Runaway Train, Lock 1
Series Title: Runaway Train
Rating: PG (for now)
Pairs: None yet (the usual suspects will appear soon enough)
Genre: 1920’s Historical AU, soon-to-be action
Summary: A down and out street magician strikes it rich at a train station….or does he?
DC: Pure fiction, no claims made on owning those mentioned. In this story, the train station is located in a fictional country though there are toss backs to the US’s roaring twenties. As such, this fic is about as far from historically accurate as Nino is from looking old, so please do not read if you’re anal for history.
Note: For the darling ariange . I began this series last November from a drabble prompt set in the 1920's as given by ariange . I gave a preview of it’s raw first chapter in a batch of Christmas drabbles in December, but have only neared completion now. In brief, this was a long work in progress and I have nothing to show for it, therefore: beware of suckage.
“Hey there, pretty lady, how about a magic trick?……Okay then…..How about you sir? pick a card, any card?”
You could at least spare me a glance. Damn uppity rich people. Traveling in luxury carriages, on a luxury train. Damn rich people.
Shoving my chilly fingers into my trench coat pockets, I folded into a crouch after propping up my makeshift sign advertising world-class magic against the lamp post.
I thought I would have luck today. Foolishly thought of course, predicting luck and having luck aren’t the same, as any street magician or gambler with common sense knows. It’s not like I’m earning any money by people watching at a train station. Couples, businessmen, families even a dance troupe…and none of them are even glancing at this poor broke magician.
Sighing, with my forehead against my knees I waited. For a patron, for the sky to rain gold, anything really.
“ALL ABOOOOOOOARD” Called the conductor as the boarding whistle for the luxury liner sounded, and I looked over to the boarding platform just beyond the ticket gates. And my chances of making money today stepped onto that train, one by one…
Then I saw it. An unattended leather briefcase. With a solid gold latch by the looks of things. Slightly out of the way of the crowd, but close enough for cover…and right next to a pillar. Anything could be inside, ripe for the picking.
Dawning a poker face rather then a smile, I glanced at all the faces in the near vicinity. The nearest guard was being lectured by another near the caboose of the train, and all the passengers nearby were either chatting in line with their companions or swiftly walking by in layers of silk and fur to board the train.
Dropping my gaze to avoid someone catching my eye and thus my scheme, I shuffled towards the case. Not in a straight line, that would be entirely too suspicious and telling of my destination. But I weaved around several groups of people with my advertising sign in hand, appearing like a listless magician seeking employment among the crowd. After I had passed the unattended suitcase two times from different directions, I was sure that not a person in the station was knowing of my motive.
Fighting down a nervous smile and the butterflies that always accompanied pick pocketing, I took a step over the case, placing myself between the leather bag and the pillar. Inconspicuously, I slowly slid down along the pillar to sit on the station floor, simultaneously placing my advertising sign over the briefcase, thoroughly camouflaging it behind the roughly painted wooden planks. I‘m a magician after all. It‘s my job to skew reality and make things…and abandoned briefcases…disappear.
I paused, my heart pulsing faintly in my ears. No shrilling police whistles, no outraged calls for arrest or dismemberment for thievery.
Another successful job.
Allowing myself a victory smile I steadied the sign with my right hand, and slowly let my left feel the lock on the gold latch without looking at it. It was a fancy one, and expensive. A Bronzencroft & Co. lock like this one didn’t come cheaper then ten dollars. And whoever had a whopping ten dollars to spend on a lock must have wanted to keep something more valuable inside.
What could it be? I laughed to myself softly. Banknotes? Cash? Jewelry? Even if it were empty I could pawn off the whole case for a nice sum.
Drumming my right hand on the sign in feigned idleness in case someone did look towards this needy magician, my left went to my coat pocket. After a minute of blind rummaging amongst trump cards and worn hankies, I found the wire I was searching for, a thin gauge with a wider tip that was flexible, but strong.
A nearby station worker began whistling a familiar song as he loaded trunks onto the train, a jazzy tune that often blared out of clubs and the not-so-secret bars. As a disguise more then anything, I hummed the same tune softly, tapping the rhythm against the sign while slowly picking the Bronzecroft lock.
