out at her father, who was dressed in his old stitched up gray trench coat, paired with a black undershirt and top hat. “What do you say to that, old man?” '''

'''“I'm not that old,” Alexander muttered, snapping the timepiece closed and handing it back to his servant. “Anyway, I'll wave you down when I find Mr. Relham. What did I tell you, Amy?” '''

'''“Call him by his last name and mister, act polite and not like a cunt, get more sleep next time and a better breakfast when I was scared half to death by a bigger cunt than you, and to stop using the word ‘cunt’ so much,” Amy recited rhythmically, jokingly attempting to snap with the beat she had just made up, which was hard to do with the suitcase of course. '''

'''“And the Lord’s forsaken curse,” Alexander chimed in, wagging a finger as he stared down the stairs to find their entourage. '''

'''“Goddammit! I forgot to say Goddammit!” Amy called after him, her father’s wagging index finger soon switching to the middle one. '''

'''“I didn't hear that,” Alexander replied, soon merging with the crowd and leaving Amy and Chauncey to themselves, who stood around awkwardly without an idea of what kind of conversation they could start. '''

'''“S-so. . .” Chauncey mumbled, scratching the back of his neck carefully as to not disturb the weapons on his back. “A-a lot of excitement this morning, e-eh?” The poor man attempted, clearly lost. '''

'''“A real barrel of laughs,” Amy scowled, wishing to blot out the classic face of the Black Eyes from her mind before the image set in. “Got my door kicked in, barely got any sleep, had a stressful evening last night, and now— great. I'm acting like a child again,” Amy chided herself, shaking her head while adjusting the bowler cap she chose to wear so her eyepatch wasn't so evident to any random stranger they happened upon. She knew the consequences of recognition could be deadly. “Well, at least there were some good things. Got a new toy to play around with,” Amy lowered her case and twirled her hatchet, loving the weight provided, ideal for one-handed use and proficiency. “Get to see Mr. Relham again, and I get to prove myself for once. Doesn't outweigh the bad, but it sure does do a lot of good to try and make up for recent events.” '''

'''“What. . .is your r-relationship with Mr. Relham? I-I-In a professional sense, of course,” Chauncey shifted, knowing the previous conversation was bled dry. “I've heard. . .little about Mr. Relham, but since Master Shaw is not present, it would b-be best to ask you, I thought.” '''

'''“Mr. Relham has been my father's best friend for years,” Amy noted, tossing the axe into the air and catching it again by the handle with impressive skill. “I've been friends with his daughters ever since I came into my father's care.”'''

'''“W-what are their names, if you don't mind m-me asking?” Chauncey asked, failing to notice a distracted look come over Amy in response to something behind him until it was far too late. '''

'''“Anna and Mercié,” a kind voice answered jokingly with a playful hand clapping Chauncey on the back, making the carriage man turn rigid and spin away, backing up against the guardrail so such an action wouldn't happen twice. The man responsible raised his hands in surprise, standing at 6’1”, wearing a dirty brown fighter’s jacket, work pants, a dark green fisherman's cap, a baby blue scarf, and—oddly enough—a surgeon's mask. Thrown over the man’s shoulder was a black leather case, a long axe head sticking out of the top, while in hand the man carried his personal belongings in a large case.'''

'''Quill adjusted his hat, chuckling a little. “Sorry about that,” the man apologized, tipping his hat. “Wanted to take the chance and had a proper opening, so I took the chance and here we are,” Quill explained, spreading his arms in a shrug. “Seems to me that I didn't leave the best impression. Sorry about that again.” '''

'''“N-no need,” Chauncey adjusted his hat minutely, glancing to Amy several times for help. “I'm. . .just an easy s-soul to startle, s-s-o no harm done.” '''

'''Quill nodded, but nevertheless brought out a strong hand for the timid carriage man to shake. “Name’s Quill Relham, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. . .?”'''

'''“C-Chauncey Pine, sir,” Chauncey meekly took the hand, giving no feedback when Quill did all the work with the shake and returned it to his pocket, looking up to Amy thereafter. '''

'''“And look who’s here as well!” Quill distinctly smiled under his mask as Amy’s patience finally broke and rushed over, embracing the man in a hug. “The little Black Lily herself! And just when I thought the tides would never turn, a favorable wind finally blows my way!” '''

'''“Bloody ‘ell, mate,” Alexander grumbled as he appeared behind the man, fiddling with the rim of his top hat. “You and your nature metaphors as just as bad as—” '''

'''“You and your religious rants?” Quill quipped, making Amy snicker when they disengaged. '''

'''“Holy Hells above,” Alexander rolled his eyes with a long, drawn-out sigh. “First my daughter, now my cunt of a best friend. What's next? Chauncey startin’ up the ol’ pyre as well to set up a heavy blaze?” The Captain scratched his chin, shaking his head at the idea. “Rather die by the smokey entrails than the initial heat, if you ask me. . .”'''

“Shame that no set one up—” Amy began, looking to Quill expectantly with a big fat smile.

'''“Because it would be a riot if we had!” Quill did not disappoint, high-fiving Amy while Alexander groaned and rubbed the bridge if his nose, the conniptions already setting in. '''

'''“Bloody ‘ell, what did I get myself into?” Alexander inquired, more to himself than anyone else. “That wasn't even funny.”'''

'''“Family bonding time?” Quill threw an arm around Alexander with a smug look on his eyes, Amy matching it with her smile as she threw her arm around her father as well, who scowled to the heavens for mercy and proper atonement. '''

'''“That's right,” Alexander muttered to light sky showing through the plate glass ceiling. “I'm in Hell. These two idiots can't possibly exist in a half-decent world. Nay! Even in an insane one, these two. . .these two. . .”'''

