Orient Express - East of Stuttgart

[xavierrol]

Europe 1936.

"The War to End All Wars" ended 18 years ago, buying almost a generation of relative peace, and for some, prosperity. But there remain deep wounds and bitter rivalries and already the winds of war are once again blowing across the continent and beyond. In Spain, a civil war rages and quickly becomes a testing ground for weapons and the political will to use them. In Italy, Mussolini gets a taste for territorial ambition in East Africa. In the heart of Europe, Germany under their new Chancellor begins to shred the Treaty of Versailles in a game of geopolitical chicken with the victors of "The Great War". Most consider war in 'civilized' Europe unthinkable, but other more realistic minded people, see the tinder being set and merely awaiting a match to set all aflame. Some struggle to avoid war if they can but win if they must, seeking an upper hand for the nation state to which they pledge their loyalty. Then there are others who wish to profit from it and some who just like to be seen, and valued. Their business is their own as far as the train and its staff are concerned though they are often the proverbial flies on the wall, hiding in plain sight.

Profit and power, war or peace, the fates of people, nations, and even empires hinge on that most valuable of currencies, information. The telegraph and radio have revolutionized and sped up communication, but the most sensitive information can only be transmitted in person and that means travel. Across continental Europe and onto Asia, some of the most critical information in the world travels upon the storied Orient Express. Traveling weekly from the heart of Europe to the crossroads that link Europe with Asia and Africa. Where there is information there are always those that desire it and are willing to pay for it. Money, power, fame, duty, or even sex are all potential currencies in use because despite modern advancements, some things never change.

Get your Tickets!

Sleeping Cars, 2 bunks single gender (unless married) converts to sitting area by day, connected by a common hallway. If your budget allows, you can rent both berths to have a private room, otherwise you will likely have a roommate (probably an NPC) as the train fills.
Dining Car, or First Class Dinning
Lounge (First Class Only or Invited Guests).

Train Setup: Engine <- First Class Dinning <- First class Lounge <- Dinning car <- Lounge <- Sleeping Cars <- Baggage Car <- Caboose (Crew Quarters) <- Nazi Car


Stops: London/Calais - Paris - Strasbourg - Karlsruhe - Stuttgart - Munich - Vienna - Budapest - Belgrade -Sofia - Constantinople (Istanbul).
Schedule: Leave Paris 7:30pm Wednesday; Arrive Vienna 10:15pm Thursday; Arrive Budapest 5:25am Friday; Arrive Belgrade 3:32pm; Arrive Constantinople 6:40pm Saturday

All Aboard!

Please introduce your character below placing them either at the Paris station or the train from Calais/London when you are ready.
Passengers boarding in London or Calais will already be on the train which at the start of our story is between Calais and Paris.
All other passengers starting now will be in the Paris station awaiting the arrival of the train.

Post Header
Character Name (with Link to Profile)
General Location
Tag with who you expect to respond, or is mentioned in your post using @(username)

https://www.luxury-trains.co.uk/images/vsoe-double-cabin.jpg

 

[Traveler]

Mr. Leonard Benjamin, Esq.
Somewhere between Calais and Paris; First Class Dining​

---

He sat alone at a table for two in the first class dining car, the window and his cigarette his only companions. The classic features of his face were illuminated by the small lamp on his table, a modern convenience that his company paid well for him to enjoy.

The company.

Leo tapped his cigarette on the crystal ash bowl, thinking of the task ahead of him. Brooks & Banksy had trusted him to negotiate the final terms of their newest acquisition, a company to manufacture metal parts needed for the expanding electric railway and steam tractor needs. They were also toying with the idea of manufacturing generators and alternators there, where work was cheap, quality was high, and anyone with a dream and money seemed to be able to build an empire. Brooks & Banksy wanted their share of the Ganz Works, and Leo was going there to see it done.

He sipped on his bourbon as the train passed through Amiens. Halfway to Paris now, and they should stop long after he was settled into his cabin. He’d paid for a full berth this trip. Last time he ventured on this route they paired him with a boorish American who talked of nothing but oil and pork bellies. The bore stunk worse than a Frenchman and snored like a slumbering bear. Not to mention his insistence on eating pastries in their sleeping car – a habit that Leo found both disgusting and disturbing.

As he sat at his table, he took a moment to casually glance over the others in the car. He was dressed smartly; a finely cut suit of wool and silk, simple but elegant embellishments, and a vest made from clothe from the Orient. That and his carefully manicured hair, nails, and clean-shaven cheeks gave him the look of a man of means. He was, of a sorts; a man of hard-earned means, and what he earned, he meant to keep. Even if it meant traveling to the muddied streets of Constantinople.

Finishing his glass, he left payment on the table to cover the meal and a gratuity, then excused himself. He wanted to be securely ensconced in his sleeping car before the Parisians boarded.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: Paris/Gare de l'Est.

---

Jane woke up before the sun ha risen above the rooftops of Montmartre. The small room in the attic of the house on Rue des Trois Frères was still dark when she opened her eyes to look at her friend and bed-partner Elise StCyr. All she could make out were the outline of her slim body under the covers but she knew that underneath Elise was stark naked and exquisietly beautiful. She ran her hand over Elise's soft blonde hair and smiled to herself. The smile soon faded though because she knew that it had been their last night together for any kind of foreseeable future. And she had made sure it would be a night to remember. It had been passionate and it had not ended until the early hours when they had both fallen asleep exhausted, naked and sweaty, in each other's arms. She kissed Elise's hair softly to not wake her and got out of bed. The room was cold and as she was equally naked as her bed-partner she shivered slightly.

Her assignment in Paris had been aborted abruptly due to a more pressing matter regarding the diplomatic relations with Britain's former enemy Turkey. It was no secret that the turmoil spreading across Europe as fascism had begun too spread it's wings, shadowing large portions of the continent, would eventually lead to war. It was no longer a question of if but of when, of how long Britain's diplomats could keep Italy and Germany happy, and how long before the destabilised Spanish Republic would succumb to a fascist military coup. Italy had already been ruled by fascists for ten years under prime minister Benito Mussolini, whose political vision was to recreate the once glorious Roman Empire and his foreign policy was clearly one of territorial expansion, not least the invasion of Abyssinia no more than six months earlier. Germany, under the rule of the National Socialist Party and the charismatic Adolph Hitler were showing similar tendencies. It was a time of unrest and there was no rest for undercover operatives such as herself. Every scrap of information, no matter how small and insignificant it might seem, could make or break the fragile peace that rested upon the treaty signed in Versailles after the end of the war to end all wars, as it had been called, a treaty recently broken by Germany as they only a few days before had moved troops back into the Rhineland. Europe was indeed on the brink of a full scale war.