Under a minute of humming, I grinned, and gave one last rake of the wire.
A soft click. The sound of a withdrawn latch, followed by the rich sigh of worn leather rubbing over silk.
The case was unlocked
I swallowed, nervous and anxious. Double checking to make sure no eyes in the station were train on me, I flipped over the top of the briefcase, and peered inside expectantly.
My heart quelled almost instantly. Except for one deceptively weighty red paving brick, the case was empty.
Well, almost empty.
I checked all the pockets thrice over, finding only two slips of paper that were much to small to be money or a banknotes. At least the bag can still be pawned off. It must be worth at least a dollar even used and without a key for the lock. Disheartened but still curious I removed the papers.
One was a piece of lavender paper on which a fancy hand scripted:
Congratulations. Your skills are praiseworthy and valuable. We thank you for your future service.
A name signed the note, but it was far to scrawly for even vague legibility. The note must have been given to the owner of the bag. What a weird note for an employer to give.
The second piece of paper was a ticket. I blinked at the printed information for the train JTLS Ariange. Glancing to the luxury liner though the gates, I noticed the large golden letters on the side of the train that spelled Ariange. With another glance at the ticket it was confirmed, the time and date pegged it as the very train currently loading passengers on this platform.
Not good, that means the owner will be coming back for his ticket. I quickly shoved the papers back inside, and fumbled a little in re-clasping the lock.
It wouldn’t lock, and kept unhooking itself.
“Such expensive locks shouldn’t be so easy to break… Damn it...”
“Oi, is something wrong, Mister Magician?”
Not even fear lead me to overreact and give a crime away, instead I blinked and looked at the shiny pair of black shoes that just nudged my foot. Probably the Ticket Master, about to kick me out since the train was nearly done boarding. I gathered my sign still hiding the snitched suitcase, and stood up, preparing to apologize for loitering, when I came face to face with a man who quite obviously wasn’t the Ticket Master.
He was wearing a three piece pinstriped grey suit, the classiest and most expensive cut, with a crisp white undershirt, and a royal purple tie. His face was striking and handsome, if not slightly feminine, and his expression made one thing very, very clear.
He wasn’t after my magic.
And he most certainly could have afforded to spend ten dollars on a fancy lock for a suitcase.
Despite the cold, a trickle of sweat dripped down the back of my neck. This escape is going to be tricky.
“Oi.” he said again, and I hurriedly began walking away. Bony fingers closed around my arm before I could make it three steps, and I gulped as he continued. “I want to hire a magician.”
“Sorry sir, I’m all booked for the rest of the day. And week.” I tried to break his grip while still inconspicuously hiding the suitcase, but he persisted.
“I’ll say it once more. I’m in need of a magician. I’ll pay you well for your services, to make it worth your time.” The fancy man gave me a smile that would have made even the devil nervous. “Why don’t you listen to my proposition before you bolt? You might be a richer man for it.”
I swallowed, “Sir, I already told you, I’m….not….” The man pulled out a small coin purse with his free hand, and opened it for me to see. I couldn’t even count the coins, let alone the bills…one thing was certain. There was more money in that bag then I’d seen in a year, possibly all my life. I swallowed again, and tore my eyes away from the bag.
“I’m good to my word, and as you can see I’m affluent enough to reward you well. But, I understand. It can’t be helped if you’re busy. I’ll have to find a less booked magician.” Tucking the coin purse back into his coat, the rich man turned away.
Blinded by the bag of gold, I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching for his elbow, or the words escaping my lips like the greedy traitors they were. “How can I be of service, noble patron?”
“I’m pleased that you’ve changed your mind. My name is Matsumoto Jun.“ The man offered his hand, and his name but nothing more.
“Ninomiya Kazunari.” I nodded, and shook his hand. He hasn’t accused me of thieving the case yet, maybe he wasn’t the owner after all. “Do you need me to entertain a party you’re hosting or something?” I asked, genuinely hopeful. It had been ages since I last performed anywhere other then on a curb or boardwalk.
