My Baby Takes the Morning Train
(My thanks to G's player for the invitation to Urnst, the play, and letting me dock my fictitious train in his Island Nation's trainyard!)
A gust of wind managed to stealthily sneak its way into Trigole Station through the glass gates leading out directly to Platform No. 47 and into the wonderfully weathered Spring day it had been on the Island Nation of Urnst.
Trigole Station itself was a beautifully kept railway station in that it had a truly impressive and dare say flamboyant architectural style of bricking and Jugendstil detail and ornamentation. Outside some citizens had paid glance to the masterfully made face clock on the building that ran so many lives and schedules passing through. As it was, Dyarhk was one of these people today. He ascended the rather short cement staircase in black dress shoes and was much too wowed by the place to have his hands in his pant pockets. He did not look so much like a diplomat or an ambassador as he did a playboy businessman who'd been stranded on an island. He wore simple back pants and a rich lavender colored dress shirt with a larger than average collar, one he was finally buttoning back up closer to his neck now that the wind was a reoccurring guest to him and a welcome exchange from the harsher hours spent under the sun on a man, Wesley Morgan's, sailboat.
Securing travel to the Island Nation of Urnst was not so hard a thing, but it had to be done across the sea, and Dyarhk was not yet beyond asking Britania to secure passage for him on her own vessel, the Black Dragon. No, Dyarhk wanted to arrive there much more subtly and without attention, particularly now so with the press so aggravatingly centered around him lately in this election. It was for this reason Dyarhk approached a man and booked a two day trip out at sea with on his boat Mossrau 7, in a line of luxury sailboats named after his father's sailboat which had been his wife's surname.
The sun beat down magnificent those two days, but nothing that some suntanning and idle fishing couldn't help pass between naps. Urnst was no close distance away, which was why Dyarhk was neglected to tip the boatman the large sum he had, though it did make sense to him soon thereafter. His suit jacket slung over his shoulder, he began the trek into Urnst what would inevitably lead him past horsemen and simpler country folk, and inevitably a wagon he was able to secure a ride on for some distance. But being as they were not going to Trigole, he had hopped off with a thankful wave to the wagon runner with what was now a much freer hand.
This was no weather for a suit, or its jacket, or its tie, the latter two of which Dyarhk had removed and placed back inside their black plastic bag, the one and the same that the garments were sent away for dry cleaning in. He walked the remainder of the distance to Trigole with sweet thoughts on his mind and sweet smiles to those he saw, men, women, and some children who got him to smile the most via his outlandish getup.
When he came to gaze up at that large town clock with its meticulous craftsmanship he was just about as amazed by it as he was relieved he had remained still so on schedule. He stepped up those steps and finally his shiny shoes were able to compliment something, that being the reflective tile of the floor that went noticed just as often as every step was taken sounded out and up into the large hall of the temperately cool boarding station. He gave a look around noticing the ticket booths and sequential glass gates that led outside and could only smile as he saw what he came for: a magnificently black oil-colored train set off just as much by the silver plates that seemed to armour it.
"Wow." he muttered.
"You're late." impatiently taking a look at a non-existant watch. The train sitting there in the background. Not really late, but that's better for the drama.
Dyarhk gave a look around in the echo chamber that was this classy station. He was surprised to find it was he who had been addressed as much as it had been who it was addressing him. He gave a laughterless smile closing the remaining distance between him and the unusual ruler of these people. Why was it unusual to Dyarhk? Perhaps that could be answered along with all his other questions along this trip. Dyarhk was a very confused man in this Rhydin election, and why he thought G might be able to help him out also remained to be seen. He held his bag loosely in his hand and gave his other one to G.
"I thought it'd be relaxing to make the trip by sail. Turned out just to be sunburning and boring." a smirk to the man.
"Well, next time, plan to leave earlier. I was about to have the train go off without you." Not really, he was sporting his amused smirk that said that he wasn't serious but was enjoying giving the kid a hard time. That's what he does. "So, I guess you should hop on board so you can tell me what's so important that you had to sail all the way over here to come talk to me."