Jane added some wood to the stove to get the heat back up, dressed herself in beige wool trousers and a horizontally striped green and red sweater, put on a very basic make up, no more than a little lipstick and some blush on her cheeks. She had a long day ahead of her before she was to board the Orient Express to Constantinople, no Istanbul as the city was now called. The train would not depart from Gare de l'Est until half past eight in the evening which was almost twelve hours away but Jane had much to do before boarding the train.

She had to pick up her orders at the dead drop in Cimitère de Montmartre. She also needed to pick up her suitcases at Hôtel Chat Noir. She also needed time to make sure she was not followed, that her cover as a rich heiress from who had raised by her maternal aunt in the small village of St Mary Mead from the age of nine. The truth however was that while both her parents were in fact dead and she had inherited a moderate sum her father had been a captain in the British Royal Flying Corps and had been shot down over Belgium in the early stages of the great war. Her mother had committed suicide shortly after learning that her husband had been confirmed killed in action and left Jane more or less alone in the world. Jane had then decided to join the resistance in Belgium called La Dame Blanche where she, among other things smuggled information across military lines disguised as a midwife, hiding the reports wrapped around the whale-bones of her corset. Towards the end of the war she had drawn enough attention to herself from a British S.I.S officer stationed in Belgium who offered her to stay within the British Secret Intelligence Services as an undercover operative.

First though she opened the small window overlooking Jardin des Abbesses and smoked a cigarette before giving Elise a kiss on the cheek. Elise stirred from the kiss but luckily she did not wake up. If there was one thing Jane didn't want was a tear-filled goodbye, not after the night they had spent together. It was better to just slip away and apologise for it upon her return, should she return to Paris. There was never any certainty regarding where the next assignment might take her but she did not yet long to settle down so it was no issue for her to live out of a couple of suitcases in cheap hotels under whatever name her cover story demanded.

---

Just after seven pm Jane boarded the Orient Express at Gare de L'Est and went to find her sleeping compartment to store away her luggage after which she was going to go for a bite to eat.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

𝔼𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝔻𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕩
First Class Passenger Car

*****
​

The compartment was so smoky that the porter had knocked several times to ensure the nervous lady within hadn't set the curtains on fire. Every time she answered she looked paler. The ashtray was fuller. And the little scrap of paper in her hand grew ever more wrinkled.

After promising the poor man yet again that this cigarette was her very last one, Estella raised it to her lips as she reread the telegram for the thousandth time. Maybe this time when her dark eyes scanned over coldly printed words, they might say something different.

​

Constantinople.

Constan-fucking-tinople.

What happened to Hollywood? she wanted to scream at her agent, thousands of miles away in his comfortable Bronx townhome. Or New York? Miami? I'll even work Bumsville, Kansas if you want me to. How can you abandon me here?

To be fair, Estella had no idea when the message had been sent. Maybe it was before the news had come out of the Rhineland that that little mustachioed psychopath had decided he was going to be the next Napoleon. Surely if Morty knew that he would have booked her on the next ship heading stateside, and not to some pissant little club an entire continent away. As she crushed her cigarette into the pile of all the others, the woman momentarily considered trying to get in touch with the State Department. Maybe they'd take pity on her, all things considered.

Yeah, and maybe when you get back there's a fella who'll sell you the Brooklyn Bridge for a nickel.

Her body wilted into the plush velvet seat by the window, leaning against the little brown briefcase that had been the cause of all this. Scowling at the luggage, Estella wrapped her perfectly-manicured fingers around the tortoiseshell handle and considered--not for the first time--tossing it out the window to the picturesque French countryside. But now it was probably her only bargaining chip, even if she wasn't quite sure who she was supposed to be bargaining with.

Michael would know. Estella straightened a little at that though, new hope igniting in her eyes. No one ever messed with the big American jazz pianist, and she had missed him badly when he'd been sent off to Paris. She could trust him with the case, she was sure of that, and from the wording in the telegram she dared to assume he would be going all the way to Constantinople with her. Michael would find a way for them to get out of here, she just had to wait for him.

Taking down her own valise and dressing case, Estella changed out of the worn blouse and trousers she'd been wearing ever since London--taking care to examine all garments for any traces of blood that might raise some unpleasant questions later on. Instead she selected a jet black evening gown paired with a striking fox stole, and while her necklace and earrings were really just cheap glass they certainly sparkled like diamonds. After ensuring not a single hair was out of place and that her lipstick was fresh and flawless, the would-be movie star picked up the hated briefcase and made her way down the corridor towards the lounge. It might have all been a bit much for the middle of the afternoon, but she had to make sure Michael would see her, after all.

Catching her reflection in a passing window, the woman thought her expression might have been a bit too piqued for her taste, but thankfully there was a handsome gentleman coming the opposite direction who might provide enough of an audience to get her mind off things. The curtains of her mind parted, and as she brushed past the tall, impeccably-dressed fellow, Estella flashed him a dazzling smile and murmured a sweet "Pardon monsieur," with the accents not quite right.

But she made damn sure to keep a firm grip on the briefcase.

In the lounge car she ordered a neat vodka martini, then settled into a comfortable leather couch near the window. For the rest of the afternoon she wore an expression of utter serenity, even though her fingers were constantly twitching with the desire for just one more cigarette to soothe her nerves. When Michael gets here she promised herself. When the train finally did come to a stop at the station, it was all she could do not to press her face to the glass like a child, and instead kept her eyes firmly trained on the entrance of the lounge for her long-awaited friend.

 

[captain_bond]

Charles Walsh, First-Class Lounge
Perhaps @MsBloom wants to borrow a match once everyone has posted and settled in?

Having been on the train since London, Charles was almost settling into a bored sort of routine, which in his line of work could potentially be dangerous. The events of the past week proved that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Hitler was angling for war. Outwardly, he was on a trip to Istanbul to forge connections with its business elite, hopefully setting up a branch office of the import-export company he purportedly worked for.