“Something like that yes, though I doubt you’ve ever been to a party quite like this.” Matsumoto smiled again, and I got the feeling I was playing with fire while standing under a waterfall of oil. And by his next sentence I knew the danger to be true. “Did you find your ticket in the briefcase? That as well as a significant sum money will be yours if you accept my offer.”
My face turned to stone as my stomach fell. Either the bag was his, or he’d seen me steal it.
“Are you crazy?” I asked, refusing to admit to the crime. “I’m just a street magician, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, and I know that isn‘t true.” Matsumoto smirked, one side of his mouth curling up as he spoke. “You have a briefcase there.” His eyes dropped to the sign, as if he could see the case behind it, and I swallowed a nervous lump. He continued, “It’s mine but it was meant for you.”
I blinked at him, still fear stricken but grossed and creeped out all at once. “So what?” I said blankly. “You gonna call the fuzz? I’ll give it back with no harm done.”
“We both know life doesn’t work that way.”
“It could work that way starting now. Here take it back.” Tossing the sign aside, I held out the bag but he only smiled that sick smile at me.
“I don’t want the briefcase, I want you on that train. And I’ll pay you handsomely for it.” Tauntingly, the well dressed man brought the coin purse back out, and it somehow captured my eyes like a ball to a dog. “Remember this could be yours or….if you decline my offer, I’ll inform the Station Manager over there about your recent theft of my belongings.”
Growling, I took a step closer, wishing I was taller only so I could look down on the rich man. “….Why you little…. blackmail even. Fine. What is this offer? What service did you need me to do?” I asked, very suspicious and more then a little strung. Despite the man‘s contemptuous attitude, visions of that bulging purse in my hands kept disturbing what should have been a no-brainer ‘get the hell out of here and don’t look back’ train of thought.
Matsumoto consulted his pocket watch, removing a matching silver cigarette case at the same time. “This train departs in four minutes. If you are on the train when it’s underway, you will have accepted, if not, you’ll have declined.”
“But what’s this job?”
“You’ll find out in four minutes.” He gave that dangerous smile again, which was only made more threatening by the puffs of smoke the curled from his mouth thanks to the recently lit cigarette. “Ah, make that three minutes…”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Rating: PG (for now)
Pairs: None yet (the usual suspects will appear soon enough)
Genre: 1920’s Historical AU, soon-to-be action
Summary: A down and out street magician strikes it rich at a train station….or does he?
DC: Pure fiction, no claims made on owning those mentioned. In this story, the train station is located in a fictional country though there are toss backs to the US’s roaring twenties. As such, this fic is about as far from historically accurate as Nino is from looking old, so please do not read if you’re anal for history.
Note: For the darling ariange . I began this series last November from a drabble prompt set in the 1920's as given by ariange . I gave a preview of it’s raw first chapter in a batch of Christmas drabbles in December, but have only neared completion now. In brief, this was a long work in progress and I have nothing to show for it, therefore: beware of suckage.
“Hey there, pretty lady, how about a magic trick?……Okay then…..How about you sir? pick a card, any card?”
You could at least spare me a glance. Damn uppity rich people. Traveling in luxury carriages, on a luxury train. Damn rich people.
Shoving my chilly fingers into my trench coat pockets, I folded into a crouch after propping up my makeshift sign advertising world-class magic against the lamp post.
I thought I would have luck today. Foolishly thought of course, predicting luck and having luck aren’t the same, as any street magician or gambler with common sense knows. It’s not like I’m earning any money by people watching at a train station. Couples, businessmen, families even a dance troupe…and none of them are even glancing at this poor broke magician.
Sighing, with my forehead against my knees I waited. For a patron, for the sky to rain gold, anything really.
“ALL ABOOOOOOOARD” Called the conductor as the boarding whistle for the luxury liner sounded, and I looked over to the boarding platform just beyond the ticket gates. And my chances of making money today stepped onto that train, one by one…
Then I saw it. An unattended leather briefcase. With a solid gold latch by the looks of things. Slightly out of the way of the crowd, but close enough for cover…and right next to a pillar. Anything could be inside, ripe for the picking.
Dawning a poker face rather then a smile, I glanced at all the faces in the near vicinity. The nearest guard was being lectured by another near the caboose of the train, and all the passengers nearby were either chatting in line with their companions or swiftly walking by in layers of silk and fur to board the train.
