"Trauma", Baccano! NaNoWriMo response
Okay, I took a break from writing this morning and afternoon so I could watch episode thirteen on nicovideo over and over again and surf all over to see people's reactions, but now it's back to work! With the rate I'm going and if I get enough requests, I might end up completing NaNoWriMo twice over. XD
I've started to adjust to the medication, so I'm back down to Earth, now. Seriously, I really think I actually was as high as a kite yesterday--I have no idea where half the stuff I wrote came from. XD Also, it was so incredibly hard for me to post it without taking it apart for major revision. I wanted to delete so much that it wasn't even funny, but this is how NaNoWriMo goes. You dig deep down inside and sometimes strike gold, but sometimes all you dig up is crap. XD Of course, it being a crack fanfic (in more ways than one XD), quality isn't the biggest issue, but I'm a total perfectionist when it comes to writing and it bothers me when I know I can do better. XD
ANYWAY, it's on to the second request, by ensuing, who is awesome and lets me cheat by requesting things I complain about wanting to write about. XD So now, I shall attempt to write my very first serious man on man fanfic ever. I did write a parody, once... but it's best that I never speak of it again. >.> As for my sudden interest in the pairing, you can blame Jon and Fan for totally flirting with each other in episode twelve. Not that I understood a word that they said. But the tone! The tone~! *dies*
Character(s)/Pairing: Jon Parnell/Fan Rinshan
Genre: Mystery, intrigue, romance~ Or something like that.
Rating: Anything
Prompt: Them. Doing anything together. On the Pussyfoot.
Title: Trauma
Pairing: Jon/Fan
Other Characters: Jacuzzi
Genre: Dramatic thriller/Romance (and hopefully a little mysterious and intriguing)
Rating: PG-13 (for gun violence, bloodshed, and death. The romance aspects are limited to a little hugging and kissing, innocent enough to get a G)
Warnings: If it isn't already clear; two men in love with each other beyond the cut. Also, the retelling of some of the dining car scenes from episode three through twelve.
Wordcount: 2572
Total Progress: 8723/50000 = 17.45% complete
Staring down gun barrels always looked so easy in the movies, but the fact of the matter was, no one really knew how they would react the first time the cold truth of mortality was flung in their faces. In moments like those, rational thought would melt away, leaving nothing but a basic primal instinct. Some would scream, cry, and flee; others would not utter a sound and freeze on the spot, forgetting to breath, forgetting to think. For those surviving such trauma, it was hard to rise above the thought of danger into their previously perfectly safe existence. Whether it was shadows stretching past corners, a loud sound from somewhere behind, or any other perfectly normal situation, suddenly, the thought of death followed them everywhere. It could take months, or even years, to finally recover and put it out of their minds for the most part, but the memory would always, always remain.
Jon Parnell had worked as a waiter and bartender for most of his life, taking orders and mixing drinks until it had become second nature. Everything was fine until the depression began and the prohibition came into effect. He lost his job when his boss went bankrupt and was forced to seek employment in the more dangerous areas of Chicago, where many businesses operated on the fringe of the law and played by different rules. He was lucky enough to come across a younger man by the name of Jacuzzi Splot who had just started making bootleg beer and was looking for skilled workers willing to work the bars. He was a nervous, shy individual that Jon would have never guessed to be a lawbreaker, but, then again, he never thought of himself becoming a criminal either. Even with his often hysterical behavior, there was a curious hidden aspect about him that drew people to his side, but if anyone else knew what exactly it was, they never said a word.
It was at that bar where he met Fan Rinsham, who had been hired as a cook, in charge of the small menu the group had put together in an effort to mask the bar as a simple downtrodden restaurant just barely getting by. It came in handy many times, as the building was often inspected by police, but Jon was uncomfortable around him since day one. On slow days, while keeping busy wiping glasses clean, his eyes would often unconsciously slip over to peer inside the kitchen, where Fan would be preparing soup stock, mixing spices, or kneading dough. He wouldn't even realize what he was doing until a customer suddenly ordered a drink, or, the worst case scenario, Fan would look up and catch him staring. Jon would quickly break away, feeling like he had taken a step in the darkness and only just managed to stop himself from plunging down a flight of stairs. He dreaded the occasional customer interested in consuming things other than beverages, and never actually stepped past the door frame into the kitchen when carefully relaying the order, worrying every time that he might mix up the words into something strange.
