Dod hummed to herself while opening her book, The Beautiful and Damned, to where she had left off last. She had come rather early for her train back to London and so she sat in an train cabin car waiting for the train to leave the station. There was a chatter around her from those on the station, children and parents yelling, others hollering their goodbyes, people crying. It was a mess of cacophony, but Dod rather liked it and it somehow helped her focus a bit more.

With her bags stashed away safely, Dod raised her feet onto the seats across from her. She could vaguely see people passing in the corridor looking in at her disapprovingly. A woman at her age by herself, wearing pants, it wasn't necessarily unheard of, but these were the kind of women that the general population was told to stay away from. Keep their distance, so they kept on walking, clucking their tongues as they went. Though a few men whistled as they went past, still Dod read on. All of this wasn't necessarily new to her and so she could easily ignore it all. The only time she would look up is when someone actually had the gall to walk into her cabin and sit down.

"Jeepers, creepers, where'd you get those peepers. Jeepers, creepers, where'd you get those eyes. How they hypnotise," Dod sang as more people began to board the train. She knew all to well that at least one person would be sitting with her eventually, especially when the rest of the train cabins started to fill up more and her cabin would start to be the only one left with a seat. It amused her to say the least, when people did this, she didn't know exactly why, maybe because their sense of pretension seemed so silly to her. Either way waiting to see who would be the first to sit with her was a sort of game she played with herself. If someone sat down just as the train started move she would reward herself with a shot of whiskey for winning the bet, if someone sat down earlier she was punished by having to buy the person a drink, which really wasn't a punishment other the fact that she would be down a couple of pounds.

---

Everette flipped the shining coin into the air, and caught it once it came down. He tossed it up, and then he caught it. Toss, and then a catch. Toss. and then a catch. For the moments the silver object was suspended above his hand, he would make a bet to himself on which side it would land, and once it landed he would not look to find the victor but instead would just immediately toss it up again, repeating the bet. Immersed in thought, he considered the importance of these lost chances that he would never get back, moments that he could choose to haunt him forever that he would never actually know the truth to, and he wondered that if every lost opportunity was equal. If every true lost moment had the same worth, or if a passed happening has the same worth of others since they in a sense would be the same thing. Finally, he decided that him never being able to know the face of the coin was equal to, hypothetically, him never opening a lover’s letter or him never talking to a certain person. All of them had an equal number of infinite possibilities, the worth of pure possibility, and suddenly he could not help but look at the face, having flipped it over a hundred times no doubt. In his palm, a middle-aged man wearing a powder-wig suspended in time by a mirror prison gave him a sideways look, and Everette felt a release of tension as he solved the mystery.

Heads.

An abrupt sounding of a train whistle broke his concentration, and he looked around to see people by the hundreds have at some point swarmed around him, Everette being alone when he first arrived at the station. Fine he thought to himself, preferring to finish his thoughts, and he grabbed his suitcase as he boarded the train. The walkway was crowded with people bumping into one another, sadly Everette including, and dodging into any passenger car they could. The thought leaked over and suddenly crossed his mind that not jumping into a car would be a lost possibility, and he was overcome with the thought that all the cars were completely equal. He stressed at this, and wondered how he would ever decide. Suddenly, it occurred to him to use the object that drove him into this philosophical mess. He was to flip the quarter and when he finally won one of self-bets, he would immediately dive into that car. However, one after another flip, he would lose; he lost so much it became daunting to flip again. He was now officially starting to worry, and just when he was losing hope that his system was going to go without fault, a man bumped into him, knocking the coin into the churning sea of shuffling feet. Distraught, he decided that was the coin giving him his answer, and he dove into the nearest car.

Two women sat in this car, and he was surprised to see one wearing pants. The common progressive was nothing to blink at in America, but this had been the first he has seen while in English countryside. The second seemed a bit off, fearful of trains maybe, but even past that she seemed like the one to be reserved, so he decided to introduce himself to the dark-haired woman first.

“You got enough room in this car for an American?” he inquired, resuming the act of flipping his last American quarter dollar.

The bench at the train station was cold. Almost too cold. Jackson got up from it and reached down and grabbed his briefcase and duffle bag from the ground. He made his way over to the train going to London and showed his ticket to the ticket inspector. He was given back his ticket and Jackson made his way aboard the train. The corridor was long and dreary. He slowly walked down until he reached bar car. It felt nice that prohibition was not in effect over seas.