But like most anyone who rode the Express, he had a secret, a double life even. He was, in fact, an SIS operative tasked with rendezvousing with a courier who carried a list of Turkish government officials and business elites. On one side were ladies and gentlemen who would be sympathetic to Great Britain, France and their allies, should war break out. On the other side were those who would support Hitler and Mussolini. With the list in hand, he would arrive in Istanbul and begin working to elevate and secure the positions of the former side of the list, while undermining, smearing, impeaching and blacklisting the latter.

He was so absorbed with thoughts of his mission, the newspaper he set down glumly, and the cigarette he stubbed out into an ashtray, he almost didn't notice a rather striking woman walk in, with close-cut blonde hair and wearing trousers and a sweater. Now, she is a head-turner, he thought to himself. Not because of any one thing, but how she carries herself, the air of independence she exudes. He hoped to God she wasn't a Lesbian, as he found himself imagining what they may look like tumbling around a sleeping compartment with no clothes on...

 

[Vinaein]

Count Aleksander Janos Zelenski von Krolock
First Class Lounge
@Shiva the Cat​

The Count sat back in his seat, the newspaper delicately folded in a pair of white gloved hands as the platformed rocked and swayed to herald the arrival of the train. Sat near to the tracks, Count Aleksander Janos Zelenski von Krolock, late of Romania, in regions swallowed by the tides of the first World War, would not appear to be what most could term a 'nobleman.'

He was, of course, well dressed. His slender, muscular body, was clad in a fine suit, his hands enveloped by the white gloves. His shoes were a fine, shiny black and his dark eyes focused upon the paper before him. His handsome face was impassive, his lips set together. He was seen by those around him, but not truly seen. After all, nobody had a reason to give him a second glance and that was how he most appreciated the subject.

He was only pretending to read the paper after finishing the first page, the train rolling along. A great iron behemoth, a metallic snake whose single eye blazed against the dimness of the track. On it roared, on it bellowed, on it came and bringing with it the faintest note of destiny.

For Aleksander was reading what he had attached to the paper. A small, rectangular strip of paper with spidery scrawls upon it. The destination was written and composed for him. The journey was his to make. The instructions were clear, Aleksander thought; information was his coin, his bartering for another day of life depended upon it.

After all, he was in up to his throat now. The British would expect their information in exchange for the protection of his family in Poland, from dear Katya to Nikolas and Irina. Information, just what he saw and what he observed, like he was leeching it from his surroundings as surely as drawing lifeblood from a vein.

He rose, folding the paper as he peered about. It had been many years the Great War; only a boy, he had heard the explosions, the thunder of guns, seen the devastation and the fields full of dead men. With hands too young, he had held the butt of a pistol and squeezed its trigger to take life, as the conflagration consumed empires.

He and Hjalmar, he had thought them inseparable. Hjalmar the murderer, Hjalmar the traitor, who had left him for dead, had almost secured the murder of his family, the end of the von Krolock bloodline. Hjalmar who remained out there, weaving webs of treachery and hunting him. For what plots and why he had alligned himself so close to the Germans, Aleksander could only guess.

He showed his ticket upon the train, his smile disarming and charming in equal measure. The man in front took it, looking at it, back at Aleksander as he held his suitcase, the perfect gentleman. "Your car's over on the far end."

"Private room?"

"As requested," the man said, before dismissing Aleksander from his thoughts. He left the platform, stepping upon the train. And so to Constantinople, speaking of burning empires. Ah, to think of boyhood when the world had seemed such a simpler place. He could have gone to his cabin. But he was feeling thirsty.

And he wanted to scope the place out besides. There was a heavyset business with a mustache more suited to a walrus than a man, a tall fellow in a suit as fine as his own, an elderly woman focused upon her knitting...

And into the lounge he went, a sigh escaping him as he brought himself to a seat. He was smiling now, leaning back, to glance and see those all around him. And there was someone who bore the unmistakable look of an American, her hair cut into a style he could best describe as "Flapper," as if she had stepped out of a photo from 1925.

He placed an order for an Old Fashioned, wanting something hard and stuff as he settled back to a nearby seat. The woman had her eyes upon the glass, peering through like she was lost and hoped someone might approach to set her world back right.

"Is all well?" It left his mouth before he could stop it, suddenly involving himself with the world anew.

 

[xavierrol]

Of the many arrivals and departures at the Gare de l'Est each day, the polished blue cars and gilded crest announced that this was not just any train. The Conductor stepped off the train even as it coasted to a smooth stop, his feet having barely touched the ground as a half dozen porters appeared among the assorted passengers waiting to embark. They marked the larger items destined for the baggage cars with their owner's destinations then assisted with any carry on needs. The conductor moved among them, verifying destinations and seeing that all went smoothly. It was almost a choreographed dance of precision and efficiency geared towards keeping their schedule, maintaining the elegant reputation of their Express, and of course maximizing the opportunities for gratuities from the well heeled clientele. Unlike many of the passengers, most of the staff of the Orient Express were not far removed from the cold realities of depression poverty. They were to a man, and occasional woman, quite motivated.

The conductor was the last to board having signaled the engineer when he was free to pull out of the station. Again the start was nearly as smooth as the stop, and the entire exercise taking just under seven minutes as shown by the conductor's pocket watch. A passenger resting comfortably in his cabin may have barely noticed if they were dozing, though if alert the sounds and rhythm of the train would be enough to note the event in general. On towards the German border, a transition that was beginning to feel more ominous with each passing week as 1936 rolled along, not nearly as smoothly as the train upon which they were riding.

The dinning car was a little crowded with many of the oncoming passengers having an appetite and business was brisk. As usual, the first class dining car was a more relaxed and elegant affair for those that were willing to trade currency for comfort. ( @MsBloom @captain_bond I'm assuming the standard dinning car but could move to first class)

The lounge car was not especially crowded due to its exclusivity to first class passengers and as usual at this time the bulk of the passengers being more hungry than thirsty. The bartender had plenty of time for people watching between drinks as he idly kept the bar itself spotless, careful not to look too long at anyone in particular. 'Vodka Martini', he mentally thought of passengers as the drink they ordered, was graceful and charming, but it was clear she was stressed though perhaps more in need of a cigarette from the way her hands fidgeted. Her briefcase was only notable as it seemed out of place with her clothing and the way her knuckles were practically white as she held it. 'Old Fashioned' fit his drink well enough as he gave the man with an air of aristocracy his stiff drink and watched him move within social range of 'Vodka Martini'. They would make a handsome if someone odd couple, he thought to himself and returned to polishing the bar.