It was on one such day that Jon lost all sense of personal safety. The bar wasn't empty by any means, but everyone inside jovially conversed amongst themselves, more interested in hearing each other's stories than enjoying their drinks, making it easy for Jon to focus on their tales than what Fan was up to in the kitchen. He didn't remember exactly what time it was when the door burst open and the lookout rushed inside, shouting at everyone to get down before his shirt tore open with a bright splash of red and he was on the ground and a bunch of men rushed in with machine guns and opened fire. There had been a few precious moments for reaction. The people sitting at the tables and around the bars had enough time to rise from their chairs before they fell, but Jon hadn't moved an inch the moment his gaze was trapped by the pitch black hole of the gun barrel. The spray of bullets traveled diagonally up the bar, the last few punching holes through his left shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor, the glass he had been holding shattering close by. He didn't feel anything right away--the gunfire filled everything. Even when they stopped firing and fled the scene, the gunfire filled everything.
Jon blinked at the ceiling and suddenly Fan was there in between, pushing his apron against his shoulder, and now the world was filled with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push Fan away with his right arm, but his joints folded in weakness as his hand pressed against the other man's chest, his strength fading with every moment, and all he managed to do was clench his fist around the fabric of Fan's uniform as another burst of pain seized his system.
He was saying something, Jon knew. Something important. He opened his watering eyes and tried to concentrate, but all he could think about was how stupid he had been to not realize until that very moment the true meaning behind his awkward glances. Jon stared directly into Fan's panicked eyes and felt something deep inside himself falling, falling, and landing someplace soft and warm. Fan, in the middle of a sentence Jon couldn't decipher, suddenly fell silent in reaction to the sudden change in the expression of the wounded bartender's eyes and face. Jon grew weaker with every second, but he continued to hold Fan's shirt tightly in his fist. Gradually, the weight of his arm pulled the speechless chef closer and closer until finally their breaths began to mix and their eyes drifted shut and Fan closed the remaining distance and Jon couldn't remember ever tasting something so sweet...
"Jon," a voice hissed in his ear. "Jon!"
Startled, Jon looked down at Fan, and slowly took in his surroundings. He was leaning against the wall of the small, cramped kitchen on board the Flying Pussyfoot, not bleeding on the floor of Jacuzzi's old bar. He realized that he was clutching the old wound in his right hand, and slowly uncurled his fingers, bringing his hand to his face, which, as he discovered, was covered in a layer of cold sweat that Fan was busily wiping away.
"What," Jon started to ask, stopped in confusion, then tried again. "What's going on?"
"Shh~" Fan shushed him. "Keep your voice down. They could return to the dining car at any moment."
Jon moved his hand from his face and put both palms against the wall to brace himself, letting Fan finish patting his face dry as he thought back to what he remembered. Taking orders, boiling water, making coffee, talking to the others, wiping glasses cle--the door burst open and a bunch of men rushed in with machine guns and--Jon took a deep breath to calm himself. The circumstances were so similar, no wonder he had suffered a relapse. Just a relapse. He wondered, sprouting a wry grin, just how long he had been frozen like a bird captured in a cat's claws before Fan had pulled him into the kitchen.
"Is everyone safe?" he asked, dreading the answer. At least Jacuzzi and Nice had left beforehand due to that ridiculous story, but the people they had befriended had all been gathered around the bar, not to mention the rest of the passengers that filled the car nearly to capacity.