“Friends?” Quill asked.

“Tormentors?” Amy added.

“Cretins should not exist!” Alexander finalized, throwing both of their arms off him and storming down the stairs, the duo laughing all the way, Chauncey following without an opinion or a word.

'''“How has Graywall been treating you, my dear?” Quill asked, walking in stride with Amy. “All of this pollution does hell on the lungs, but knowing you, that’s only a motivator, eh?” '''

'''“I guess you could say that,” Amy chuckled, keeping a careful eye on the crowds as well, just in case someone unsavory recognized her. “Graywall is a decent city, all things considered. Have clean water going through our pipes, have electricity unlike most city-states, and the air isn’t terrible. . .Unless you’re living in the Fourth Quarter, of course. Smells like a rat’s arse, down in there. Trust me when I tell ya: you never forget the stink of that place.”'''

'''“Better or worse than the cow patches?” Quill asked, trying to find a reasonable comparison. '''

'''“Oh no, far worse,” Amy snorted with a clearly disgusted look. “I can’t describe it. . .let’s just say ‘worse than my father’—”'''

'''“Who can hear you!” Alexander called out from the front in response. '''

'''“—and leave it at that.” Amy finished, eye narrowing at the back of her father’s head with a peeved look, sizing up how far of a throw that would be for the hatchet to land. '''

'''“Fair enough,” Quill shrugged, scanning the crowd. “Have to say though. . .quite the number of people here. You don’t see this number in Avion unless some big event is in full swing. . .Makes you truly realize how small you are in the grand scheme of things. . .” Quill trailed off, giving one more look over the grandiose station. “But that’s just me speculating and whatnot.”'''

'''“That reminds me,” Amy said, trying to simultaneously salvage the conversation and ignore the comment Quill had accidentally made. “How’s Avion been?”'''

'''Quill sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s been a mess. Storm’s been blowing in from the South, causing hell on the landscape, tearing up trees and whatnot and destroying homes with no remorse. I’ve been taking part in the reconstruction movement for the counties, renting out my mill to the local parties to get ready lumber out to needing families. Honest labor, tough work. It all works out in the end.” '''

'''“As for Anna and Mercie, how are they doing?” Amy continued. '''

'''“Been. . .fine, I’d guess you’d say,” Quill admitted, not too keen on talking about it, or so it appeared. “Missing you, I’d wager, and have been having a hard time keeping up with homeschool since the whole county is on high alert due to the storm, so that’s also been a major misdemeanor.”'''

'''“I w-wish the storm passes over you -w-well then, sir,” Chauncey said out of the blue, making Quill turn back in surprise. '''

“You’re a quiet fellow, aren’t you?” Quill noted, raising his brows.

'''Chauncey struggled with his words, per usual. “I. . .eh. . .guess you could s-say that, sir. I'm just one would prefers to listen, and w-would rather. . .not speak than d-do the opposite.”'''

'''“Yea, I understand,” Quill nodded, giving Chauncey a sympathetic look. “But you can't just let people crush you down, my friend. I know Alex isn't the kindest of people, and that's often true, but if you let him get to you, or others at that matter, then you're not going to be able to ever raise your voice, and will be pushed to the side like a compliant pup in a cage.” '''

'''Chauncey shrugged, indifferent to the warning. “Doesn't matter m-much to me, sir. I'm just a servant, so it's not like my voice would ever reach the higher echelons of the Church. Bless the Black Eyes—”'''

'''“Unless you're me,” Amy grunted, taking a puff from her cigarette. '''

'''“—and all they do, but they would n-not be too receptive of me. . .” Chauncey concluded, placing his hands in his pockets quietly. “In the Lord's eyes, all men are equal besides his seconds, born and raised to lead his people to fruition—”'''

'''“Real bloody mess they made though,” Amy snarled, taking another drag to calm her down. “Breaking down my door and trampling on civil liberties. . .Hope their whole ‘inner circle’ go plays roulette until none of ‘em are left,” the girl continued to mutter, going a few paces past Quill, who had suddenly stopped, and not for the rhetoric being spouted by the nearby Teller.'''

'''“Amy, what are you talking about?” The man asked, spinning her around with a concerned look written all over. “Did someone hurt you, and when?”'''

'''“Black Eye Calprice, and this morning,” Amy said indifferently. “Doesn't matter much, though. The Black Eyes are nigh untouchable, and I bet the rest of ‘em don't even care that he broke down a minor’s door—who was changing, at that—and began to spout off at her about his distastes in her livelihood and such.” '''

“Did you report this to anyone?” Quill continued to question, shifting back into his old profession with each probing inquiry.

'''“No, how could I?” Amy chuckled mirthlessly, removing her cigarette and blowing out some smoke to the side. “This is a Black Eye. No one in their right mind will report them nowadays. My chance to do that was up as soon as the Children of the Church was founded and began to blow shit up. Now as soon as I say a thing, I'll be called a revolutionary.”'''