Dropping my gaze to avoid someone catching my eye and thus my scheme, I shuffled towards the case. Not in a straight line, that would be entirely too suspicious and telling of my destination. But I weaved around several groups of people with my advertising sign in hand, appearing like a listless magician seeking employment among the crowd. After I had passed the unattended suitcase two times from different directions, I was sure that not a person in the station was knowing of my motive.
Fighting down a nervous smile and the butterflies that always accompanied pick pocketing, I took a step over the case, placing myself between the leather bag and the pillar. Inconspicuously, I slowly slid down along the pillar to sit on the station floor, simultaneously placing my advertising sign over the briefcase, thoroughly camouflaging it behind the roughly painted wooden planks. I‘m a magician after all. It‘s my job to skew reality and make things…and abandoned briefcases…disappear.
I paused, my heart pulsing faintly in my ears. No shrilling police whistles, no outraged calls for arrest or dismemberment for thievery.
Another successful job.
Allowing myself a victory smile I steadied the sign with my right hand, and slowly let my left feel the lock on the gold latch without looking at it. It was a fancy one, and expensive. A Bronzencroft & Co. lock like this one didn’t come cheaper then ten dollars. And whoever had a whopping ten dollars to spend on a lock must have wanted to keep something more valuable inside.
What could it be? I laughed to myself softly. Banknotes? Cash? Jewelry? Even if it were empty I could pawn off the whole case for a nice sum.
Drumming my right hand on the sign in feigned idleness in case someone did look towards this needy magician, my left went to my coat pocket. After a minute of blind rummaging amongst trump cards and worn hankies, I found the wire I was searching for, a thin gauge with a wider tip that was flexible, but strong.
A nearby station worker began whistling a familiar song as he loaded trunks onto the train, a jazzy tune that often blared out of clubs and the not-so-secret bars. As a disguise more then anything, I hummed the same tune softly, tapping the rhythm against the sign while slowly picking the Bronzecroft lock.
Under a minute of humming, I grinned, and gave one last rake of the wire.
A soft click. The sound of a withdrawn latch, followed by the rich sigh of worn leather rubbing over silk.
The case was unlocked
I swallowed, nervous and anxious. Double checking to make sure no eyes in the station were train on me, I flipped over the top of the briefcase, and peered inside expectantly.
My heart quelled almost instantly. Except for one deceptively weighty red paving brick, the case was empty.
Well, almost empty.
I checked all the pockets thrice over, finding only two slips of paper that were much to small to be money or a banknotes. At least the bag can still be pawned off. It must be worth at least a dollar even used and without a key for the lock. Disheartened but still curious I removed the papers.
One was a piece of lavender paper on which a fancy hand scripted:
Congratulations. Your skills are praiseworthy and valuable. We thank you for your future service.
A name signed the note, but it was far to scrawly for even vague legibility. The note must have been given to the owner of the bag. What a weird note for an employer to give.
The second piece of paper was a ticket. I blinked at the printed information for the train JTLS Ariange. Glancing to the luxury liner though the gates, I noticed the large golden letters on the side of the train that spelled Ariange. With another glance at the ticket it was confirmed, the time and date pegged it as the very train currently loading passengers on this platform.
Not good, that means the owner will be coming back for his ticket. I quickly shoved the papers back inside, and fumbled a little in re-clasping the lock.
It wouldn’t lock, and kept unhooking itself.
“Such expensive locks shouldn’t be so easy to break… Damn it...”
“Oi, is something wrong, Mister Magician?”
Not even fear lead me to overreact and give a crime away, instead I blinked and looked at the shiny pair of black shoes that just nudged my foot. Probably the Ticket Master, about to kick me out since the train was nearly done boarding. I gathered my sign still hiding the snitched suitcase, and stood up, preparing to apologize for loitering, when I came face to face with a man who quite obviously wasn’t the Ticket Master.
He was wearing a three piece pinstriped grey suit, the classiest and most expensive cut, with a crisp white undershirt, and a royal purple tie. His face was striking and handsome, if not slightly feminine, and his expression made one thing very, very clear.
