Trains.

I don't have much time to post, but what I do post is long and probably not going to be read by a few, but who cares! It's a cut and paste, it takes 2 seconds. I have one art, it is 1/7th the way finished. And I have a story, well a rough draft of the beginning of the second story. Which needs a name.

Words:
The passenger train Vlvata 4 always chugged down it's normal route, on the same iron tracks through the same forest it had followed for decades. The tracks took one from the outskirt village of Little Hedeon (also known as North Hedeon) to the metropolis of Hedeon itself, a journey of exactly 47 minutes through forest, plains and a brief view of the mountains, on a fair weather day.

On that day, a Tuesday morning, Vlvata was late, even for a fair weather day. 47 minutes passed at the North Hedeon Depot Station 03, leaving its passengers trainless. It was for the best, as it made time for the riders to converse with each other. Small things, such as the unusually cold spring weather, the arrival of the new Aionic priests to Hedeon, the coffeeshop that was doomed to close, and for two individuals: a book author.

She saw him first, reading to himself from a red covered book, his lips moving silently with each word he read. A habit that many find absolutely irritating but she found intriguing. Watching him out of the corner of her left eye, she took in his tall stature and lean body. He stuck out from the crowd of nearly a dozen with his priest robes and his black hair cut at a peculiar slant, two pieces in the front longer than the rest. He must have been new to town for he wore no coat in the nearly freezing dawn. An awkward yet handsome looking thing he was.

If she saw him first, there was a second sight to follow, as he had caught her eyes moving over him. The woman was nearly opposite himself - a tiny height, brushing perhaps 5 feet tall, a pear shape to her body. She was dressed from what he could tell elegantly, in a very monotone grey and black scheme. Pale blue eyes peeked out at him from behind a pair of thick black lashes, a devious look to her. Below the left eye, a small black marking. Her hair a waving black waterfall that never fell. She was lovely.

The two shared a common ancestry, that of the Dierkan race. Larger ears than the other two races, their fur as short as a horse's coat and ranging from pale grey to a charcoal black. Most Dierkans had dark brown to medium brown eyes, any variances were uncommon among them and often tipped that there may have been another race involved in the family tree. Under their fur was a black skin, which was prominant only in the lips, nose and a ring around the eyes resembling black eyeliner.

Peering over at the book the man was absorbed into, she caught the name of the author. "Luka Garbon," she noted outloud. This caught the attention of the man, who now turned his head towards her.

"Yes," he replied slowly, checking the cover himself. He returned to his page.

"He's written quite a few books since I last read him, his subjects have turned more religious than I care for," she told him.

"I study under him down in Moriz, it is required reading," was the dry reply. She noticed his interest in the book became more pronounced. Being one to demand attention to herself, she pushed further.

"Why are you up here then?"

He sighed, closing the book. Social behavior was not his forte and her interupting his reading was starting to try his patience. "I have been assigned to the chapel on the hill, to take Father Rubin's place while he returns to the school. I'll assume you don't visit it, from your prior comment."

"Do you not know who I am?" she craned her neck at him. He took a step away from her.

"Beyond a heathen? No."

She fumbled into her purse, pulling out several crumpled papers and wrappers, a pencil, pen and several lipsticks. Finally she found what she had been looking for and pulled out a package of cigarettes, bearing the name Sharp Tobacco. She slapped it against her wrist to pack them tighter and to gain his attention towards it. The faint aroma of tobacco leaked as she opened them. "My name is Zoyechka Sharp, or, as I'm called by most of my kingdom, Zoe," she gave him a sidewards glance and returned to her cigarette, lighting it with a silver lighter that had 'Sharp' engraved on it.

"Oh. The Queen takes the commoner's transportation without guards, how noble." Sarcasm. She choked on the first inhale.

Nearby, a short stout man with large glasses, greying short hair with a white streak in the front, and very conservatively dressed, checked his watch and sighed. Putting down his suitcase, he made it apparent that he was listening in on the conversation.

"What's your name?" she said, ignoring his previous comment.

"Mishenka Sedov, or, as I'm called by most of my parish, Father Sedov," he replied before cracking open the book once again. He had astutely noted the man's attention and felt the urge to end conversation with her, as he could very well be an under cover guard of Zoe's. Not to Mishenka's surprise, the man wandered over to Zoe and poked her shoulder.

"Train's coming."