'''“But still,” Quill argued. “This isn't something you should just leave to the wayside, because it’ll just encourage more transgressions like this in the future. It's a negative mentality built over time, so I have to pursue you to seek someone. I know I'm not a constable anymore, but you need to talk to somebody about this,” the man continued to encourage, shaking Amy a little to keep her attention focused on him. “Was your father there?” '''

'''“Yeah, he was,” Amy nodded, brushing a little wetness out of her eye. “Couldn't do much though, with his power stance in this case, and his religious values as well. Damn the Church at times, I say—” '''

'''“Who said that?” A voice called out, making Amy wince. She rarely regretted speaking out so openly, even more so about the Church, but this time all she could do was bite her lip and slowly turn to the widening crowd, accusatory eyes of the attentive Teller scanning for the one who spoke. '''

'''“Don't lie to me! I know someone just said something quite unsavory about our Father,” the Teller preached, hopping off their box with a snort while adjusting their jacket. While looking like any other pedestrian, Tellers—like the one searching through the crowd—tended to wear face wraps in a similar fashion to the Black Eyes, but without the markings on their face cloth, or the expensive gear either. “Making snide remarks from the safety of the crowd? Pathetic! If you wish to criticize the Church, then please,” the Teller gestured to the center of their circle with an indiscriminate hand. “Do so on common ground. I fully invite you to do so.” '''

'''“And be fed to the wolves?” Amy muttered under her breath. “That sounds like a great idea. Let me go slit my wrist first, then let’s get on with that. Oh wait. . .”'''

'''“C’mon now!” The Teller spread their arms, walking back and forth. “Debate your ideas, pit them against mine. I have all the time in the world, and like the wrath of the Lord,” the self-proclaimed preacher flipped open their  Testimony, scanning through for the proper line with the marked page they would quote. “ ‘it shall remain unwavering until satisfied, via the blood of its agitator, or by the love and humanity of His own!’”'''

'''“So you’re saying you’re on par with the Lord?” Amy yelled out, not being able to help herself. '''

'''“Amy!” Alexander hissed, coming to his daughter’s shoulder with gritted teeth. “What the ‘ell are you doing?”'''

'''“Seems I’m getting into a philosophy debate,” Amy sighed when the Teller spun on their heel to face her, snapping their Testimony shut. '''

'''Strutting forward, the Teller looked Amy down, their look unreadable behind their glasses and bandana. “You’re the one who spoke up?”'''

'''“Aye,” Amy sighed, adjusting her bowler hat yet again so certain features were not as prevalent to the Teller, though no doubt they had already noted certain details by now. Surprisingly intelligent buggers they were, though their rhetoric and haggling tended to hide this fact. “I put in a word, though nothing more.” '''

'''“What distastes do you have with our Father above, and his servants below?” The Teller questioned, raising their hands for the first segment, then lowering them for the latter portion, being a little too expressive for Amy’s tastes. '''

'''“If you don’t do whatever you did just now again, I’ll explain,” Amy sighed, still feeling her father’s prickly gaze on the back of her neck. '''

'''“Amy, we do not have time fer this!” Alexander snarled through grit teeth, glancing back up to the Teller passively, no set opinion as of yet. “And I most certainly do not wish to waste this man’s time with useless chatter.” '''

'''“No need, it will be fast,” The Teller passed the Captain off as a mere citizen, clearly not identifying who the man was as he sized Amy up again. “Now, as I asked: What, pray tell, are your qualms with the Church?” '''

'''Amy sighed, disgruntled. “I feel they abuse their privileges and ranks to silence and punish the innocent indiscriminately. Is that enough of a statement for you—”'''

'''“And what do you know? Who are you to say such things?” One member in the crowd accused, pointing at her. '''

'''“Proof! You can claim what you want, but proof is the answer.” Another one yelled. '''

'''“Quiet down, quiet down!” The Teller declared to the angry people around them, simmering down with a few gestures of his hand. “This is a civil discussion! I don't want anyone chasing off the poor girl now. Just wouldn't be right.” '''

'''Amy threw her suitcase over her shoulder again, chewing on the butt of her cigarette, which was almost at the end of its short life. “Weren't you going to ‘enlighten’ me with your perspective, sir? Or has that gone to the wayside already?”'''

'''“Of course not!” The Teller scoffed, turning back to his opponent. “You brought up an interesting inquiry, I give you that. But, as my incorrigible congregation pointed out so enthusiastically, where is your proof of such discord in the inner sanctum of our Lord?” '''

'''“I'm living proof of it!” Amy declared, gesturing to her eye and stump. “One of ‘em even took off my arm and burnt my eye!” '''

'''“But with good reason, no?” The Teller asked. '''

'''Amy fumed. “What do you mean ‘with good reason’? To a child? Are you sick?” '''

'''The Teller held up a hand to stop her. “Please, do not mix up my words. I merely wished to give you a reality check,” the man mused, beginning to walk around the girl, one hand behind his back, the other flipping through his Testimony. “As you see here, as it directly says in the Father’s Testimony: ‘If one hath sinned in the crime of thievery, then take from them the hand, or arm, that steals’.”'''

'''“Are you saying I'm a thief?” Amy accused, growling. '''

'''“No,” the Teller put simply. “But that is the record, given right here. I ask you, and please be honest: When you were young, were you an urchin, ever in your life?” '''

“Yes, but—”

'''“Then that is your answer,” the man shut his book, amused by Amy’s growing frustration. '''

'''“But. . .to cut off a child's arm,” Amy seethed, shaking her head. “How does one justify that?” '''

'''The Teller shrugged. “I cannot speak for the Black Eye in question, but there is no law against accusing a child—”'''

'''“Even if they didn't know better?” Amy spat. '''

'''“Yes, even if they don't know better,” the Teller responded indifferently. “I am not the one who writes these accords. I am merely a chosen vessel to speak such words to those around—”'''

'''“Yet you called me out on this, and better laws need to be taken up!” Amy pointed out. “I see no reason to hurt a child, no matter the crime!” '''

'''“Why must these laws change? They are for the benefit of the many, not the few,” the man simply stated in turn.'''