The sight of men and few women drinking early in the morning was daunting. The fact that getting drunk in the morning was without worry bothered Jackson. He thought getting drunk at all was disgusting. He made him fear his father when he was still among the living. Jackson passed through and walked his way to a cabin. He turned and saw a woman in the cabin. She was singing a song. He had never heard the tune before, but it was an odd one. Jackson turned and saw another woman and a man too. He smiled politely at the three of them. He put his briefcase on the seat and his duffle on top of that.

Jackson didn't mind sharing a cabin with two other people. He is a quiet soul, but he is always up for a good rallying conversation. He left the cabin and made his way down the corridor to the bar car. He approached the bartender and gave him a quick nod. After slowly skimming the selection of alcohol he flicked his hand up and spoke "I'll have a scotch." The bartender poured Jackson his poison and slid it across the bar into his grasp. Jackson turned and walked back to the cabin with his drink. "I got myself a drink. Does anyone want one? I can go back."

“This is ridiculous!” Came shouts from one of the foremost cabins Disgruntled passengers looked on at the scene. Two men standing at the back of the cabin, facing off. The face off had already lasted ten minutes and it didn't look to be ending any time soon. “Does no one on this train appreciate the elegance of modern music?”

“We appreciate music sir, but some passengers have expressed their distaste for the kind of music that you've been playing. And besides, we are about to depart. Your phonograph will only skip and your recordings will be scratched.” One of the train's workers responded.

“I get it now. The stuffy Brits don't want to hear the offensive sounds of a Yank. Mark my words, years from now, when people stop listening to Ralph Williams, the sounds of George Gershwin will still be strong.” Terry said.

The air tasted foul with the stench of the argument and despite the cool weather, the train cabin was aflame with anger from many passengers and workers. The sounds, to Terry, were magical, but to most, they were just unwanted. Terry clasped his clammy palms in front of him and refrained himself from taking the argument any further.

“Regardless of your words, sir, I'll be taking the phonograph until we reach London.”

The whistle blew loud in the air and the sounds of the train's engine roared through the crowds outside waving away their loved ones as the train lurched across the tracks. Screeching metal slowly turned into a consistent rocking that echoed through the station. All of which played on top of the melody resonating from Terry's phonograph. The distinct smell of burning coal urged Terry to grab a cigarette from his breast pocket. He didn't light it just yet. Holding it alone was enough to calm his nerves. The worker went to his phonograph and lifted the needle. Now only the train's rumbles could be heard. “Might I suggest finding another cabin. One in which the patrons don't hate you.” The man said in such a way that you couldn't be offended by his words, but rather listen in awe of the correctitude of them

With that, Terry took out his lighter and lit his cigarette. He turned and exited the car. From one to the next, he went until he reached a car close to the back of the train. Every other cabin had been full up until that point. Terry had wished to have some room to stretch out his legs and enjoy the sounds of the train. If he wasn't allowed to listen to his own music, he was going to have to make due with what the world had to offer him.

The cabin that he chose to settle in was filled with only four people so far. The train had just started to move and other people were probably bound to come, stuck in the same sort of position as Terry had been, but for now, the cabin was comfortably filled. He was about to sit when he made a realization. The cabin was nearly empty, but almost everyone in the cabin had seemed to congregate around one area. Something interesting was happening and it sparked Terry's interest. He decided that he would go sit by the rest of the group as opposed to by his lonesome. Maybe he'd be interested in what these people had to offer him.

“I hope you all like music.” He said as he sat himself in the seat across from the others.

"That was a beautiful show young blood, beautiful!"

The smell of burning coal was heavy in the air here, the walkways were paved with bodies. Among them, two brown skinned men that stuck out like a sore thumb, walked side by side. The first, was a tall man. A pair of circular frames surrounded a pair of dark brown eyes, that were in turn, surrounded by dark circles. The mark of a man unfamiliar with sleep. Humming to himself, a guitar case in his left hand, he slowly reached for the Lucky Strike cigarette behind his ear with his right. With a match from his pocket, he lit it. He took a long drag. And with the slightest smile on his face, he exhaled the smoke. This, was Theolonius Alain Monke, the man, the myth, the legend.

"But your chord on that last one, you, you know, the one about that Maria bird, it was sloppy," This man, with his wrinkled ebony skin, scraggly grey hair, and hunched back, was Mr. Huey Nathaniel King. The mentor and manager to Theo. He held up his hands, grabbing a non-existent guitar. "It's like this, see right here, lemme show you..." Theo didn't look. Instead, his eyes were trained on something else entirely. A blonde haired woman, darting through the crowd. A horn, cutting through the human chaos of the station. And through all of this, Huey still droned on.

"Mr.King," Said Theo, checking his watch as he quickened his pace.