(My thanks to G's player for the invitation to Urnst, the play, and letting me dock my fictitious train in his Island Nation's trainyard!)
A gust of wind managed to stealthily sneak its way into Trigole Station through the glass gates leading out directly to Platform No. 47 and into the wonderfully weathered Spring day it had been on the Island Nation of Urnst.
Trigole Station itself was a beautifully kept railway station in that it had a truly impressive and dare say flamboyant architectural style of bricking and Jugendstil detail and ornamentation. Outside some citizens had paid glance to the masterfully made face clock on the building that ran so many lives and schedules passing through. As it was, Dyarhk was one of these people today. He ascended the rather short cement staircase in black dress shoes and was much too wowed by the place to have his hands in his pant pockets. He did not look so much like a diplomat or an ambassador as he did a playboy businessman who'd been stranded on an island. He wore simple back pants and a rich lavender colored dress shirt with a larger than average collar, one he was finally buttoning back up closer to his neck now that the wind was a reoccurring guest to him and a welcome exchange from the harsher hours spent under the sun on a man, Wesley Morgan's, sailboat.
Securing travel to the Island Nation of Urnst was not so hard a thing, but it had to be done across the sea, and Dyarhk was not yet beyond asking Britania to secure passage for him on her own vessel, the Black Dragon. No, Dyarhk wanted to arrive there much more subtly and without attention, particularly now so with the press so aggravatingly centered around him lately in this election. It was for this reason Dyarhk approached a man and booked a two day trip out at sea with on his boat Mossrau 7, in a line of luxury sailboats named after his father's sailboat which had been his wife's surname.
The sun beat down magnificent those two days, but nothing that some suntanning and idle fishing couldn't help pass between naps. Urnst was no close distance away, which was why Dyarhk was neglected to tip the boatman the large sum he had, though it did make sense to him soon thereafter. His suit jacket slung over his shoulder, he began the trek into Urnst what would inevitably lead him past horsemen and simpler country folk, and inevitably a wagon he was able to secure a ride on for some distance. But being as they were not going to Trigole, he had hopped off with a thankful wave to the wagon runner with what was now a much freer hand.
This was no weather for a suit, or its jacket, or its tie, the latter two of which Dyarhk had removed and placed back inside their black plastic bag, the one and the same that the garments were sent away for dry cleaning in. He walked the remainder of the distance to Trigole with sweet thoughts on his mind and sweet smiles to those he saw, men, women, and some children who got him to smile the most via his outlandish getup.
When he came to gaze up at that large town clock with its meticulous craftsmanship he was just about as amazed by it as he was relieved he had remained still so on schedule. He stepped up those steps and finally his shiny shoes were able to compliment something, that being the reflective tile of the floor that went noticed just as often as every step was taken sounded out and up into the large hall of the temperately cool boarding station. He gave a look around noticing the ticket booths and sequential glass gates that led outside and could only smile as he saw what he came for: a magnificently black oil-colored train set off just as much by the silver plates that seemed to armour it.
"Wow." he muttered.
"You're late." impatiently taking a look at a non-existant watch. The train sitting there in the background. Not really late, but that's better for the drama.
Dyarhk gave a look around in the echo chamber that was this classy station. He was surprised to find it was he who had been addressed as much as it had been who it was addressing him. He gave a laughterless smile closing the remaining distance between him and the unusual ruler of these people. Why was it unusual to Dyarhk? Perhaps that could be answered along with all his other questions along this trip. Dyarhk was a very confused man in this Rhydin election, and why he thought G might be able to help him out also remained to be seen. He held his bag loosely in his hand and gave his other one to G.
"I thought it'd be relaxing to make the trip by sail. Turned out just to be sunburning and boring." a smirk to the man.
"Well, next time, plan to leave earlier. I was about to have the train go off without you." Not really, he was sporting his amused smirk that said that he wasn't serious but was enjoying giving the kid a hard time. That's what he does. "So, I guess you should hop on board so you can tell me what's so important that you had to sail all the way over here to come talk to me."