'''“They are old accords that hold little sway in the current system!” Amy declared, throwing her hand wildly into the air. “The world is no longer being tied down by superstitions. Do you know what we do when there is darkness around, and we fear something is creeping in our hallway, beyond the glow of our rushlight?” '''

'''“What?” The Teller asked, placing a hand on their hip, intrigued by the newfound principle. '''

'''“Take a Goddamn gun and shoot it,” Amy solidified, making the crowd gasp at the infernal word, which oddly enough had no sway on the Teller. '''

'''“True. . .” the Teller strained, for but just a moment. “But is it not best to hold old ideals true in the modern day?” '''

'''“Not if they're bad cultural ideals,” Amy fired back, the two continuing to argue while the three waiting men watched. '''

'''Chauncey checked his pocket watch. “W-we really do not have the time for t-this. Should I tell the station attendant to hold for us for a tad l-longer?” '''

“Yes, go do that, Chauncey,” Quill instructed, nodding.

'''“Bloody Hell,” Alexander muttered, watching the debate continue. Starting forward to break it up, Alexander found Quill’s hand stopping him, making the sour Captain raise an eyebrow. “Why are you tryin’ to do, stop me? From savin’ my daughter no less?” The Hound snarled, slapping his friend’s hand away. '''

'''“If you punch that man in the middle of the station,” Quill soothed. “Then you’re going to be the one responsible for the offense, and I don’t want you being an idiot and getting yourself arrested when the situation could be mended with a few simple words. Do you understand me, Alexander?” '''

“Screw—” 

'''“Do you understand me?” Quill solidified, furrowing his brow when he looked his friend right in the eyes. Stormy gray met earthy brown, and the former set softened a little.'''

'''Alexander sighed, looking up to Amy one last time, then turning away. “Just. . . go ahead and do whatever you’re goin’ to do fast before I get half the mind to sock ‘im in the face.”'''

'''“I won’t be long,” Quill promised before walking into the center of the debate, both Amy and the Teller looking over to him in surprise as he adjusted the strap to his long axe and glanced between the two, turning to the Teller after a few moments of consideration. '''

'''“Who are you?” The Teller asked, playing with their copy of the Testimony all the while. “Another non-believer, presented before us to right thee?” '''

'''“No,” Quill responded, bringing out a hand for the Teller to shake, who surprisingly did. “Quill Relham, exchange constable from Avion. I noticed there was a disturbance here, and wanted to see what had the people all riled up.” '''

“No, I wouldn’t say riled up, sir—”

'''“Were you or were you not forming a religious mob here?” Quill continued to ask, taking out a small notebook and a pen. “What’s your name again?” '''

“I’m merely speaking the word of God—”

'''“That’s soliciting,” Quill pointed out, twirling his pen. “There are places you can preach, and while no one has thrown you out of here yet, I warn you that in a few weeks time, the Children will have more bruisers here than constables, and you won't have a friendly reminder to take off with them. Do you get what I mean, Mr. . .?” '''

'''The Teller muttered a curse. “May I finish my rounds for the day—”'''

'''“And continue to scam people out of their money to shut you up?” Quill raised an eyebrow. “You most certainly cannot, Mr. Didn’tcatchyourname. How about we fix that, shall we?” Quill brought his hand out again, smiling under his mask. “Hi, I’m Third Star Officer Relham of the Constables, serving under Captain Faultier himself. You are?” '''

'''The Teller made no response, instead twisting on his heel, sliding his Testimony into his pocket, and booking it back over to his box. There, he collected the material he had on it and took off, Quill watching him go.'''

'''“W-what?” Amy asked after a few moments of just blinking, just like the crowd, you finally dispersed, growling and snarling in their direction as they went. “What did you do? How’d you know he was in trouble?”'''

'''“I didn’t,”  Quill admitted, placing his notebook back into his pocket. “It’s just soliciting is technically a misdemeanor in public spaces. Most officers don’t bother with it though, since it’s a casual offense in a time where everyone is still mostly loyal to the Church,” the man explained as they walked back over to Alexander, who was waiting patiently against one of the news columns, looking through a newspaper he had recently purchased. “But I had a hunch that as soon as I mentioned the Children, he would have taken flight. Tellers aren’t protected by the Churches’ rules surrounding their priests and judges. They’re just hire-ons that like to expel shit at people and see how long it takes for people to get sick of ‘em and pay ‘em off to shut up. An effective strategy, really.”'''

“How much does it take to shut you up, mate?” Alexander asked, lowering his tabloid with a snort.

'''“More than that newspaper, I can tell ya,” Quill joked, hitting Alexander in the side. “Anyway, saved your daughter for you, so I expect a ‘thank you’ in the near future—”'''

'''“I slightly wish for you to die less now. Happy?” Alexander grunted as he dragged Amy into a brief hug, patting her on the back. “As fer you lass. . .please stop throwin’ yerself into every altercation you can? Please?” '''

'''“What?” Amy smirked. “I like a challenge.”'''

'''“Oh Lord above,” Alexander slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, shaking his head. “When did I raise a younger version of Bloody Merry in the comfort of my own home?” '''

'''“Oh come on,” Amy snarked, punching him in a similar way to what Quill did as they began to approach their train. “I’m not that bad.”'''

'''“Fair enough,” Alexander rolled his eyes. “Fear the thought that you were anythin’ like the Bloody Queen of Harlots. Bloody dictators, n’ all.”'''

'''“You seem to be very anti-Parishite,” Quill noted, stating the obvious. '''

'''“Of course I am!” Alexander complained, beginning to rave. “They destroyed the West, stormed our lands, captured Belton and murdered its people while trying to blow it up to kingdom come, are murderers, commit genocide, practically rape our ecosystem, and all in the name of that goddamn harlot and her ideology of ‘zero fascism in the world’!”'''