"No innocent people got hurt in the crossfire," Fan answered, "but there are three bodies from the two groups of train hijackers. They're those people dressed in black and the ones in white. I moved their bodies behind the bar for now, and told everyone to stay in their seats. It wouldn't be good to have them panic and leave--it seems that the black and white groups are controlling both the front and back of the train. Now would probably be a good time to serve the good liquor."
It took all Jon had to be careful not to laugh too loud, and took Fan's hand, lowering the towel from his face. "Didn't we join the Nebula Corporation so we could sell Jacuzzi's product in a much safer environment?"
"I seem to remember that was a central part of the plan," Fan replied, with a smile, but it quickly melted away into concern. "Are you going to be all right? There will probably be a lot of armed men passing through."
"I'll be fine," Jon reassured him. "I was just taken by surprise earlier. Now that I know the situation, I'll be able to deal with it."
Fan wasn't entirely convinced. "I'm going to be keeping an eye on you. If you start to feel anxious, you better not push yourself, or I'll make you stay in the kitchen and I'll serve the drinks."
"Yes, I understand completely," Jon replied, pulling him into a brief hug before they got back to work. "But the same goes for you, Fan. Don't try to pretend you're not scared."
Fan sighed. "People like us aren't built for these types of situations."
"But, at the same time," Jon replied, pulling away and opening a pantry, sliding aside the false back boards and removing two bottles of Jacuzzi's liquor, "we might surprise everyone with what we can accomplish."
~~~
It was a hard task to keep everyone in their seats, especially with the continuous stream of murderers and terrorists passing through, repeatedly threatening to kill anyone who made the slightest movement. Jon and Fan became intensely worried when they noticed that the bar was completely empty, not one of Jacuzzi's new friends in sight, but they had a whole car full of people to look after, and that was all they could do. Luckily, no more gun fights were taken into the car, and no one else tried to leave.
There was only one close call. As the night wore on, less and less people passed through, until, finally, a pair of men in white stepped back inside from the front of the car. Jon and Fan, standing behind the bar, carefully stepping over the bodies as they prepared more drinks, recognized them immediately as one of the pairs that had come through earlier. They spoke happily about how they hadn't been able to find any more of the men in black suits, but there was still a bloodthirsty look in their eyes as they examined the passengers while they walked down the car.
Jon motioned toward the passengers looking his way to lower their heads, and pulled Fan below the counter. "Fan, you told me once that one of your old master chefs was an expert at throwing knives. Did he teach you anything about that?" he whispered quickly.
"A few lessons here and there," Fan whispered back.
Jon quietly slipped into the kitchen and pulled a drawer full of Fan's assorted kitchen knives directly out of the cabinet and bringing it back. Removing one for himself, Jon handed the drawer to Fan and said, "If those two sound like they're about to start shooting, you're going to throw these. Make sure you hurt one of them for sure. Get down if the other one starts shooting at you, but cover me if he spots me coming. I'll run down there as fast as I can and try to disarm them."
"Jon," Fan gasped, his voice filling with terror.
"If we can do this," Jon replied, staring down at his shaking hands, "we'll be saving dozens of lives. Even if this gets us killed, we'll be giving the passengers a chance to take them down themselves. It shouldn't end like the last time. We have a duty to protect our customers. They all enjoyed Jacuzzi's liquor, and that makes every last one of them our irreplaceable friends. I can't just hide behind the bar and just let them die like that again. I won't."
Fan darted forward, shifting the drawer to hold it against the left side of his body, and they shared what could possibly be their final kiss, cradling each other's faces. The two men in white suits reached the back of the car and turned around, raising their guns and loudly making their intentions known. Jon and Fan pulled away from each other and prepared to jump to their feet.
However, just in the nick of time, the door behind the two machine gunners crashed open, and Jon and Fan stayed still, listening carefully to the brief struggle. Suddenly, there was silence, then a very familiar voice rang through the car. A voice that neither of them expected to hear so clearly and full of confidence in such a dire situation.
Jon and Fan put down the knives and rose above the counter. "Jacuzzi!" they called out, happily, and their leader smiled back at them, glad to see that they were both safe from harm.