 

[Traveler]

Mr. Leonard Benjamin, Esq.
Departing the Paris Station, around 7:45 PM
In the First Class Lounge
@Shiva the Cat, @Vinaein​

---

The train pulled forward as it left the station. Lurched would have been a more apt description, but compared to others, it was driven with care to not jostle the guests as much as those streetcars did in the City of San Francisco. Leonard contemplated the difference between the United States and Europe, not knowing which he preferred at this point. Certainly, with its history and smaller gaps between points of interest, Europe was a favorite. But he had also enjoyed the open spaces of the North American country and found its people to be more dynamic in various ways.

He eased his cabin door open as a couple walked by, then navigated the polished wood hallway to the gangway connection to the next car, then the next, until he arrived at the Lounge. He still wore the suit from earlier, not bothering to change until he was ready for bed. With his internal clock still not aligned with the current hour, he knew he would need a stiff drink to even think about getting to sleep tonight. Perhaps in a week, when they had reached their destination, he would be settled.

In the crowded compartment he saw the short-haired woman with the bad French accent sitting alone. She didn’t quite look like she was at ease, and he wondered if she was one of those women who feared the iron serpent would jump its tracks. And though she sat alone, she seemed like she was waiting for someone. A specific someone.

Leo gave her a slight smile of recognition as he moved towards the bartender, noticing a smartly dressed young man leaving the bar and moving towards her.

‘Ah,’ he thought. ‘That’s who she was waiting for.’

Leo eased up to the bar and nodded a smile at the man behind the counter. “Good evening,” he eyed the shelved bottles of liquor and hoped they did not have to stop the train suddenly. “Could you mix up a Whiskey Sour?” he asked, referencing a drink popular in New York City. He stole a glace at the young lady and her admirer as he waited for his drink. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he removed a slim silvered case that contained his cigarettes and lighter, easing one slim cig from behind its holder and snapping the case closed.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: Paris/Gare de l'Est. (First Class Dining)
@captain_bond (among others)

---

Having stored away her luggage and washed up Jane changed the clothes she had been wearing all day and when she emerged from her compartment she wore high-waisted salmon pink trousers and a short-sleeved black silk blouse. She had even put on a modest amount of make up, mainly deep red lipstick but also a little charcoal around her eyes to enhance them. She was not particularly hungry, having spent much of the day at various cafés where she could determine whether or not she was under surveillance. Hanging across her chest was a small leather bag which eventually rested on her left hip.

The train had just begun to move when she entered the First Class Lounge. She took a moment to scan the room in her own casual way which usually went unnoticed. Of course a few heads turned. It was still not very common for women to wear trousers some even considered it vulgar and inappropriate, others still seemed to be under the impression that women wearing trousers were trying to dress like men and did so because they were of the sapphic persuasion when it came to romantic affiliation, and while it was indeed true that Jane did have a preference for the female form she was by no means adverse to men, not even between the sheets. This had nothing to do with her preferred clothes though. It was more a question of practicality. For one it was a lot easier to run in trousers than in skirts or dresses. The same was true for low-heeled shoes which was the sole reason she preferred them to high-heels.

There were a few people already seated on the leather sofas with drinks and snacks. Some were standing at the bar ordering drinks or simply mingling. Others could be seen through the small entrance to the First Class Dining car having their supper. It was a mix of people from what appeared to be all over Europe and judging by their clothes also a good few Americans. She particularly noticed a young man in a slightly outdated suit with an obviously East-European look about him reading a news paper, or at least pretending to. There was something about the way his head moved that suggested he was reading something much smaller than the news paper he was using to cover most of his face. His eyes were visible though and did not move the way they might if he was actually reading what he pretended to read. When he rose from his seat there was also something about the way he looked around, as if to make sure no one had noticed him.

There was also the young woman in the black evening gown that seemed rather nervous, as if she was waiting for someone she was not sure would show up. What mostly drew Jane's attention to the young woman was the fact that she had her suitcase with her. Well that and the fact that she was quite beautiful in the way one might expect from a showgirl, or an aspiring actress doing her best to look the part of a movie star. It was also that the woman to some degree resembled Elise, poor Elise who had once again woken up to an empty bed with not a trace of her lover, not even a word of apologies or a simple au revoir. Jane felt a very brief sting of guilt about the way she had left things but orders were orders and it was better for Elise not to know where or why she had left so suddenly.

At the bar there was a man whom she assumed was American by the suit he was wearing. He also had something of that New England gentleman air about him. Next to him was another man in a white dinner jacket with a red rose in the left buttonhole. This was the man she had been instructed to contact and to act as his shadow, to keep an eye on those passengers that approached and interacted with him but also anyone who took a less obvious interest in him, partly to act as his back up should anything untoward happen to him but also because in the larger scheme of intelligence and counter-intelligence there was really no way to completely trust any one operative to be absolutely loyal. There were far too many examples of traitors that had been uncovered selling information to the enemy, particularly in the last two decades.

Casually she approached the man but made no obvious attempt to speak to him. Instead she ordered an Imperial Cocktail and while waiting for the bartender to mix her drink she took out a small leather-bound cigarette case, opened it and took out a long cigarette which she placed between her red lips. She then looked through her bag, seemingly a bit frustrated when she didn't find what she was looking for.
"Oh I am such a scatterbrain," she said with a deep sigh and turned towards the man in the white dinner jacket.
"Excuse me, may I borrow a match?" she said, briefly taking the cigarette from her lips and gave him a polite but slightly embarrassed smile.
"Oh, I use a lighter," he replied.
"It's better still," she concluded and put the cigarette back between her lips
"Until they go wrong," he retorted and Jane gave him a very subtle nod.
She let him light her cigarette, took a deep drag on it and then introduced herself using one of her aliases, the one printed on the passport she was currently using.
"I'm Jane, Jane Eyelesbarrow of Exmouth, pleasure to meet you Mr ...?"