'''“To be fair, the Churches’ hands aren’t exactly clean either,” Quill mumbled as they began up the stairs into the train, steam hissing around them. “We’ve done our fair share of things we regret.”'''

'''“Aye. . .” Alexander muttered as he gave their tickets absentmindedly to the ticket master before continuing down the path wordlessly. The segment of the train they were in was upper class, with special cubicles for each party, numbering up to six at most with overhead baggage, pillows provided, places to put garments and other items away on the coat rack, and tending to have ashtrays as well to dump their cigarettes’ resources, which Amy did gladly to a passing tray she found. '''

'''“What was our number again?” The young Shaw asked, counting the numbers indifferently. '''

“25,” Alexander snorted, stopping for a moment and taking a step back when he found theirs, which was closed.

'''“Did we get a key?” Quill asked, looking back to see a line was forming, waiting for them to progress. '''

'''“No. . .” Alexander muttered, sorting through his pockets to make certain he had not received one while he was drifting off into his own memories. '''

'''“Well, here’s your answer,” Amy said as she banged on the door with her suitcase, the sounds of scurrying and surprise coming from the other side. A few moments later, the door was opened slightly, a pair of tinted glasses looking through. '''

'''“H-hello,” Chauncey greeted. “I d-didn’t know when you would come back, so—”'''

'''“Just open the door already,” Alexander snorted, grabbing the wood with the space provided and slamming the door into the wall, making Chauncey yelp as he slid back from the door, hands raised. '''

“M-m-my apologies—”

'''“Just shut up already,” Alexander sighed as he sat down on the opposite side of the small room, arms crossed. “I don’t need yer damn voice ringin’ in my head right now. I’m quite content the way I am.”'''

'''“Can I take your paper while you rest?” Quill asked when he sat down next to Chauncey, Amy sitting next to her father quietly, setting her suitcase above them while Quill stored his axe in the same spot where Chauncey has stashed his employer's weapons. '''

'''“Go ahead,” the Captain mumbled, staring out the window passively as he handed it over. “Just a bunch of shite though. Another foundry burned down, Belton in disarray, more threats from the Parish and the arise of a new threat from their ranks as well. None of it is in our favor. . .”'''

'''“Children activity has been on quite the rise, eh?” Quill noted. '''

'''“Y-yes,” Chauncey spoke up. “R-riots and arson. A pair actually broke into our shop yesterday. . .”'''

'''“Yea, I heard that much from Alex,” the ex-constable muttered, scanning through the articles about the foundry fire and the continued dissent of Belton. “To think all of this could turn into shit in a few years. . .Makes you worry about the future. . .So I apologize if I go into a rant about it, because I know you already get enough of that from my friend here.” '''

'''“Oh screw off, I'm tryin’ ta sleep,” Alexander complained, eyes closed and head pressed against the glass. '''

'''“Oh, be quiet,” Quill mocked, winking to Amy. “The baby has to sleep. Don't say a word, or heaven forbid,” Quill began to kick the Captain in the knees, waking the man up once more in a foul mood, who proceeded to beat at Quill’s legs until the Constable was finally pushed back.'''

'''“Bastard,” Alexander croaked, adjusting his attire as the train began to start up, lights beginning to flicker and wheels beginning to screech. “Well, finally—”'''

'''“All passengers!” The conductor announced through the speakers, interrupting the Captain with the scratchy noise of the pipes and lines carrying the conductor's voice. “We shall be leaving shortly for Central State. We humbly apologize for the holdup, and hope we can get there with God's grace on our side.'''

'''“Before we depart, however, let us say a prayer to our Father for safe passage, and hope that our future remains ever hopeful. May you join me in prayer?” '''

'''“O’ Father,” the passengers— except Amy— recited, hands placed together with their eyes closed. “We pray for you in High Heaven. We thank you for your protection and sunlight, and pray that the encroaching night does not swallow us whole. '''

'''“We are hollowed in thine name, and swear to uphold our moral obligations so both ourselves and our common man succeed in the cruel thing called life. Young or old, brave or meek, we pray to you, O’ wise Lord of Judgment, and hope the promised day arrives soon, so such prayers as this are no longer needed. Ahmen.” '''

'''With all that said, almost every soul said a small prayer to whatever object of worship they carried, then went back to their trivial conversations as the wheels beneath them gave way, allowing the train to begin its departure. Soon, buildings began to pass them by, dreary from their endless days of labor and poor management. Clouds of bitter black waved them off as they went along, and worn faces watched them go, cast in haunted shadows by the furnaces’ glow. There was no play in a city of progress, only endless work. Mouths needed to be fed, so work had to be done, supported by father, son, daughter, and mother to carry out in such a progressive time of both ingenuity and strife alike. The two became almost one for the souls of Graywall and beyond.'''

'''“So many miserable faces, here in this city of smoke and ash,” Quill remarked absentmindedly while staring out the window. “Where did all of these people come from?” '''

'''“They're from around here, but a large intake of workers from Belton have been coming in since the city-state was closed off,” Amy answered, looking out to confirm her own thoughts. Unlike Quill, who looked at the souls beyond with pity, Amy only felt empathy to their woe, remembering when she shared a similar fate. But with no one at her side beside the clothing she wore and the determination she had, both had been stripped from her while on the road to redemption.'''

'''“See, this is one of the reasons why I hate the city,” Quill muttered, still watching industrial buildings pass them by, all becoming a blend to him. “All of the ideals and pushing and social classes. . .It's a mess,” the ex-constable shook his head. “Back in Avion, we’re simple people. We rely on each other, and being good to your neighbor is a necessity. Who else will you call when a wild bear attacks? Or a gator? Feisty buggers, sneaking up into your well or shed and make it a hassle to do anything. Who would you call then?” '''

'''Amy stared out the window wordlessly for quite some time, ignoring the conversation and starting a new one. “I will admit, the notion of leaving Graywall is a little scary. . .”'''