With Jacuzzi back and without a hint of his usual hysterics, the dining car was quickly organized in a secure fashion. The unconscious men in white suits were bound and gagged and hidden behind the bar, but a quick search of their clothes revealed several sets of handguns. They had the women and the elderly hide in the kitchen while the weapons were distributed among the remaining passengers. One after another, they captured small groups of train hijackers passing through the dining car, and soon enough, most of the passengers were armed and able to defend themselves.
Eventually, however, Jacuzzi had to move on, hearing explosions from one of the front cars, and left the dining car in the more than capable hands of Jon and Fan.
As a couple passengers tied up another pair of hijackers while the rest of them kept them firmly in their sights, Fan approached Jon and asked, "How does it feel to be on the safer side of a machine gun for a change?"
Jon hummed in thought, his smile widening. "Well, it's probably nothing to be proud of, but I'm finding it fairly therapeutic. How about you?"
Fan thought about it. "I'm thinking that you were right. I am surprised with what we accomplished. Perhaps we were born criminals after all."
"If being able to protect what really matters means that I am a criminal," Jon replied, "then that's just how it is. I was ready to kill those two men if it would have meant saving your life."
"Oh, you're such a charmer!" Fan chortled. "You were the one who would've been in danger. I was planning to kill them both before you even got past the bar."
Jon lowered his machine gun as their new prisoners were shoved underneath separate tables now that the bar was filled to the brim and winked at Fan. "Well, I suppose that makes us a pair of hardened criminals." Rolling his stiff left shoulder, he added, "I could really use a drink right now. It's nearly dawn already, and I doubt the Nebula Corporation is going to pay us overtime, so let's make the most of it and do our part in finishing off those bottles."
"That sounds wonderful," Fan replied, following him back to the bar, where a quarter full bottle rested on the counter. Jon reached over and under the counter to retrieve a couple glasses and some ice, then sat next to Fan on the bar stool before pouring the liquor. "To our notorious criminal behavior," Fan toasted, raising his glass.
"And a long life of constantly underestimating ourselves," Jon replied, tapping their glasses together.
I've started to adjust to the medication, so I'm back down to Earth, now. Seriously, I really think I actually was as high as a kite yesterday--I have no idea where half the stuff I wrote came from. XD Also, it was so incredibly hard for me to post it without taking it apart for major revision. I wanted to delete so much that it wasn't even funny, but this is how NaNoWriMo goes. You dig deep down inside and sometimes strike gold, but sometimes all you dig up is crap. XD Of course, it being a crack fanfic (in more ways than one XD), quality isn't the biggest issue, but I'm a total perfectionist when it comes to writing and it bothers me when I know I can do better. XD
ANYWAY, it's on to the second request, by ensuing, who is awesome and lets me cheat by requesting things I complain about wanting to write about. XD So now, I shall attempt to write my very first serious man on man fanfic ever. I did write a parody, once... but it's best that I never speak of it again. >.> As for my sudden interest in the pairing, you can blame Jon and Fan for totally flirting with each other in episode twelve. Not that I understood a word that they said. But the tone! The tone~! *dies*
Character(s)/Pairing: Jon Parnell/Fan Rinshan
Genre: Mystery, intrigue, romance~ Or something like that.
Rating: Anything
Prompt: Them. Doing anything together. On the Pussyfoot.
Title: Trauma
Pairing: Jon/Fan
Other Characters: Jacuzzi
Genre: Dramatic thriller/Romance (and hopefully a little mysterious and intriguing)
Rating: PG-13 (for gun violence, bloodshed, and death. The romance aspects are limited to a little hugging and kissing, innocent enough to get a G)
Warnings: If it isn't already clear; two men in love with each other beyond the cut. Also, the retelling of some of the dining car scenes from episode three through twelve.