"Ya fingers move too quick down the neck, take your time, like you're..."

"Mr. King!"

"What...?" Huey stopped.

"That's our train! We gotta book it!" And with that, the two musicians went flying down the walkway, weaving through the crowd.

* * *

"Mister Monke! We were getting worried that you wouldn't make it!"

An attendant, a man in a blue pinstriped vest and pants greeted a wheezing Theo and Huey, the last two passengers to board the train. Huey was nearly on the ground he was so hunched over. Theo was right in the middle of an extended coughing fit.

"Yeah well, we made it baby..." Theo exhaled, as he huffed and he puffed, and he leaned up against a wall beside him.

"....We've made the accommodations to the presidential cabin you've requested, right down to the Bechet records and brand of whisky." With an outstretched arm, he gestured down the hall before them. "If you'd like I could show you the way, it's the last room at the end of the hall." The attendant reached for the men's bags and Theo's guitar. The duo obliged with nods, and they took off down the hall after the man in the pin-stripped duds. "I must say, it's a such a great honor to have you here with us today," He turned his head towards Theo, "I am a huge fan, I LOVE 'Jumpin' out the woods', I sing Sent For You with my wife every morning!"

"Thanks kid. You should see my writing." He cooed. On their way down the hall, Theo glanced into each of the cabins, peering into the passengers they contained. "Looks like we're the only black folks again..." It was a sentence whispered just loud enough for only Huey to hear. The old man chuckled, just a bit.

As they neared the end of the hall, Theo over heard a few voices.

"I got myself a drink. Does anyone want one? I can go back." Said a man from within the cabin beside him.

Over his shoulder, he took a closer look. There were four of them, three men, two women. The one woman, he had seen before--it was that blonde from outside. But the other...she was something else entirely. A devilish smirk crept it's way onto the veteran's face, as he sauntered over to the cabin.

"Put me down for one baby, Cuba Libre, on the rocks." There, he leaned in the doorway, eyes trained towards the women in particular. But he made sure to tip his hat to them all.

"Theolonius Alain Monke--friends call me Theo. It's a pleasure."

Dod smirked to herself as another woman came into the cabin just as the train started to move, That's a shot for me, she thought, turning the page of her book. The woman, from what Dod could tell in the corner of her eye, pulled out her own book and started to read. At first it looked as though Dod was going to have a fairly quiet train ride with just the other woman and both of them reading, but then a man came in, not too loudly thankfully, and he walked up to the two.

"You got enough room in this car for an American?" he asked. Then another man entered before Dod could answer, only to leave after setting all his stuff down.

"Well there's plenty of room cowboy, I don't think anyone here is going to stop you," Dod answered, her eyes lifting from her book briefly so she could smile at this man. He was rather young with dark curly hair.

The second man came back in, "I got myself a drink. Does anyone want one? I can go back." He said.

Dod stood up, setting her book neatly on her suitcase, "Might as well go with you, I have need Whiskey Smash," she looked to the woman who had come in before the other, "Do you want me to pick anything up for you doll?" she asked.

Another person came in, Dod looked around thinking she earned herself a drink for everyone who had come in last minute. Even though it was a larger train cabin, Dod was hard pressed to remember if there had ever been so many people sharing a cabin with her.

"I hope you all like music," this new man said.

"Depends," Dod answered, slumping to one hip and looking at him in mock scrutiny, "I prefer jazz to classical myself." She smiled and began to walk to the door heading back to the bar car only to be stopped by a man leaning against the door frame. He tipped his hat at everyone.

"Theolonius Alain Monke--friends call me Theo. It's a pleasure," he said.

"Pleasure is all mine. The name's Dod Freeman," she answered, tipping her own hat to everyone in mock of this man in the doorway, though she sent him a wink before exiting to fill her own order of drinks.

---

"Pleasure is all mine. The name's Dod Freeman," She said with a wink, as she glided on by. His eyes followed her, as she eventually disappeared in the crowd surrounding the bar. The blonde from outside, followed behind her.

"I would be careful going down to the bar. There is some big scoundrel." Said the man from earlier, who offered the room a drink and in fact--did not get him a drink when he asked for one. Theo was about to open his mouth when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A heavy hand, cold and prickly--it was Huey.

"Ya done chasin' tail boy? Let's get going." He turned to see Huey and the attendant, standing behind him, waiting for him to get moving. Theo nodded his head, the act was vaguely apologetic, something rare for the proud man.