'''“See, here’s my answer to that,” Quill tapped Amy’s side to gain her attention, using a hand as a medium to control the pitch of what he was saying. “When I moved, I just considered all the sights I would see and the people I would meet, never considering the home, people, and own little miniature world I left behind. I just took a deep breath in and stepped through the door. Not an easy feat, but one well-worth it if you invest.”'''

'''Amy watched the rooftops, skipping across the sky unevenly, and beyond that was the blue sky yonder, the girl wondering what color the sky was elsewhere. “Graywall is all I have ever known. Sure, I’ve been to Avion twice, but I was young and I can barely remember my time there besides a quick few flashes and some other sparse things. . .” Amy murmured, imaging a childish image of what Central would be, a city she had only ever heard about from her father when he had come back late from political parties, such as the one they were expected to attend. “As for Belton? I’ve only ever heard about it in passing, or in school, when we were talking about the war.”'''

'''“And I’d assume your father has talked about it numerous times?” Quill noted, sitting back in his seat comfortably. '''

'''“In passing,” Amy explained, leaning against the wall next to the door. “He wasn't part of the recapture squad sent out to take Belton back from the Parish. Too deep in the Western Front to be able to do anything, I'm afraid.”'''

'''“What a terrible war that was,” Quill grumbled, fanning himself with his hat. “Lives were lost, land was destroyed, and all for what, really? Some reparations? Seems pretty lousy to me.”'''

'''“Well,” Chauncey quickly added while he could. “I-it’s not like those reparations have been worthless, sir. They have stabilized certain projects we were trying to g-go through, but didn't have the funding for. . .And we have gone into enterprises to stabilize them further, be it for the people or not.”'''

'''“Paying off the industries is far from a productive endeavor in my eyes,” Quill grunted, glancing to Chauncey with a reluctant gleam in his eyes. “I remain adamant that the smoke and ash and other byproducts of these ‘marvels’ cause more harm than good, and look how many natural resources we need to fuel these gluttonous productions.”'''

'''“Please, spare me the details,” Amy rolled her eye, feeling her interest in the conversation diminish as she kept watch on the outside world, more gripped by the sights than anything her father’s best friend said. '''

'''Graywall was Amy’s home, and while it had been a cruel mistress for a while, it still amazed the young Shaw with all the sights she had missed when fearing for her life when on the streets of the Fourth Quarter. By now though, the Fourth Quarter lay on the other side of the city, the train by now passing through the last segments of the Second Quarter—where the shops and minor storefronts were positioned strategically to intrigue those looking for their wares of trade—and then the exit to the city, which drew ever closer.'''

'''Amy dug her nails into her leg absentmindedly, the sting bringing some sensation back to her limbs, but not enough to settle the rigidness going throughout her entire body. It was already an alien feeling to be allowed to finally take part in her father’s duty, but it felt even more bizarre to watch everything she knew drain away behind her like water down a hole. It was sliding through her fingers, intangible to her grasp. The most she could do was watch the rising clouds of smoke drift off into the air and be reduced to nothingness, chemicals tainting their once-clean skies. '''

'''However, something else loomed large in the distance, taking up the sky with a shroud of shadows, standing at the height of a smokestack and the width of an alleyway. The structure was massive compared to the train, and surrounded the entire original grounds of the city-state in its enclosure. The Graywall—giving the city its name, after all—was constructed of stone and iron and erected from the earth itself by the Father, creating a defense for each fledgling city-state when the Church was first formed. Now, Venrun, Belton, Central State, and Graywall were industrialized populaces, while their brethren were struggling to keep up.'''

'''The train rattled away—as if it had a sense of fear—as it was lured into the gaping maw of the Graywalls, almost like a primordial giant ready to consume a serpent sliding through the gates. Yet the train chugged on to the iron monolith, inhabitants giddy with the prospect of seeing the famous Graywalls again, even if it was for a short while. The walls, after all, were famous for defending their ancestors from brigands and other repulsive aggressors that dared try to take them, ending only with the defeat of such would-be invaders and their littered corpses across their battlements and the ground below.'''

'''When they finally passed beneath the carved out tunnel going through the wall, the noise was deafening. It sounded like thousands of nails were raining down on a thin metal sheet, or debris was erupting out of a chasm and skipping all around. The noise was otherwise indescribable in its entirety, and the most the passengers could do when finally faced with the screeching noise was hold their ears and try to block out the painstaking sound until they escaped the echoing mouth of the wall, spat out to make due time for their destination.'''

'''The conversation was simple and sweet for the rest of the ride. One of the four passengers—excluding the Hound Captain—would speak up to learn something new about another in their quarters, mock the sleeping Alexander, or pass around the rumpled newspaper that had seen better days in the press and stall. As news passed around the quarters and jokes were cracked, the bemusement of the elder Shaw grew, and he would give them a deathly stare if he was prodded or nudged too forcefully to his liking. As for the matters brought to the table during their idle, it had anything to do from politics, policies, stories, news, home life and its variant in the education system, beliefs, or even superstitions that held monarchy over their hearts. '''

'''The time passed slowly, but effectively enough that awkward silence did not emanate for too long in the air between conversations, but it began to whittle down their options. Of course, such matters of  ‘what if’ were brought in to correct this, such as ‘what if the Church was more understanding to the Children's cause’, or ‘did beasts ever truly exist?’ and other such generalized questions. '''

'''Quill’s understanding of the world, for instance, varied greatly to that of Chauncey or Amy, which made the conversations more intriguing. By then, Quill had comfortably worked off his surgical mask to speak properly, showing his handsome face and thick stubble from a clear disinterest in constant, proper hygiene, while noticeable scars acted as patchwork across his cheeks and chin. When asked about them, he merely passed them off as shaving accidents and nothing more, showing the boot knife he used extensively to clean his face off.'''

