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Smoke, Jazz, and Blood

England

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a part of Smoke, Jazz, and Blood, by Fredalice.

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Fredalice holds sovereignty over England, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

684 readers have been here.

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Default Location for Smoke, Jazz, and Blood
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England

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England is a part of Smoke, Jazz, and Blood.

7 Characters Here

Dorothy Freeman [22] "Don't think I have enough sense as to be afraid."
Lottie Andrew [21] "Could you be a dear and move aside? You're blocking the light."
Everette D. Osborne [13] "When a man knows not who he is, what he does is the only proof."
Theolonius Alain Monke [12] "What's my angle? I'm head-on, baby, flat-out, all stops pulled, full steam ahead. My only 'angle' is the top. Ya dig?"
Terry Gillet [12] "Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see."
Jackson Butler [11] You can trust me... Sort of
Delilah Blanc [4] "You have heard of me? I'm not surprised. I am well-known in what I do."

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorothy Freeman Character Portrait: Lottie Andrew Character Portrait: Delilah Blanc Character Portrait: Theolonius Alain Monke
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DELILAH BLANC |LOTTIE ANDREW


"Je suis bien, mon ami. C'est bon de te voir!" Delilah exclaimed cheerfully, returning Dod's kisses with enthusiasm. She walked with Dod and the two sat together.

When Delilah was still a child, she lived with her family in her home city of Paris, France. She had spent most of her life at the club where her parents worked, so she had little to no friends and barely saw anyone that wasn't her siblings or her parents. However, on one day, when the lonely nine-year old was going about her life, she met an unusual but fascinating older girl. The two had lept at the friendship and were inseparable from that point on. When the two had stopped writing the other, it was a regretful decision that she still holds close to her heart to this day.

"Vous ne serez pas le croire, mais je suis un artiste professionnel," Delilah said proudly, a confident grin on her face.

Lottie followed after Dod slowly, sitting down next to the woman. She stared plainly at the stranger named Delilah, then back at Dod. This whole scene made her feel uncomfortable. She didn't like feeling so lonely or left out. She felt so awkward just for being here in this room. She quickly cleared her head and focused on one thing; she needed to try to interact with these strangers.

"I was not aware that you knew French," she blurted out, her attempt at being included into Dod and Delilah's conversation. Despite her awkwardness, she was genuinely impressed at Dod's skill. Lottie never really ever considered learning another language. She never needed to know a language other than english in her line of work.

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"It's Lottie, actually. Just Lottie," The young blonde woman had replied.

"Even finer!" Huey cheered. Theo nodded at her and smiled.

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you Lottie." He replied. Theo took a comb to his hair now, listening intently to Dod tell her story. There was something about women from overseas. So much more interesting then women from back home. And then, what happened next took him buy surprise. Not the bad kind of surprise, but the good kind. And the good kind of surprises were the kind of surprises that Theo enjoyed more than any other kind of surprise.

Delilah Blanc was a hell of a woman he had met last year while visiting some of the French soldiers he had befriended during the war. She was a beautiful woman with a voice to match, and a good friend to boot. Hopefully she would make a good wingman too-- It appeared that Delilah and Dod were old friends, and interesting development. Quietly, the man in the foreign land lit the cigarette that was nestled behind his ear. The women were talking amongst each other.

"Meeting friends in a place like this...I always said that music has a way of bringing people together. Lettin' people find each other know what I mean?" The musings of an old man dug into Theo's thoughts.

"Hell of a thing baby. Hell of a thing..." The younger musician returned. He looked to the line of women sitting beside him on the couch. Delilah had squeezed herself between him and Dod, with Charlotte--Lottie--, sitting on the very far end, next to her. Then, he looked down at this feet--there sat what remained of his cola & cognac; a melted ice cube and a nibbled on lime. He grabbed the glass. "Well then..." And with that, Theo flew up from the couch.

"Delilah!" The tall man began, as he sort of glided over to the phonograph in the corner of the space. "You know I love hearing you talk that beautiful language, but how come you didn't tell me that you kept such good company?" The table the phonograph sat on had a pull-out compartment that housed a selection of tunes. He picked out another, little more lively one, and switched out the records. "Let's livin' things up a little bit. We've only got a few more hours here after all, might as well make the most of it baby." The tune crackled on, and Theo made a slow b-line to the liquor cabinet.

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

He had changed his outfit a bit from earlier that day when he first arrived, he was now wearing an oversized, silk, loose fitting blue and gold adorned kimono over a relaxed fitting white button down. He still had on the same pair of black slacks & loafers, and his hat of course. The ornate kimono caught wind as he walked, making him look even more majestic than he tried to be.

"Pick your poison ladies. The drinks come with the cabin, so let's make sure to use em'." He poured himself a shot of cognac, and then prepared a shot for each of the guests in the cabin, what they contained varied from vodka, to gin, to whatever the hell else they stocked him with. It was a sampler of sorts. Then, with the drinks in hand, he handed on out to each of the ladies, then to Huey--who rarely drank.

"Alright everyone--" With a wide, toothy grin, Theo raised his glass. Arm outstretched, he hovered above all of them. "To new friends, old friends, and this side of the world treating me way better than the states ever did!" And with a cheer, he took his shot.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dorothy Freeman Character Portrait: Lottie Andrew Character Portrait: Delilah Blanc Character Portrait: Terry Gillet Character Portrait: Theolonius Alain Monke Character Portrait: Everette D. Osborne
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"I lived in France during the war," Dod explained to Lottie, "In the end it was about as good a place to hide as England, but I would never trade my time in France for anything."