Wordcount: 2572
Total Progress: 8723/50000 = 17.45% complete
Staring down gun barrels always looked so easy in the movies, but the fact of the matter was, no one really knew how they would react the first time the cold truth of mortality was flung in their faces. In moments like those, rational thought would melt away, leaving nothing but a basic primal instinct. Some would scream, cry, and flee; others would not utter a sound and freeze on the spot, forgetting to breath, forgetting to think. For those surviving such trauma, it was hard to rise above the thought of danger into their previously perfectly safe existence. Whether it was shadows stretching past corners, a loud sound from somewhere behind, or any other perfectly normal situation, suddenly, the thought of death followed them everywhere. It could take months, or even years, to finally recover and put it out of their minds for the most part, but the memory would always, always remain.
Jon Parnell had worked as a waiter and bartender for most of his life, taking orders and mixing drinks until it had become second nature. Everything was fine until the depression began and the prohibition came into effect. He lost his job when his boss went bankrupt and was forced to seek employment in the more dangerous areas of Chicago, where many businesses operated on the fringe of the law and played by different rules. He was lucky enough to come across a younger man by the name of Jacuzzi Splot who had just started making bootleg beer and was looking for skilled workers willing to work the bars. He was a nervous, shy individual that Jon would have never guessed to be a lawbreaker, but, then again, he never thought of himself becoming a criminal either. Even with his often hysterical behavior, there was a curious hidden aspect about him that drew people to his side, but if anyone else knew what exactly it was, they never said a word.
It was at that bar where he met Fan Rinsham, who had been hired as a cook, in charge of the small menu the group had put together in an effort to mask the bar as a simple downtrodden restaurant just barely getting by. It came in handy many times, as the building was often inspected by police, but Jon was uncomfortable around him since day one. On slow days, while keeping busy wiping glasses clean, his eyes would often unconsciously slip over to peer inside the kitchen, where Fan would be preparing soup stock, mixing spices, or kneading dough. He wouldn't even realize what he was doing until a customer suddenly ordered a drink, or, the worst case scenario, Fan would look up and catch him staring. Jon would quickly break away, feeling like he had taken a step in the darkness and only just managed to stop himself from plunging down a flight of stairs. He dreaded the occasional customer interested in consuming things other than beverages, and never actually stepped past the door frame into the kitchen when carefully relaying the order, worrying every time that he might mix up the words into something strange.
It was on one such day that Jon lost all sense of personal safety. The bar wasn't empty by any means, but everyone inside jovially conversed amongst themselves, more interested in hearing each other's stories than enjoying their drinks, making it easy for Jon to focus on their tales than what Fan was up to in the kitchen. He didn't remember exactly what time it was when the door burst open and the lookout rushed inside, shouting at everyone to get down before his shirt tore open with a bright splash of red and he was on the ground and a bunch of men rushed in with machine guns and opened fire. There had been a few precious moments for reaction. The people sitting at the tables and around the bars had enough time to rise from their chairs before they fell, but Jon hadn't moved an inch the moment his gaze was trapped by the pitch black hole of the gun barrel. The spray of bullets traveled diagonally up the bar, the last few punching holes through his left shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor, the glass he had been holding shattering close by. He didn't feel anything right away--the gunfire filled everything. Even when they stopped firing and fled the scene, the gunfire filled everything.
Jon blinked at the ceiling and suddenly Fan was there in between, pushing his apron against his shoulder, and now the world was filled with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push Fan away with his right arm, but his joints folded in weakness as his hand pressed against the other man's chest, his strength fading with every moment, and all he managed to do was clench his fist around the fabric of Fan's uniform as another burst of pain seized his system.
He was saying something, Jon knew. Something important. He opened his watering eyes and tried to concentrate, but all he could think about was how stupid he had been to not realize until that very moment the true meaning behind his awkward glances. Jon stared directly into Fan's panicked eyes and felt something deep inside himself falling, falling, and landing someplace soft and warm. Fan, in the middle of a sentence Jon couldn't decipher, suddenly fell silent in reaction to the sudden change in the expression of the wounded bartender's eyes and face. Jon grew weaker with every second, but he continued to hold Fan's shirt tightly in his fist. Gradually, the weight of his arm pulled the speechless chef closer and closer until finally their breaths began to mix and their eyes drifted shut and Fan closed the remaining distance and Jon couldn't remember ever tasting something so sweet...