"Well fellas, duty calls. If this cabin uh, gets too..." He paused, looking around the cabin they had all been squeezed into, "Cramped. Feel free to swing on by mine--" He pointed behind him, and down the hall. With a twirl on his heels, he sauntered out the cabin, "It's the big one at the end!" The singer exclaimed, as he slid the door back behind him.

"Well, as I was saying..." The attendant attempted to re-align the group, "The Presidential Cabin you're about to enter was once inhabited by..." He turned around-Theo was gone, yet again, "Mister Monke? ...Where..." The main in the pin-striped uniform looked at Huey, perplexed and exhausted. The old man just sighed and pointed towards the bar. There was Theo, weaving through the patrons.

He zeroed in on the two women.

"Ah, Mister Monke! Could I get you anything?" One of the bartender's asked, noticing the man. Theo nodded.

"Cuba Libre. On the rocks. Thanks baby." Theo leaned at a spot at the bar just beside the two women.

"That cabin is awfully jam-packed, wouldn't you agree?" The blonde asked the other, Dod.

"That it is," Theo cooed, "Excuse me, i'm sorry to interrupt. I just extended the invite to your friends back there, but I wanted to let you all know..." There was a ding of a bell, signaling that a drink was ready.

"Cuba Libre! It's on the house for you Mister Monke. Thank you." Theo nodded and thanked the man before he took a sip of the dark brown drink.

"I'm staying in the Presidential Cabin, plenty of smoke, drink, music and space. I'd love to see you two dames there." With another sip of the drink, he pushed off from the bar, and went back to meet Huey and the poor attendant.

Inside the Presidential Cabin, Theo collapsed onto one of the lush leather seats, and lit himself a cigarette.

"...Alright."

The blond woman followed her out of the cabin and into the bar car. Dod ordered her Whiskey Smash while the woman she was with looked around the room. Dod followed suite and immediately met eyes with what she could only assume was the 'big scoundrel' that the guy with the drinks had warned them about. Dod rolled her eyes and looked away in time to see Theo walking up.

"That cabin is awfully jam-packed, wouldn't you agree?" the woman asked.

"That it is," Theo said, beating Dod to answering, "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt. I just extended the invite to your friends back there, but I wanted to let you all know-"

The bartender interrupted with Theo's and Dod's drinks, though he gave more of a show with Theo's.

"-Im staying in the Presidential Cabin, plenty of smoke, drink, music, and space. I'd love to see you two dames there," with that he left.

"Well I may just have to," Dod called after him. She smirked and looked back the woman she was with.

"So what about you doll, what's your name?" Dod asked, taking a sip of her drink.

"I think I would like to know that same thing," a gentleman's voice interrupted. Dod looked over to see the 'big scoundrel' from earlier.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but dry up sweetheart," Dod said with a sickly sweet smile.

"Excuse me?"

"Well I just figured a rude entrance deserved a rude response, so why don't you just turn your tail, alright?"

The man stared down Dod, another growing problem with the 'modern woman' is that they were known for having unusually sharp tongues the no fear of speaking up which often aroused aggressive feelings from the people it was directed at.

"Now you listen here doll," he said pointing a giant's finger in her face, "No one, especially not some flapper, talks to me like that." Dod saw some men standing up in the back, though she had a feeling it wasn't to protect her, but back him up. He was about to turn to the woman she was with, possibly to tell her off too, but Dod squeezed between them.

"Sorry, but I have a feeling that our conversation isn't quite done yet," she turned to the woman behind her and whispered, "You might want to scram Jane."

"Oh but I think it is, bearcat" the man said, he raised his hand and back-handed Dod. She didn't lose her balance, but her cheek started to burn. Her mouth tightened a little and her eyes slowly looked over the man again. She suddenly slammed glass, the liquor still mostly inside, to the side of the guy's head. The sound of glass shattering filled the car as well as an explosion of sound; people yelling; the guy growling; the bartender pushing Dod out of the car; other people poking their heads out and whispering to see what was the matter. Dod just glared at the scoundrel man while the bartender did his best to keep everyone from bumping each other off, though once she was fulling out of the car she turned and walked down the corridor. She wasn't really entirely certain she wanted to see people right now, her blood still boiling from being back handed. So she just hung in the corridor, leaning against a window and rubbing her cheek delicately.

---

“I got myself a drink. Does anyone want one? I can go back.”

A gleam of home rayed across Everette’s mind as he instantly recognized the man’s accent; he was American. Probably not surprisingly the first he had seen while on his trip to land of cockney, so it was a pleasant surprise. The offer, however, was not as much. He could tell just from the man’s stance and the way he addressed that he was a man of military, probably army, and the thought of the man drinking so early in the morn was a bit disheartening to say the least.