'''With all of the smoke and rancid smells of the city out of Amy’s nose, she could also truly appreciate the man’s natural smell as he sorted through his bag for something,  knife still set in his lap. From what she could tell, it was cinder, autumn branches, and something sweet. As it turned out, the scent of the harvest season wasn't only coming from his clothing, but from his bag as he took out a stick of fine, tanned wood and set it in his lap, staring at the rod carefully. '''

'''“You know, Amy,” Quill said, keeping a careful hold of the stick as his hands worked in tandem with his eyes. “I'm honestly glad you'll be coming along with us, regardless of what your father says. Or of Chauncey thinks, of course,” Quill stopped his careful ministrations for a moment, giving a playful wink to Chauncey, then returned to his stress reliever. “But that's just me. I don't understand the entire hogwash the Church has about you, and personally, I won't pry because that's none of my business. Honest country folk don't tend to ask those kind of questions, we’re just receptive to those who need help, and we give it. '''

'''“Anyway, I know your old man pretty well. I take pride in the fact that I can actually read him, after all,” Quill smiled, pointing at the slumbering executioner with his stick. “And I can tell you that right now, he’s worried about you. Maybe I'm reading off the wrong signs here, but he just doesn't get drunk for nothing. He's seen some shit, in both the trenches and elsewhere, and every time before we went out to the graveyards to visit them, you can be sure as Hell that he had his flask right in hand, and sorrow right on the tongue, but never spat out. '''

'''“Did I ever tell you how we met, your pa and I?” Quill progressed, changing topics in the curve of a blade and the slice of a wooden shavings, removing them from the mother branch. '''

'''“Enlighten me,” Amy asked, flopping one leg over the other, somewhat disturbing Chauncey’s work as he fiddled with a pen and scanned through the private reservoirs of his journal for something akin to his own interests. '''

'''“Quite a silly story, really,” the ex-constable regarded, chuckling at the memory he had reclaimed. “Was a long time back. I was in my early twenties by this point, and had just gotten arrested for some petty crimes. Put me in a cell, and talked me through a sentence until I supposed a sort of ‘evaluation’ program be designed so I could work off the bail I had made, or maybe even work into more advantageous positions. '''

'''“So, I set myself to work, cleaned up my act, and made a name for myself. By the time my sentence was over, I was hooked,” the man smiled warmly as he continued to whittle, chips and strips of bark and branch creating a mess around his feet, making Chauncey fidget more in discomfort when he eyed the rising pile. “I knew that as soon as I walked out of those doors, I'd only find myself behind the bars again, so I stuck to the regiment and came out with an impressive offer for someone who had just been a criminal a few months back: to join the force. '''

'''“Yea, a bizarre turn of events, but between you and me,” Quill leaned down, whispering to the girl, even though there was no reason for him to do so in a private chamber. “They were running out of men during that time, and cared little how honest you were. Damn River Creek bandits were chewing a hole in us like an infection, so they were hard-pressed to find men who were both willing to police and were able to fight. '''

'''“Now, as I was saying,” Quill extracted himself, twirling his knife once around before setting back to his work. “My job as a rookie was simple. Patrol the streets, clean up bar fights, sometimes put the cuffs on someone the others caught, but mostly I was just closing down shops when night approached. Didn't really matter what kind of shop it was, we just knocked on their door and told them to wrap it up.”'''

'''“I-I do not m-mean to intrude,” Chauncey asked, lowering his book. “But h-how does this relate to M-Master Shaw?”'''

'''“I'm glad you asked,” Quill snapped his cheerful eyes towards the servant, twirling the knife a few times to concentrate his thoughts. “Part of this closing hour commitment forced me and my supervisor—had one due to, ya know, once being a thief—to close down the alehouse,” the man chuckled, remembering the moment with mirth. “And lo and behold, we found this bastard,” Quill pointed to Alexander for reference. “Drinking up all the quality shit. My poor superior. . .as soon as he laid a hand on Alexander. . .wham!” Quill stabbed his knife into his stick of wood, pretending the blade was the fist and the wood was the person. “Whacked him right across the face with a knockout punch. Poor bloke didn't know what hit him, quite literally at that!”'''

'''Quill continued to chuckle until he settled down, rubbing his chin wryly. “Then, well, he came for me, saying all this cryptic shite until he tried to deliver a solid blow. . .” Quill managed to choke between more laughter, this moment definitely being the best part. “But spilled across the ground, whacked his head on a nearby table, and went unconscious. Had to drag his body all the way to the slammer and wait for him to wake up, and oh boy, when he did—!”'''

'''“I opened up the goddamn prison cell, dusted myself off, made a sarcastic comment, and did my job thereafter,” a gruff voice answered, Alexander propping himself up to make his awakening known to the rest of the chamber. “Accurate enough, bastard, or did I miss some ‘essential’ details?”'''

'''“No no,” Quill waved, clutching his chest. “You summarized my blambering appropriately, though next time please don't scare me. It doesn't do my poor little chest much good to be scared out of its skin half the time I'm around you.”'''