"Pick your poison ladies. The drinks come with the cabin, so let's make sure to use 'em," Theo announced. When Dod looked to him and noticed for the first time that he had changed clothes.

"Might as well take a Whiskey Smash as my last one ended up getting smashed," Dod said wit a quirk in her lips. She stood up and went over to make her own drink.

"Alright everyone," Theo said lifting his own glass, "To new friends, old friends, and this side of the world treating me way better than the states ever did!"

"Santé!" Dod said taking a sip of her drink, "Now if you'll excuse me I should probably get my stuff if we are to stay here for the journey. I'll grab your stuff as well Lottie." With that Dod momentarily left the Presidential cabin and made her way back to the one she had originally found. Just outside the door were two of them men from earlier, the polite, young boy who rekindled the fight and the man with the love for music.

"Are you alright?" she asked the younger man, briefly leaning against the wall. Though completely unneeded, Dod did find it rather noble of him, especially considering they were complete strangers. There was some thudding going down the corridor, going away from where they stood, but Dod could still see what was happening. It was the great bimbo of a man trying to be helped by a small woman, but he kept shoving her away.

"Poor dame," Dod whispered, tilting her head to rest on the wall, "Though nothing can be done," with that she walked into the cabin and slowly gathered her things, as well as the items that she saw Lottie handle earlier, her arms getting quite full.

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Character Portrait: Dorothy Freeman Character Portrait: Terry Gillet Character Portrait: Everette D. Osborne
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Not long after waiting the man’s response, the woman who he had defended earlier had appeared before him again, and not only with a gleaming smile that would make you believe that she had never had a care in her life, especially not had been wailed on not but ten minutes prior, but also with fresh whiskey. This woman does not miss a beat, thought Everette, commenting on her not taking any time to refill her cup and let nothing affect her. But then his worn eyes, the eyes of a man that had seen too much, met her lively eyes and he saw the thought she had.

Poor bloke, he wasted his fists. I obviously had it.

Again, he damned his Tennessee blood and his American soul; it was a characteristic for America to be the first to help and the first to be criticized for it, whether they deserved it or not. Criticism or help. He wished he thought of where he was, the European way of letting it be and the won battle is a win, but where he grew up he knew of the Hatfield and McCoys. Helping was right and there was no victory until the war was one, no celebration and no rest for a mere won battle, and as well as the mentality of finishing the fight. But, beyond his spirit, he had other reasons he was compelled to help the dark haired Dod.

It was because she reminded him of someone; reminded him of her. A touchy subject that attached him to the stranger since she was completely a spitting image, but also compelled him to be bitter to her, never trusting her in fear she will turn out like the last. In truth, he would stay distant, or try his best, and see where that led him. Besides, even from a mile away he could sense that the shy one from earlier, the blonde, was highly taken by her, smitten even. She began to speak.

“Are you alright?”

She seemed only half concerned, as if he had done it himself and he was silly for it, and in her defense it was completely true.

“Lucky bastard- er, please pardon my language,” he said rather awkwardly, flooding memories he had tried to forget pouring in, he had forgotten he was not familiar with this woman as he was the last.

“One of them got off a lucky shot, and I would be done in if not for this here camarade,” he said this in almost fluent French he had learned fighting alongside them in war, “mais un counteau emporte poings,” Everette added, this time in less impressive French but still a noble attempt.

She remarked upon a woman in the corridor, but he paid little heed. He was fixated on the moving and breathing mirror image of his past, and somehow his thoughts turned back to his coin. He reached for it, but only found an empty pocket.

You’re on your own now, Everette old boy, he thought to himself. He felt that this trip was about to get interesting, but he did not know of that was a good thing...

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Character Portrait: Jackson Butler
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#, as written by museman
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Smoke filled the air as Jackson took one last puff of his cigar before dropping it in a glass of water that someone left behind. With the train still moving Jackson slowly got up from the stool and balanced himself. He was not a fan of trains or even automobiles for that matter. He always got around town by just walking. His feet were his vehicle in that case. Jackson leaned over and grabbed his bourbon. He straightened his posture and made his way out of the bar. He could see the other people from his cabin wandering around and some going into another man's private cabin. Jackson thought the man with his own car must think he's the bee's knees. Without anymore thought, Jackson stepped inside of the cabin he started out in. It was nearly empty. His eyes shot around the room until he found his briefcase. He was overjoyed that no one had taken it. All the materials held within were his checks to the bank. Figurative checks. It was all a bunch of evidence for the trial that was sent over to Jackson's home back in the states. The case would be tough to crack, but Jackson had confidence in himself that he cracked the case. He was going to win it for the victim and get some good cash to go along with the win. He closed his eyes, but in return he picked up a scent. It was his own. His clothes smelled like ash. Jackson wanted to be presentable by the time he got into London. He reached under the seat where he placed his duffle bag with clothes inside. He checked his surrounding and did not see a single soul. He grabbed out another collared shirt, slacks, briefs, and a sweater vest. He would just keep his socks on since they would always smell like feet no matter what pair he wore.

Stepping out of the cabin, Jackson went into the bathroom one door down the hall, next to the cabin. He stepped inside and just shut the door enough to not be seen. He didn't lock it, but his reason was simple. Last time he was on such a train, the bathroom door wouldn't open after he locked it. He was stuck inside until the bartender noticed the door was locked, but everyone had departed the train. He shook the bad thought and started to undress. He dropped his trousers, followed by his shirt, and finally his briefs. As he was going to reach for his clothes he looked in the mirror. He couldn't help but realize what he saw. It wasn't himself, but his father. His mother even said that to him once, but Jackson flicked the comment off of his shoulder just like a pesky bug.