 

[captain_bond]

"Walsh," he replied. "Charles Walsh." He lit another cigarette of his own, swiveled about on his barstool, and studied the other passengers for the hundredth time. Yes, there were new arrivals, not just Jane (he would eat his left shoe if Eylesbarrow was her real surname, but she did look like a Jane, at least, to his mind, so her alias had that going for her.) The Europeans, the Americans. The man with the paper, the woman with the suitcase (was she the courier? Walsh didn't think so, this woman was so clearly nervous and had been aboard the train almost as long as he had), and a sprinkling of others that seemed to stand out against the rather dull backdrop.

He was almost bored with the whole thing, still. Restlessness was starting to consume him, he was eager to begin his mission properly, or, failing that... "Seeing as we've business to discuss, Miss Eylesbarrow, my sleeping berth is in the first-class carriage, number three. Knock three times, then twice, then three again. Unless you find that too presumptuous?" Charles leaned back and studied her again, from up close this time, smiling in an approving sort of way at what he saw. In this business, a second pair of eyes could mean the difference between life and death, but he also knew she was there to keep an eye on him, on his loyalties. They needn't have bothered with this last part, he had no intention of betraying England or the Crown, no matter what sort of persuasion they offered him. But speaking of eyes, he could have certainly been assigned less pretty ones...

 

[Shiva the Cat]

𝔼𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝔻𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕩
First Class Lounge Car
@Vinaein @Traveler et al.

*****
​

The crowds on the platform were a vague mass of shifting colors and faces, almost hypnotic in a way. Estella might have been entranced forever if a voice like a horror movie hadn't crept into her ear, making her jump a little as she saw the man sitting near her.

"Is all right?"

The accent might have been a bit Dracula for her taste, but at least the fella wasn't too hard on the eyes. And while the showgirl's body was still tense with suspicion, there was something open and honest about the man's face. Or maybe she was just blinded by the obvious quality of his dress, finer even than the wealthy European businessmen that seemed to infest the train from tip to tail. Maybe one of those lost eastern royals like Hannah Rosenbaum married after her last tour in Paris? Estella wondered thoughtfully, then realized she had been staring back at the man just long enough to be rude.

Conjuring up a laugh, she tossed her head in the careless way she'd seen Ginger Rogers do. "Very well, thank you, monsieur," Estella replied in a tone that was meant to end the conversation.

Keeping a firm grip on the briefcase, she instead settled into the seat and faced the entrance to the car, determined to look absolutely stunning as soon as Michael walked in. Along the way she noticed the handsome gentleman she'd passed in the hall had appeared at the bar, and as their eyes met a small, cat-like smile tugged at her lips. Was it just chance that had brought him into the lounge, or was he looking for something--someone--too?

When she heard the man order his drink though, something cold ran through her. Was it her imagination, or was that a British accent she heard over the engine as the train began to shove off again?

You're being paranoid. He's just here for a drink, Estella told herself, looking back at the door and praying Michael would walk through next.

No such luck. It was a woman who walked through next, rather unremarkable in appearance besides her smart dress, and Estella would have ignored her entirely except for how she heard the woman speak to the only other person in the car in full evening dress. Now this gal was definitely British, no doubt about it, and so was the man who replied to her. Three Brits in the car, or two at least. Cops, or spies? Were they here for her? Where the fuck was Michael?

Estella took a deep breath. No sense in looking more suspicious than she probably already did. Instead she turned her attention back towards the concerned noble-looking fellow. Definitely nothing of the Isles about him, which meant he was probably the person she should stick closest to, at least until Michael showed up. Besides, underneath the white gloves and tails, the man actually looked like a bit of a bruiser. She could only hope he had the chivalrous nature of all princes to look after a poor damsel in distress.

Moving a little closer to him, Estella flashed him a warmer smile and tilted her head inquisitively. "That's a very distinguished accent you have, monsieur. Do you mind if I ask where you come from? I so enjoy getting to know interesting people on trains." She even went so far as to bat her eyelashes flirtatiously at him, though underneath she was still carefully watching the door.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: First Class Lounge
@captain_bond

---

Jane did find it quite presumptuous of the man to invite her to his sleeping compartment, even if it was under the pretext of discussing business that could not be mentioned publicly. From the looks of him he was a man that was used to getting his way, whether with women or in business, and who might not always be particularly gentlemanly about one or the other. She was however a trained operative for the British Secret Intelligence Service with experience going back two decades and knew how to handle presumptuous men, both when it came to keeping them in their place and also how to lure information from them by playing the sparrow game.

She took another drag on the cigarette and nodded to herself thinking about the things she had seen and done in those two decades. It was enough to make anyone blush and gasp with horror at the same time.
"Three, then two, then three again," she confirmed the code in a whisper and followed up with a giggle to feign some level of modesty, though part of her was leaning more towards throwing her drink in his face and slapping him before storming out.
As fun as that might be it would however be counter-productive to the mission which would require her to remain close to him for the next week or so and perhaps longer while he set up base in Istanbul.

 

[captain_bond]

First Class Lounge
@MsBloom

"Sorry," Walsh said in a low voice. "I shouldn't have said that. It was unprofessional and ungentlemanly besides. Forgive me, it has been a spell since I've seen one as striking as you. I forgot my manners." He hung his head shamefully and ordered a Vodka Martini, but when the bartender left to make it, he said, "Wait. Three measures of Gordon's gin, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet, shake it over ice and add a thin slice of lemon peel." The barman seemed pleased as he said, "Certainly, monsieur." Turning back to Jane, he said, "I'll be trying to forget what an arse I was, in the bottom of my martini glass, if you get to my compartment and don't find me there," in the same low voice.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: First Class Lounge
@captain_bond

---

"I'll find you at the bottom of a glass, probably in a rather useless state, whether for discussing business or anything else," Jane said and sipped her Imperial.
Then she smiled coyly and let her eyes wander across the lounge to the woman with the suitcase who seemed to be growing increasingly nervous and quite obviously engaging in conversation with the East-European man in an attempt to hide that fact while still keeping an eager eye on the entrance to the lounge. Who was she waiting for.