"Jon," a voice hissed in his ear. "Jon!"
Startled, Jon looked down at Fan, and slowly took in his surroundings. He was leaning against the wall of the small, cramped kitchen on board the Flying Pussyfoot, not bleeding on the floor of Jacuzzi's old bar. He realized that he was clutching the old wound in his right hand, and slowly uncurled his fingers, bringing his hand to his face, which, as he discovered, was covered in a layer of cold sweat that Fan was busily wiping away.
"What," Jon started to ask, stopped in confusion, then tried again. "What's going on?"
"Shh~" Fan shushed him. "Keep your voice down. They could return to the dining car at any moment."
Jon moved his hand from his face and put both palms against the wall to brace himself, letting Fan finish patting his face dry as he thought back to what he remembered. Taking orders, boiling water, making coffee, talking to the others, wiping glasses cle--the door burst open and a bunch of men rushed in with machine guns and--Jon took a deep breath to calm himself. The circumstances were so similar, no wonder he had suffered a relapse. Just a relapse. He wondered, sprouting a wry grin, just how long he had been frozen like a bird captured in a cat's claws before Fan had pulled him into the kitchen.
"Is everyone safe?" he asked, dreading the answer. At least Jacuzzi and Nice had left beforehand due to that ridiculous story, but the people they had befriended had all been gathered around the bar, not to mention the rest of the passengers that filled the car nearly to capacity.
"No innocent people got hurt in the crossfire," Fan answered, "but there are three bodies from the two groups of train hijackers. They're those people dressed in black and the ones in white. I moved their bodies behind the bar for now, and told everyone to stay in their seats. It wouldn't be good to have them panic and leave--it seems that the black and white groups are controlling both the front and back of the train. Now would probably be a good time to serve the good liquor."
It took all Jon had to be careful not to laugh too loud, and took Fan's hand, lowering the towel from his face. "Didn't we join the Nebula Corporation so we could sell Jacuzzi's product in a much safer environment?"
"I seem to remember that was a central part of the plan," Fan replied, with a smile, but it quickly melted away into concern. "Are you going to be all right? There will probably be a lot of armed men passing through."
"I'll be fine," Jon reassured him. "I was just taken by surprise earlier. Now that I know the situation, I'll be able to deal with it."
Fan wasn't entirely convinced. "I'm going to be keeping an eye on you. If you start to feel anxious, you better not push yourself, or I'll make you stay in the kitchen and I'll serve the drinks."
"Yes, I understand completely," Jon replied, pulling him into a brief hug before they got back to work. "But the same goes for you, Fan. Don't try to pretend you're not scared."
Fan sighed. "People like us aren't built for these types of situations."
"But, at the same time," Jon replied, pulling away and opening a pantry, sliding aside the false back boards and removing two bottles of Jacuzzi's liquor, "we might surprise everyone with what we can accomplish."
~~~
It was a hard task to keep everyone in their seats, especially with the continuous stream of murderers and terrorists passing through, repeatedly threatening to kill anyone who made the slightest movement. Jon and Fan became intensely worried when they noticed that the bar was completely empty, not one of Jacuzzi's new friends in sight, but they had a whole car full of people to look after, and that was all they could do. Luckily, no more gun fights were taken into the car, and no one else tried to leave.
There was only one close call. As the night wore on, less and less people passed through, until, finally, a pair of men in white stepped back inside from the front of the car. Jon and Fan, standing behind the bar, carefully stepping over the bodies as they prepared more drinks, recognized them immediately as one of the pairs that had come through earlier. They spoke happily about how they hadn't been able to find any more of the men in black suits, but there was still a bloodthirsty look in their eyes as they examined the passengers while they walked down the car.