“Well there's plenty of room cowboy, I don't think anyone here is going to stop you,” said the flapper, obviously very charismatic. A sort of smirk ran across Everette’s face, for the last time he was called cowboy he was only sixteen and had no clothes on. Suddenly, many people were entering the cabin; one asking if was music was okay and apparently getting narrowed down to jazz by some, a man came in with a mentor of an old fellow and he appeared to be important for we was escorted out, and finally many others, including the shy one, left for drink.

Everette pocketed his coin and thought to follow suit, but on the way he got distracted by one thing or another, mostly small things that should not interest him but did. When he finally remembered why he had left the cabin, he walked down the corridor to find the flapper there, Dod if he was not mistaken, and he thought it would be nice to get better acquainted in a purely cordial way. As he walked up, however, he noticed her in pain with red on her face, and from his time in New York, he knew very well what that meant. If Everette was English, maybe, he would have comforted the girl and held her hand, but he was not.

He was American.

With only a nod and smile, and a slight awkward pat on the shoulder, towards Dod he walked straight towards the bar, but he did not walk slow or with an unclenched fist. It did not take him long to find the man who had obviously hit Dod, for he had many cuts and pieces of glass on his face. A little relief went through Everette as he knew the man was showed up by a woman, but ot would not be enough. Without a second thought, Everette walked up to the man and with all of his might sent his right fist into the scoundrel’s bloodied face, sending him staggering back into the group oh his supporters, and the few that came after Everette were placed onto their asses as well. However, one of their punches landed, and Everette fell back and into the bar. One man held him down while another winded back his arm with a bottle in hand. He knew he was about to get hurt really bad, damning his Tennessean blood, but maybe they would at least think twice next time. Everette closed his eyes in anticipation.

Everyone in the cabin that Terry decided to sit in decided to keep coming and going. No one seemed willing to keep seated for even a mere moment. This was going to be the cause of a long train ride for Terry. He felt around his pockets for another dart, but could find none. He looked up at the two men in the cabin and was about to ask one of them for a ciggy, but the younger one walked off before he even had a chance ask. He looked out towards where the young lad went and decided that he was going to follow. He'd have better luck finding a cigarette somewhere else.

Terry looked at the only other man in the car now. “I'm off to find some fresh air. If you want to join me, come on along.”

Terry latched onto his knees and pushed himself out of his chair. He followed down the corridors that all the others had gone, figuring that there was a place to bum or buy a cigarette off of someone. The corridors were narrow, but provided a sufficient amount of light from the windows which aided in the appearance of more space. Midway down the hall, the pair of women from his brief encounter in the cabin were standing. The one on pants held her meekly held her cheek while the blonde stood beside her likely for comfort.

In the next hall over, there was the bar. The perfect place to sit down and attempt his search for his next smoke. However, there seemed to be a commotion. The young man who had just left him was getting the beat down. A man held him while another held a bottle.

“Hey!” Terry shouted. The two men looked over as Terry reached into side pocket. A moment of surprise struck over Terry's face as he picked out a cigarette, which he proceeded to light and take a drag from before continuing. “You two wet blankets better beat it before I give what's comin' to you.” Again, he reached into his pocket, this time to pull out a small pocket knife, which he licked open to point at the two goons.

The two men paid little heed to Terry's warnings and continued to shake hold down the young kid. Terry approached the fighting trio slowly, taking another drag from his cigarette. This time he nearly expending the whole thing in one breath. When he got close enough, the men started to talk big. “Stay back.” They said. “This is none of your business.” But Terry ignored their warnings. He could spot an idol threat and there was nothing for the guys to do. Either they focused their attention on Terry and let the kid go or they started beating down the kid and find themselves running with knife wounds so he continued forward. Instead of raising his knife hand, however, he took a final breath room his ciggy and was about to put it into the ashtray near by, but instead, pressed it hard against the one man's arm. He let out a yelp and let go of the kid. The man had no time to turn around to swing a punch at Terry, because before he knew it, there was a knife pressed hard against his back.

“Walk away now while you still can. The both of you.”

The two men didn't say another word, running off before they could find any more trouble.

“You ever live in a big city, kid? Too many of these goons to count. Don't walk around without one of these knives close to my side, but its saved me a couple of times.”

Everette was surprised when he opened his eyes that he was not a bloody mess, and in fact was saved by the music connoisseur from earlier. Even though Everette should have been thrilled to have his face intact, his heart sunk when he realized the man could not have seen where he put a few on their asses and had to have only seen the part where he was put on his ass. Regardless he was thankful.