 

[captain_bond]

First Class Lounge/Sleeping Compartments

"I try to apologize, in a rather pathetic manner, mind you, and you only give me scorn. I'd be better off on my own." Charles got up and swept from the lounge without even waiting for his drink. Bloody dyke, probably, he thought acidly. Why else would she be so aloof? She seemed more interested in that vapid movie star than any of the men. I should have known. When he got to his sleeping compartment he slammed the door loudly, jammed wooden wedges in the hallway door and the one that connected to the next-door compartment, stripped, and went to sleep, his Walther PPK under his pillow.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: First Class Lounge

---

As Walsh made his abrupt and rather dramatic exit Jane followed him with her eyes as he left the lounge then shrugged and raised an eyebrow.
"Men," she muttered under her breath to no one in particular, or anyone within earshot.
"Such fragile egos."
His exit did however leave her free to examine the nervous woman a bit more closely while of course sipping her cocktail quite casually and finishing her cigarette. There was definitely something she was afraid of but it was impossible at the moment to tell just what that might be.

 

[Traveler]

Mr. Leonard Benjamin, Esq.
First Class Lounge

@MsBloom, @captain_bond, @Shiva the Cat, @Vinaein​

---

Leo turned as he waited and saw the pretty woman in trousers walk in. She seemed full of confidence. His grandmother would have said she looked like she was full of ‘piss and vinegar,’ but he liked seeing women embracing the new freedoms this brave new world was providing. He gave her a small smile before turning back to the bartender. Out of the peripheral of his eye he saw her approach the bar, and heard her order an Imperial Cocktail.

Impressive. Leo didn’t even know what an Imperial Cocktail was. She seemed to have found her cigarette lighter in the older gentleman, whose voice rolled off his tongue like velvet, and though he didn’t mean to eaves drop, her name stuck in his head. “Jane, Jane Eyelesbarrow of Exmouth.”

It was a mouthful.

And then there was “Walsh, Charles Walsh.” They must have been deeper in their cups if they felt they had to repeat their names. Or maybe it had become fashionable in Europe to have double names now; he didn’t know. In reality, he didn’t care. Leo was simply bored.

Leo accepted his glass and thanked the bartender, adding a gratuity as he collected his drink and turned to leave in time to hear that Jane-Jane-Eyelesbarrow-of-Exmouth and Walsh-Charles-Walsh of wherever had business to discuss. Now that was interesting. From their first encounter he would have thought they were strangers, but suddenly they had business to discuss?

Leo was moving away and sipping at his Whiskey when he heard mention of Mr. Walsh’s sleeping berth and nearly choked on his drink. Europeans! He had heard that they were not as prudish as they once might have been, but soliciting a woman on the train? Was lighting her cigarette with a lighter instead of a match code for ‘You want to have sex for money?’ He would have to be careful if the offer ever came his way. Not only was he traveling on the company’s dime, but he was not the kind to pay for something that was better sampled for pleasure and not for profit.

He settled himself in a well-appointed chair at a table meant for two, setting his glass on a paper coaster and crossing his leg away from the wall. From here, he was cattycorner to the lady in black and her debonair conversation mate, and he could still see, but not hear, the two making plans for their rendezvous in his sleeping berth. He quite admired the furnishings in the lounge; leather seats were tastefully appointed, and the wood was a luxurious dark brown that hinted at mahogany. They appealed to the man, who missed the rugged countryside of his youth.

The woman in trousers and her white-jacketed mark continued to discuss their plans, and then the man left abruptly. Leo turned his gaze from the compartment to the window, watching their movements in the dark glass. The look on the man’s face would peel paint off walls…

‘Hmm,’ thought Leo, ‘she probably cost more than he wanted to spend.’

It didn’t concern him, though. He raised his brows and lifted the glass to his lips, enjoying the tang of sour and the bite of the whiskey. When he heard Jane-Jane mutter that men had fragile egos.

Leo couldn’t help but chuckle. He held his glass over the top, his index finger playing along the rim of the glass as he looked at the lady. “Perhaps he couldn’t afford you,” he offered, looking into her stunning eyes. His own warmed with a verdant hue that was reminiscent of mossy stone in the shade of a fern woods, and his skin, though clean-shaven and groomed, still radiated with the touch of sunlight. “I wouldn’t take it personally – you’re pretty enough,” he added with a grin.

 

[Vinaein]

Count Aleksander
First Class Lounge Car
@Shiva the Cat @Traveler

​

The count had grown used to the shifting of crowds, of the myriad faces and presences all around. Aleksander barely took notice of most of those about him save only to the extent that he needed to. Some of his natural eastern European accent bled out in carelessness, the Count forgetting to conceal it as he gazed into the face of the clearly harried woman before him. She had, he thought, the look of a movie star, someone born to the stage as surely as Clara Bow.

She sprang in her seat just a touch at his words, Aleksander trying to keep his smile gentle. He was attempting to be conversational, relaxing in his seat as to appear nonthreatening. Her gaze flicked across his noble finery while he kept his arms gracefully folded across his chest now. His question was not immediately answered.

Rather, the woman with short hair was gazing at him. Or more accurately, gazing through him. He was lifting an eyebrow for a moment, wondering what was on the poor woman's mind now. Perhaps something was troubling her. He wondered idly if he might even assist. After so much time handling the worst problems for the worst people, doing a good deed might well be an improvement.

""Very well, thank you, monsieur," her voice was curt, tone meant to sever the thread of conversation as surely as if she closed a pair of scissors. He simply smiled and nodded his head, delicate and pleasant but not pushing while others flitted about them. He saw a number of others...for starters, a man of fine dress, with high cheek bones, short hair, trimmed facial hair and a noble bearing.

Aleksander watched him for a period, without looking like he was watching. He sipped his Old Fashioned with delicacy, detecting the fellow had a British accent. Intriguing...but then, it might mean nothing. Nothing at all. Or it might mean something.

He wasn't expecting trouble on a train. Who would? He had traveled in stealth, with none but his superiors knowing his destination. Hjalmar could not have found him, nor any other enemy. His intelligence was in his briefcase, concealed in a secretive compartment. Some fellow around with a British accent meant nothing, other well-dressed men, even beautiful women...

So he directed his attention on the lovely woman before him, looking for all the world like a concerned fellow. He needed to blend into the crowd now, but the way her head tilted immediately indicated that something else had arisen with her sudden intrigue in him. He decided not to question it for the moment, only returning the smile. "Ah, is it so distinctive?" He laughed softly, her eyes fluttering.