Jon motioned toward the passengers looking his way to lower their heads, and pulled Fan below the counter. "Fan, you told me once that one of your old master chefs was an expert at throwing knives. Did he teach you anything about that?" he whispered quickly.
"A few lessons here and there," Fan whispered back.
Jon quietly slipped into the kitchen and pulled a drawer full of Fan's assorted kitchen knives directly out of the cabinet and bringing it back. Removing one for himself, Jon handed the drawer to Fan and said, "If those two sound like they're about to start shooting, you're going to throw these. Make sure you hurt one of them for sure. Get down if the other one starts shooting at you, but cover me if he spots me coming. I'll run down there as fast as I can and try to disarm them."
"Jon," Fan gasped, his voice filling with terror.
"If we can do this," Jon replied, staring down at his shaking hands, "we'll be saving dozens of lives. Even if this gets us killed, we'll be giving the passengers a chance to take them down themselves. It shouldn't end like the last time. We have a duty to protect our customers. They all enjoyed Jacuzzi's liquor, and that makes every last one of them our irreplaceable friends. I can't just hide behind the bar and just let them die like that again. I won't."
Fan darted forward, shifting the drawer to hold it against the left side of his body, and they shared what could possibly be their final kiss, cradling each other's faces. The two men in white suits reached the back of the car and turned around, raising their guns and loudly making their intentions known. Jon and Fan pulled away from each other and prepared to jump to their feet.
However, just in the nick of time, the door behind the two machine gunners crashed open, and Jon and Fan stayed still, listening carefully to the brief struggle. Suddenly, there was silence, then a very familiar voice rang through the car. A voice that neither of them expected to hear so clearly and full of confidence in such a dire situation.
Jon and Fan put down the knives and rose above the counter. "Jacuzzi!" they called out, happily, and their leader smiled back at them, glad to see that they were both safe from harm.
With Jacuzzi back and without a hint of his usual hysterics, the dining car was quickly organized in a secure fashion. The unconscious men in white suits were bound and gagged and hidden behind the bar, but a quick search of their clothes revealed several sets of handguns. They had the women and the elderly hide in the kitchen while the weapons were distributed among the remaining passengers. One after another, they captured small groups of train hijackers passing through the dining car, and soon enough, most of the passengers were armed and able to defend themselves.
Eventually, however, Jacuzzi had to move on, hearing explosions from one of the front cars, and left the dining car in the more than capable hands of Jon and Fan.
As a couple passengers tied up another pair of hijackers while the rest of them kept them firmly in their sights, Fan approached Jon and asked, "How does it feel to be on the safer side of a machine gun for a change?"
Jon hummed in thought, his smile widening. "Well, it's probably nothing to be proud of, but I'm finding it fairly therapeutic. How about you?"
Fan thought about it. "I'm thinking that you were right. I am surprised with what we accomplished. Perhaps we were born criminals after all."
"If being able to protect what really matters means that I am a criminal," Jon replied, "then that's just how it is. I was ready to kill those two men if it would have meant saving your life."
"Oh, you're such a charmer!" Fan chortled. "You were the one who would've been in danger. I was planning to kill them both before you even got past the bar."
Jon lowered his machine gun as their new prisoners were shoved underneath separate tables now that the bar was filled to the brim and winked at Fan. "Well, I suppose that makes us a pair of hardened criminals." Rolling his stiff left shoulder, he added, "I could really use a drink right now. It's nearly dawn already, and I doubt the Nebula Corporation is going to pay us overtime, so let's make the most of it and do our part in finishing off those bottles."
"That sounds wonderful," Fan replied, following him back to the bar, where a quarter full bottle rested on the counter. Jon reached over and under the counter to retrieve a couple glasses and some ice, then sat next to Fan on the bar stool before pouring the liquor. "To our notorious criminal behavior," Fan toasted, raising his glass.
"And a long life of constantly underestimating ourselves," Jon replied, tapping their glasses together.