“You ever live in a big city, kid? Too many of these goons to count. Don't walk around without one of these knives close to my side, but it’s saved me a couple of times.”

Everette was not surprised the man was French, but slightly relieved since Everette had fought alongside the French and he was of sorts sick of Englishmen at the moment.

“I actually spent time in Indianapolis and Chicago. I took a summer or two in Long Island, but I assure that was hardly a city. I suppose I just never kept the company of their likes,” said Everette conversationally, now holding his cheek from where the man’s punch landed.

Everette thought of at least pointing out the fact that a few were dealt of on his part; mostly to point out that Americans or him personally were not that weak. However, he thought it futile and trivial, so instead he thought he would strike up a friendly conversation with the man.

“Why don’t you walk with me and tell me your origin. I am going to check on the lady, Dod I think, but I would enjoy your company and a man such as yourself could no doubt cheer her up,” inquired Everette as he adjusted his vest. He was dressed relatively nicely, but everything about his outfit was ruffled and crinkled now, loosely fitting in a casual manner, but Everette decided he did not mind it that much.

Dod took the wrapped ice from the woman and smiled kindly, "Thanks dollface and I'm fine, wouldn't be the first time that I have gotten myself into trouble."

The polite, young American from earlier came up behind Dod and patted her gently on the shoulder before heading to the bar car. Dod stared after him curiously for a bit till he was out of sight. She turned her attention back to the woman, "Well now that there's no one to interrupt us, why don't you tell me you name?" she asked, moving a lock of the woman's hair behind her ear gently.

There was a sudden loud commotion coming from the cart over. Though Dod was curious what was going on now, she stayed where she was, partly because she had had enough of the men in the bar car and partly because it would be rude to leave the woman in the middle of their conversation.

Another man from their cabin moved past them and into the bar car. Dod noticed that shortly after he entered the commotion, which was undoubtedly another fight, ended rather quickly. She could also vaguely see the bartender looking a bit miffed at the amount of fights that he had to deal with. Dod smiled a little at the thought of everyone in their cabin being a hood, she was honestly a little proud of that even.

"Now what do you say we head to that Sheik's Presidential cabin for a ciggy and quiet conversation between a small few?" Dod asked and before the blond could answer Dod linked their arms and stared at her expectantly. After the fight she just had and her drink, Dod wanted nothing more than to just sit with a small number of people and have a quiet conversation; no yelling; no fights; no coming in and out of conversations, just one conversation to focus on. That's all she wanted.

---

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zi4EH04Crc8


Thick gray smoke wafted through the air of the private cabin. The ornate golden phonograph crooned the weary men, who sat there, in their respective chairs, silent and still. It was a large space that resembled more of a small lounge than a train car. An entire massive shelf sat on the far end of the room, filled with the finest spirits one could hope to find on this side of the pond. Another shelf, right next to it, was stocked with a number of rare, limited edition prints of popular manuscripts (Theo's own publications were of course, absent). The center of the room housed a large oak table, circular in fashion, it appeared to be made more for meetings than dining, as the room lacked any ready dishes.

The two men sat opposite of the drinks, on the other far side of the table. There, below one long, large window, was a lush, lengthy leather couch. The piece of furniture could easily fit an entire jazz ensemble, and the groupies to boot. Theo and Huey sat in the center, drinks in hand, basking in the warm sunlight from the cracked window. A cool breeze was lapping their faces. For once, he was at peace.

"Furry Lewis! Whew boy!" Huey cheered. "You don't know nothin' bout this one boy." He began to hum along to the tune with glee. Theo turned his head towards him just a bit, and smiled. The activist was completely relaxed, laying there, his entire lanky body was completely stretched out on the couch. One hand propped his head up from the cushion, while the other, draped over his torso, held his drink and cigarette.

The door to the cabin slid open. An attendant stepped on through.

"Mister Monke, i'm sorry, but it appears you have some visitors, should I send them in?" Theo spared another glance, this time he bestowed it upon the attendant.

"Who is it?" He cooed.

"Two women. A Dod Freeman, and Charlotte Andrew." That same devilish grin played upon his face.

"Let em' in, thanks kid." The attendant nodded, and left back out.

"She put carbolic in my coffee..." Huey sang along to the phonograph, tapping his foot and snapping his fingers on every beat, "Turpentine in my tea! Strychnine in my biscuits! Lord but she didn't hurt meeeeee!" Silently, Theo awaited for his guests to arrive.

Dod just smiled and began to walk, her's and Lottie's linked arms helping tow the woman along. "Even if you were a psychopath doll, I have a feeling you wouldn't hurt me and we're going to the Presidential cabin now that we have someone on the inside who seems to be sweet on us. Might be a nice place to have an uninterrupted conversation, don't you think?"