'''Alexander groaned as he got out of the indent he had made in the cushioned seat, rubbing the back of his neck tenderly. “Bloody ‘ell. . .Feels like I just woke from the grave, and on the wrong side of the bed at that,” he muttered, cracking his neck. “How long did I sleep?” '''

'''“A few h-hours, sir,” Chauncey mumbled, checking his watch. “I-if we left at 12. . .then you were asleep for around 4 hours. . .G-give or take.” '''

'''“So it’s 4 right now?” Alexander grunted, still straining his neck so he could get some feeling back into his bones. “No wonder my body feels stiff as a board. . .Bloody ‘ell, we’re probably close to Central at that. Mark my words that in the next half hour, we’re goin’ to be seein’ its walls on the horizon, standin’ all loud ‘n proud ‘n whatnot.”'''

'''“What's the difference between the Graywalls and Central’s walls?” Quill asked, checking out the window to see if he could spy it in the distance, only finding more trees, rocks, and forest life instead. '''

'''“Central thinks a bigger wall gives ‘em bigger dicks,” Alexander put simply, rubbing his nose, but giving a sidelong glance to Amy. “Lass, pretend you didn't hear that.” '''

'''“No promises,” Amy smirked, making the Captain roll his tired eyes and scratch his pudgy nose, snorting nasily. '''

'''“Oh Lords above,” the Captain muttered. “Let’s hope I don’t go insane by the time this goddamn meetin’ is over, because the two of you will never make me live anythin’ down as long as yea live,” Alexander pointed to Amy and Quill, who smiled wickedly when addressed. “And this man. . .he just irritates me,” the Captain finished, pointing to a shocked Chauncey, who looked up in surprise and pointed to himself for reference. '''

'''“M-me? W-what did I do—”'''

'''“Oh look,” Alexander interrupted, looking out the window. “There’s the wall. A perfect distraction if I don’t say so myself. “'''

“B-but—”

'''“That’s quite the wall, I guess. . .?” Quill added, looking out the window himself to spy the wall closing the distance.'''

'''The walls of Central were more or less the same to the Graywalls of their starting point, but dressed with royal banners flying down, with the official cross blazen in black with a white background contrasting from the ebony image. Besides that, the walls were the same, having the same kind of entrance tunnel—already making Amy’s ears ring, along with the giddiness of finally seeing Central—the same structure and design, and the same turrets pivoted on the top with white tops cast over to protect them from the tearing wind. '''

'''“Doesn't look too impressive,” Amy shunned in a bluff, placing a new cigarette in her mouth and lighting it passively. “And this is the city everyone cherishes? I am yet to be impressed.”'''

'''“Oh, you’ll see why everyone raves about this buggerin’ place,” Alexander snarled, turning back into his seat and standing up. “Everyone, grab yer bags. If you don’t,” Alexander gestured a thumb to the window. “Then I’m throwin’ them out. Now hop to it.” '''

'''Nodding, everyone in the small compartment began to gather their supplies: Amy adjusting her hatchet’s loop and grabbing her suitcase, Chauncey grabbing all of his and his master’s belongings, and Quill grabbing his own. Soon, the place was spotless with nothing remaining of their stay besides the whittled chips Quill had left, the cigarette ash from Amy’s most recent rod, and the dented point Alexander had made in his rest, still slick with sweat. '''

'''A hiss sounded throughout the entire vehicle as the train pulled to a halt, rocking the cars and people in a gentle sway. “Everyone!” The conductor yelled through the speaker system, crackling to life with raspy clarity. “Please leave the train in an orderly fashion. No pushing or shoving, and try to be respectful. It would be a dreadful thing to have to file a report after such a straightforward drive here. . .'''

'''“But besides that,” the conductor continued. “File out and be civil. I wish you a fair day in Central State, and I pray that your souls find solace in this city of smoke, mist, and steam.”'''

'''“Doesn't that sound a tad queer?” Alexander muttered as he led their reassembled group through the bustling line of people waiting to exit the train, chattering away in frivolous conversation. From what Alexander could tell, most in the crowd were wet behind the ears in the realm of politics, since many were dressed in the ragged, oil-caked suits of Belton, confirming that even the vagabonds were running to the city for aid. Sadly, they were quickly segregated off to the side by the on-site staff as they walked out, being spectated by the bemused Hound Captain as the line grew thinner, and soon they were out of the dusty confinement of the train as well. '''

'''“Bloody Hell, I thought I'd never get out of there. . .” Amy stretched, getting the pesky kinks out of her body until her observation skills kicked in, making her drag the sentence on until only a small trail of wind left her mouth as her eye took all of the radiance laid before them. '''

'''Central State blew its Graywall counterpart out of the water, first and foremost. The tiled floor was checkered red and black with a shine that rivaled the thought that boots ever scuffed them in the first place. On the walls, large banners were hung in commemoration to different divisions sent out during the war, with golden arches and long-lost, swirling architecture from the Empires of the Sands recreated in the design of the station itself. At the other side of the station, a large staircase rose with marble columns at the end, lights shining down on new arrivals and departures alike. Finally—and most blatantly of all—was the giant statue of Frederick in the middle of the large space, reading a book in eternal consideration of the blank pages of bronze. Truly, the statue captured his physical likeness, while the rest of the station caught his ego in great strides. '''

'''Sighing, Alexander tread down the ramp provided for them until he reached the bottom, spinning around and raising both his arms wide to present the station to them. “Welcome, one and all, to Central State, City of the Noble Blood,” Alexander grit his teeth at that part. “And an honest waste of time and resources. Now come along. We need to find a hotel and check-in. We have a big day tomorrow, and I will not accept ignorance if we do not find appropriate tailors in time for the ball. Now that will be dreadful. . .for both my ears and my self-containment. . . Bloody nobles. . .”'''