"My name is Count Aleksander Janos Zelenski of the lands of Krolock..primarily Romania, but Hungary as well. The war changed the holdings slightly, but they remain. As for interesting people?" He grinned delicately. "Might I interest you in a drink? I find myself meeting someone intriguing as well. What is your name?"

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: First Class Lounge
@Traveler @Shiva the Cat

---

Jane had barely begun to ponder what might be in the suitcase that was important enough for the woman to carry it with her to the lounge, or whether she expected to suddenly leave the train when whomever she was waiting for arrived, when she heard the man who had been standing next to Walsh earlier comment that perhaps she cost more than he could afford. She found his assumption that she was a prostitute soliciting clients on the Orient Express rather amusing. It was a role she had actually assumed as part of her cover story before, not on the Orient Express per se or on any other train but it was how she had begun her first mission in Paris as she was one of the very few female operatives fluent in the language, fluent enough to not reveal her true nationality.

Thinking it might be a bit of fun and perhaps also a way to find out more about the man while at the same time getting closer to the nervous woman and perhaps pick up some of her conversation with the East-European gentleman she smiled at him, ordered another Imperial before finishing the one in front of her in one big mouthful. She indicated to the bartender that she wanted it delivered to the table where the man had sat down, took another cigarette from her leather bound case and approached him with the same opening line as she had used with Walsh. This time adding an insinuating smile.

 

[Traveler]

Mr. Leonard Benjamin, Esq.
First Class Lounge
@MsBloom, @Shiva the Cat, @Vinaein​

Leo’s gaze washed over the sassy, bobbed hair beauty. Her large eyes were captivating, and the petite point of her chin below those soft, kissable lips gave her an ethereal, pixie look that made him think of fairies and angels. There was an elegance to her movements that hinted she would be as comfortable cradling a shotgun over her arm and shooting pigeons as she would in a Madeleine Vionnet dress lounging in the White House.

He watched her down her drink and order another, then saunter over as she slid another long cigarette from her case.

"Excuse me, may I borrow a match?" Her voice seemed perfectly liquid, and he found himself smiling back at her.

“I wish I had a match,” he answered, the clipped English edges of his voice coming through, though his phrasing was distinctly American. He pulled back the left breast of his jacket and slid his hand inside, retrieving the same silver case as before. Quietly he withdrew his lighter and flicked it open to flame at the tip of her cigarette. When she was properly lit, he leaned back and set the lighter atop his case as he gazed at her.

“So, Ms Eyelesbarrow of Exmouth, what brings you to the Orient Express?” His left brow rose slightly at the word ‘you,’ and when he smiled at her, fine lines creased the corners of his eyes and dimpled his cheek. Each word he spoke had been carefully measured. He had considered shielding the information that he had overheard parts of her conversation with her would-be John but thought it more polite to be open about his knowledge. After all, she had already missed out on one earning opportunity. He didn’t want to waste her time if she was looking for another.

 

[MsBloom]

Name: Jane Marple
Location: First Class Lounge
@Traveler

---

"So you think I'm pretty enough," Jane said completely ignoring his question, quite intentionally as she wanted to play her little game just a little bit longer before correcting his misinterpretation.
She took a deep drag on the cigarette and sat down, quite uninvited but she doubted that he would mind. She watched him carefully for a few moments before leaning in closer.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was with the British Secret Intelligence Service on a mission to expose an American double agent?" she said looking quite serious for a few moments before starting to laugh.
It was perhaps more of a chuckle than a laugh but it was full-bodied and warm.
"I'm only joking of course," she added after a little while but even through her laughter she had kept her eyes on the man in front of her.
"Nothing so adventurous I assure you."
She took another drag on the cigarette and nodded at the bartender as he brought her her cocktail.
"Nor do I have sexual encounters in exchange for financial gain," she added, her voice now more serious but no less elegant in its tone.
She gave him a look and a smile.
"I'm just a lonely bored heiress with too much money and time on her hands."

 

[Traveler]

Mr. Leonard Benjamin, Esq.
First Class Lounge
@MsBloom​

Leonard’s smile deepened when she reiterated that he had said she was ‘pretty enough,’ and when she sat down opposite him at the tiny table he inclined his head to the side, inviting her to do that which she had already done. “Quite pretty,” he agreed, “enough for anything you put your mind towards. Although I believe it’s the mind behind the face that really decides how much one accomplishes.”

She asked him if he would believe she was a spy, and he smiled softly. “I have no reason to doubt you,” he answered, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. His eyes remained fixed on hers, steady forest-green windows to a calm and reserved soul. She laughed delightfully, and he smiled in return as he set his glass down. Beyond her shoulders he could still see the nervous starlet and her noble-looking friend, and to their side the bartender serving up drinks for a couple who had entered. The woman wore an ermine fur around her shoulders and seemed very excited to ensure the sparkling gem on her finger was visible with every flamboyant wave of her hands. Her suitor, and older man by at least a dozen years, and plump enough about the waist to have lived easily for most of them, seemed enchanted by his fiancée.

Leo’s eyes drifted back to Ms. Eyelesbarrow’s face. She begged off that she was joking, and had nothing so adventurous in her repertoire. Leo decided he liked her. When she ensured he understood she was not a prostitute he liked her even more. “Well, that makes two of us,” he said, regarding sexual encounters and financial gain.

She gave him a look and a smile.
"I'm just a lonely bored heiress with too much money and time on her hands."

“Ah, if only we could all be so fortunate,” He jested, dropping his eyes to his cigarette case as he fetched one for himself, his lashes brushed across tanned skin and hid his thoughts for only a moment before he brought a fag to his lips and lit the end, joining her in her relaxation. Once it was lit and a bright ember tipped its end, he lowered the hand holding it. He offered her his left hand in greeting.

“I’m Leonard Benjamin, Esquire,” he introduced himself. “My friends call me Leo. I am neither an heir, nor do I have too much time or money on my hands,” he said. “I am…what do we call it now? The ‘Middle Class’?” His smile was self-deprecating. “Don’t let my presence in First Class fool you, heiress.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

𝔼𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝔻𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕩
First Class Lounge Car
@Vinaein @MsBloom

*****​

Count Aleksander Janos Zelenski.