When they walked up there was an attendant outside, Dod gave Lottie a face that seemed to say 'Well, well, well, isn't someone posh?' before facing the attendant.

"We were invited to join Theo, or you might know him as Theolonius Alain Monke," Dod said, she knew it was always good to prove that you knew important people on more familiar terms, it showed you were of 'higher ranking' than what you might actually be. "Our names are Dod Freeman and Charlotte Andrew."

The kid walked inside, closing the door behind him.

"I'm thinking when the fish gets back, we should beat his gums and see if we can give him the heebie-jeebies," Dod said, biting her lip staring at the door. Her left hand was getting colder the longer she held the wrapped ice and her cheek was still numb from the cold and still bright as a cherry.

The boy came back out of the cabin, "Ladies," he said stepping to the side. Dod let go of Lottie's arm and let the woman go in first while she stayed out. She walked slowly till she was standing next to the poor kid.

"So talk, any news of a bump off in London?" Dod asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on you seem like a well-informed fish, what's the news, any zozzled fights?"

"Well I think there was one that just happened in the bar car," he answered politely.

Dod frowned.

"Do you want some ice for you cheek? It's looking a bit sore Miss."

Dod gave an exasperated sigh and shook her head entering the car. "My evil plan didn't work," she whispered to Lottie, then turning to Theo who was lounging, "Nice place you have here Sheik. Love the music, Furry Lewis right?" Dod conversed as she sat down in a rather lounging manner herself.

Terry chuckled a little at the boy's response. It was clear that he didn't know the big city all too well. The train might have been taking off from Nottingham, but it was headed to London. There was bound to be a slice from every corner of the big city pie.

“Folks like them enjoy kicking around the dirt cheep speakeasys in New York. Paris is a whole different story. You'll find them almost everywhere.”

He slipped up to the bar and bought a couple more cigarettes while the kid continued on. The guy seemed to want to say more to him on the subject, but didn't go about it. Terry lit one of his cigarettes. This one he was going to savour. It wasn't often that he got a chance to buy cigarettes from such a swanky place. He was sure that this one was going to be great. He slowly sucked in and his body slipped off into another world or a moment. Perfection.

“Why don’t you walk with me and tell me your origin.”

“You want to know about me, then? Okay, let's talk. The name's Terry Gillet. You may have heard of me, but probably not. I was a performer in New York City. Got to meet quite a few interesting folk. Cole Porter, Al Jolson, Marion Harris, and even Mr. Ziegfeld himself. I had a moment with Charlie Chaplin at a party a couple of years back. Although, we'll see how much longer he's relevant with the Jazz Singer and whatnot. You see it? Absolutely brilliant, I say. Anyway, chose to leave t all behind and move to my home country of France, but couldn't find work. I've too much pride to go back home and now I'm here to see a big producer and hopefully make it big in Europe. We'll see.”

By this point, the two men had reached the corridor that the two ladies had been. They weren't there any longer. “Looks like the dames have up and left. Wonder where? Now what's your name? What are you up to?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzG55v_LYL0

The two women, both intriguing and beautiful in each of their own rights, stepped into the room. The dark haired, more forward one, Dod, and the more reserved blonde, Charlotte (he assumed). The other residents of that cabin, the men, were nowhere to be seen--he couldn't say he was too disappointed about that.

"Nice place you have here Sheik," [i] Dod cooed as she went to sit down on the warm, black leather.

"All the nicer with you two here Sheba," He returned. Every word she spoke was cooler than the last, every move she made was with purpose, yet, effortless. The more he watched her, the more enthralled he became. [i]"Love the music, Furry Lewis right?" She was correct. Theo was about to congratulate the woman when instead, Huey chimed in, brimming with excitement.

"Well look at you! You know your blues! But you gotta say it like this baby: Furry Lewis!" He teased as he slapped his knee and cackled. Huey was impressed! "Don't be rude boy, introduce me to your lovely friends here." With his bony elbow, he nudged Theo, who got up from his outstretched position and went into a more regular upright one on the couch. He wanted to make room for the ladies. "Makin' us colored folk look bad..." The old man whispered sharply to his younger cohort.

"It's good to see you two again," Theo began. Dod was already making herself comfortable, Charlotte however, looked to still be trying to find a seat. "Don't worry doll, we don't bite. Make yourself comfortable!" The veteran motioned towards the couch, "Ladies don't be alarmed, but you are in the presence of greatness!" He sat up from his seat, just a bit, "This is Mister Huey Nathaniel King. My mentor, confidant, and a living blues legend! And not to mention one of the founding fathers of the Harlem Renaissance!" With each word, he waved his hands in the air, poking fun at regal introductions. But every word was sincere--he held the utmost respect for Huey.