He wasn’t after my magic.
And he most certainly could have afforded to spend ten dollars on a fancy lock for a suitcase.
Despite the cold, a trickle of sweat dripped down the back of my neck. This escape is going to be tricky.
“Oi.” he said again, and I hurriedly began walking away. Bony fingers closed around my arm before I could make it three steps, and I gulped as he continued. “I want to hire a magician.”
“Sorry sir, I’m all booked for the rest of the day. And week.” I tried to break his grip while still inconspicuously hiding the suitcase, but he persisted.
“I’ll say it once more. I’m in need of a magician. I’ll pay you well for your services, to make it worth your time.” The fancy man gave me a smile that would have made even the devil nervous. “Why don’t you listen to my proposition before you bolt? You might be a richer man for it.”
I swallowed, “Sir, I already told you, I’m….not….” The man pulled out a small coin purse with his free hand, and opened it for me to see. I couldn’t even count the coins, let alone the bills…one thing was certain. There was more money in that bag then I’d seen in a year, possibly all my life. I swallowed again, and tore my eyes away from the bag.
“I’m good to my word, and as you can see I’m affluent enough to reward you well. But, I understand. It can’t be helped if you’re busy. I’ll have to find a less booked magician.” Tucking the coin purse back into his coat, the rich man turned away.
Blinded by the bag of gold, I couldn’t stop my hand from reaching for his elbow, or the words escaping my lips like the greedy traitors they were. “How can I be of service, noble patron?”
“I’m pleased that you’ve changed your mind. My name is Matsumoto Jun.“ The man offered his hand, and his name but nothing more.
“Ninomiya Kazunari.” I nodded, and shook his hand. He hasn’t accused me of thieving the case yet, maybe he wasn’t the owner after all. “Do you need me to entertain a party you’re hosting or something?” I asked, genuinely hopeful. It had been ages since I last performed anywhere other then on a curb or boardwalk.
“Something like that yes, though I doubt you’ve ever been to a party quite like this.” Matsumoto smiled again, and I got the feeling I was playing with fire while standing under a waterfall of oil. And by his next sentence I knew the danger to be true. “Did you find your ticket in the briefcase? That as well as a significant sum money will be yours if you accept my offer.”
My face turned to stone as my stomach fell. Either the bag was his, or he’d seen me steal it.
“Are you crazy?” I asked, refusing to admit to the crime. “I’m just a street magician, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know, and I know that isn‘t true.” Matsumoto smirked, one side of his mouth curling up as he spoke. “You have a briefcase there.” His eyes dropped to the sign, as if he could see the case behind it, and I swallowed a nervous lump. He continued, “It’s mine but it was meant for you.”
I blinked at him, still fear stricken but grossed and creeped out all at once. “So what?” I said blankly. “You gonna call the fuzz? I’ll give it back with no harm done.”
“We both know life doesn’t work that way.”
“It could work that way starting now. Here take it back.” Tossing the sign aside, I held out the bag but he only smiled that sick smile at me.
“I don’t want the briefcase, I want you on that train. And I’ll pay you handsomely for it.” Tauntingly, the well dressed man brought the coin purse back out, and it somehow captured my eyes like a ball to a dog. “Remember this could be yours or….if you decline my offer, I’ll inform the Station Manager over there about your recent theft of my belongings.”
Growling, I took a step closer, wishing I was taller only so I could look down on the rich man. “….Why you little…. blackmail even. Fine. What is this offer? What service did you need me to do?” I asked, very suspicious and more then a little strung. Despite the man‘s contemptuous attitude, visions of that bulging purse in my hands kept disturbing what should have been a no-brainer ‘get the hell out of here and don’t look back’ train of thought.
Matsumoto consulted his pocket watch, removing a matching silver cigarette case at the same time. “This train departs in four minutes. If you are on the train when it’s underway, you will have accepted, if not, you’ll have declined.”
“But what’s this job?”
“You’ll find out in four minutes.” He gave that dangerous smile again, which was only made more threatening by the puffs of smoke the curled from his mouth thanks to the recently lit cigarette. “Ah, make that three minutes…”
~~~~~~~~~~~