Hot dog, Hannah was right. They really are all over the place over here. Her current stresses temporarily forgotten, Estella straightened a little in her chair as she briefly allowed herself to imagine the advantages of involving oneself with an obviously wealthy royal. Was there a family castle somewhere in Hungary or Romania or Transylvania or wherever he was babbling about? An army of servants to wait on one's every whim? Well, it might not be the house in Hollywood the singer might have dreamed of, but a setup like that would be a swell consolation prize after all.

Of course, she was getting ahead of herself. She'd only just gotten his name, after all.

"I would love a drink, Your...Grace? Your Highness? How do you address a Count, after all?" she giggled as a waiter suddenly appeared and set an Imperial on the table before her. Estella stared in amazement at the man across the table from her. "Goodness, how in the world did you do that? Are you some kind of magician?"

Before the Count could take the credit, the waiter gestured towards the British woman at the bar, who made just enough surreptitious eye contact for the singer to know she'd been seen. "Courtesy of the lady at the bar, miss," the waiter replied.

Under any other circumstance, Estella might have been flattered at the gesture. She'd found herself in women's beds before, both for business and pleasure, and now that she looked at the woman at the bar she had to acknowledge that there was a very contemporary, stylish beauty about her as she chatted with the dark-haired man from before. Until she'd managed to deposit the briefcase with Michael though, the singer had no interest in involving herself with anyone from England, male or female, and instead turned her attention fully back towards the Count.

"What a shame. You know, I really don't care for these," she remarked, pushing it carefully over to him and trying to seem as nonplussed as possible. "Please be my guest if you do, though. I think I'd like a champagne in the meantime," Estella added for the waiter's benefit, who nodded pleasantly and went off to fetch the drink. In the meantime, she tucked the briefcase firmly between herself and the arm of the couch and pointedly avoided the other woman's eyes.

A few moments later the waiter returned with her champagne, the taste of which did wonders for the showgirl's nerves. "I'm Estella Devereaux, by the way," she introduced, raising the glass to her painted lips. "Perhaps you've heard of me? I'm a singer, and I dance a little. I don't recall ever playing the theaters in Hungary or Romania, but I did do a stint at a club in Warsaw a few years back, and I was in Paris most of last year." I just came from London she almost added, though the feel of the British woman's eyes on her made Estella swallow the words with the champagne.

Although she could feel the woman consistently watching her, the sound of her sweet voice was consistently musing to the dark-haired gentleman. Flirtations probably, not so very different from Estella's own. Maybe I'm being paranoid the singer thought for the thousandth time, even going so far as to consider going over to apologize for the woman, until three bone-chilling words made her slosh the remnants of her champagne into her lap.

American double agent.

"Oh dear, I'm so clumsy on trains," Estella gasped as she set the empty glass down and began fishing for a handkerchief in her purse, hands trembling the entire time.

 

[Vinaein]

Count Aleksander
First Class Lounge Car
@Shiva the Cat @MsBloom @Traveler
​

Aleksander, Aleks to his friends and those closest to him, did not like to flaunt his family title or holdings. It was, however, useful for presentation amongst crowds and others. People did, however, have a marked tendency to treat him a touch different at the mentioning. The woman before him was straightening in her seat and he felt an urge to tell her that leisurewas more than fine now. No use sitting straight up for attention just because of the dusty old relic of a title after all.

His dangerous life was not remotely mitigated by any remnant of title either. And at the mention of the name, her demeanor had changed noticeably. Not that he was minding with such a lovely and charming individual. Her accent sounded rather American as well. "A drink indeed," he began, though he was interrupted by one arriving as if anticipating the woman's whim on the spot. "The typical mode of address tends to be "Your Excellency" or "Your Lordship." But between the two of us here, please do feel free to call me Aleksander."

The mention of the woman at the bar from the waiter made his own eye turn just for a moment, before a woman of clear beauty. His eyebrow lifted, but he could hardly be frustrated with someone who had a discerning eye for taste, now could he? "Please," he told the waitress. "Return the favor for such a generous admirer. Whatever the woman at the bar desires as well. As for the lady here?" His smile was charming.

"A champagne indeed. And please, make it a bottle of your finest." Money was hardly a concern and he did not have to worry Why not indulge, a touch of ostentatious displays for the benefit of such a delightful happenstance meeting?

Estella Deveraux, she said, the champagne disappearing between her lips. A singer and she "danced a little." He wracked his brain, but he could not recall seeing her before, nor hearing the name. "A singer and a dancer? I see you are a woman of multifaceted talent!

She tripped and he could see the champagne fall into her lap. Aleksander was, however, listening to everything behind himself, detecting the conversations as Estella proved a wonderful form of distraction. When she spilled the champagne though...it could be coincidence, it could not be. He'd have to gauge more.

"Please. Allow me." He produced his own handkerchief, offering it to her. "What brings you aboard, Mademoiselle Devereaux?" His voice took on the perfect impression of a French accent when he used the language. "For such a talent, I can only assume you plan a lucrative travel? I must say, the family holdings have been dreary of late, if I have a chance to see your performances, I would relish such a chance to see a star upon the stage."

 

[captain_bond]

Charles Walsh - Sleeping Compartments/First-Class Lounge
@MsBloom @Shiva the Cat @Vinaein et al.

For a while, Walsh tossed and turned and tried all he could without pills or alcohol to get to sleep, but he just couldn't do it. Not wanting to take pills and risk not being able to defend himself, and unwilling to humiliate himself by getting piss-drunk just so he could fall asleep, he decided to rejoin the first-class lounge. He got up, splashed some water on his face, gargled some mouthwash, and dressed in a slate-grey suit, with a white silk shirt, thin black silk tie, and steel-capped black polished shoes, his Walther in a leather chamois shoulder holster under his left armpit.

Checking himself in the mirror to ensure his weapon could not be seen, he unlocked the door, stepped into the corridor, and went back to the lounge, choosing a seat in the corner so he could watch everything and everyone at once. His martini recipe was remembered by the barman, who sent over a fresh one the moment Walsh sat down. Tucking a sizable gratuity into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, Charles sipped the drink and was pleased with the result. He raised the glass in a silent toast towards Jane's general direction, wondering who it was she was talking to, before downing the rest of it in three long swallows.

He ordered a small aperitif next, but paired it with a soda this time; he still did not wish to get drunk, and watched the evening's patrons with a casual interest.