Huey tipped his straw hat at the women. "And Huey, these two gorgeous gals are Dod Freeman, and Charlotte Andrews--" Theo paused, "Though, I didn't get the pleasure of hearing that from her personally. Unfortunately." He laughed just a bit. A brief, but hearty laugh that came from the belly.

"Fine names if I ever heard one," Huey proclaimed in his old raspy voice, "Well, what brings you two ladies to this knucklehead's cabin? Hell, what's takin' ya to London?" He chuckled to himself, "I guess what i'm sayin' is...tell an old man about yourselves--it's a long train ride, and I'm tired of talkin' to him." He tried to whisper the last bit--it didn't work.

---

Everette listened to the man’s story with great attentive attitude, and he did so as he held his cheek in the slightest manner, making it seem as casual as possible. The French man, Terry Gillet, was an aspiring man in the musical arts, something Everette could relate to, and he apparently had been somewhat if not successful enough, something Everette could not relate to. Sadly, unlike Terry, Everette had not had any luck, or rather any talent, in the music industry as a writer or composer of music, but it heartened him to hear of the aspiring man that could have been Everette in another life, even though he had the lungs of a cricket and the vocal capabilities of a walrus. Listening to the man, Everette recognized some of the names that Terry bounced off from his exciting career, and a sudden flare of connection sprang from one of the names that he had too met.

“I met ole Charlie a couple years back as well, well only a few, and I wrote music for him. Well, pitched music to him for maybe the chance to write,” chirped Everette, excited that he had such a grand story as the obviously prestigious man, but he left the story at that, not including the rejection part to his tale.

“Must of missed you in New York. However, I think your name might of chimed its way passed my ears before. I met a flapper in Tennessee once, quite a spirit for my rural days, and she and I were smitten from the start. I think she was the one to said it, maybe, or was it in Chicago that I heard it? She and I went steady for a while, but when I got back from the war I found her…” Everette trailed off, obviously getting into deep thought, and when he noticed he fell into those depths he automatically corrected his posture, especially not wanting to bring that to light.

“I digress, and I am terribly sorry for that. Name’s Everette D. Osborne. Well, Dr.Osborne technically, not the medical kind though. I joined the war as soon as it started, and they told me I did well, even though never felt like it. What good came of it was that my metals help me get my honorary doctorate in Chemistry, but my true passion is writing music. Was. Anyway, I was a chemist after the war and floated around the East Coast for a while, but war got me down so I came here,” said Everette.

He looked around, totally forgetting about the woman he came looking for, and the pain from the punch was nearly gone. He looked around for something to do.

“Whaddya say we go catch a drink at the bar, on me. A thank you for saving my ass back there. I also thought I saw the fellow American walk that way. Shall we?”

"Fine names if I ever heard one," the man named Huey said, "Well, what brings you two ladies to this knucklehead's cabin? Hell, what's takin' ya to London? I guess what i'm sayin' is...tell an old man about yourselves--it's a long train ride, and I'm tired of talkin' to him."

"Well I'm actually originally from London, just popped to Nottingham for a small visit," Dod answered. To her she was certain that wasn't the kind of exciting story Huey was looking for, but because she was English there wouldn't be amazing reasons to visiting London which was about four hours train ride from the Northern part of England.

Before Lottie could answer however another young lady popped up behind Theo, "So sorry to interrupt, gents, ladies. I must have misheard, Dod Freeman you said? There wouldn't happen to be a Dorothy before it, would it? Delilah Blanc. You may have heard of me?"

"Delilah Blanc?" Dod looked at the woman, her mouth hanging slightly open and eyes wide as if she had seen a vision from the past. She took Delilah's hand and stood up, "Mon amie, tu grandis depuis je te vois," Dod said, kissing the young ladies cheeks, "Comment t-allez vous?" she added, asking how she was.

"Don't mind us gentlemen, and Lottie, just old friends catching up," Dod said to the others. She pulled Delilah to sit next to her. It had been during the early times of the world that the two women had met and back then Delilah was more of a young girl than a woman. Dod had just moved to Paris and their encounter was brief then, but they still became the best of friends. Dod had given the little girl her address and for a while they had sent regular letter back and forth when Delilah moved to England. Though when the war reached Paris Dod had to stop sending those letters and the communication between the two stopped completely, until this very moment.