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Smiling charmingly, Hélène turns politely to Frau Austerlitz as she opened her mouth to speak.

Calculatingly Amelia asks, "Though, the two of you must be very well acquainted, even if you're fond of all your men. What made him stand out above your other choices? What made him your Spieß?" She watches as the two men shift their attention, now intent on her as if suddenly remembering she is there. She remains poised as a wolf on the hunt as Neumann passes of the question Richter, and the man is glad to boast.

“Ah, the Hauptfeldwebel is the pearl of our division. Neumann has a rare gift. He can understand the mentality of every tank driver, commander, and gunner. He reads their letters, too," he says proudly, happily.

“Paper hearts,” Neumann comments idly, eyes roving, and Richter continues on.

He is quick to elaborate, ending ominously, “Men like this are diamonds in the Führer’s crown.” The sentence hangs in the air, and new information weighs on the two women silent and intent.

To Amelia, it was with only the fullest of faith and deepest of knowledge that such praise could be given by one man to another. Richter's words trampled one another in their departure, a river that did not merely flow, but gushed forth with a rare earnest quality. Usually, it takes more than a few glasses of red or sherry for these sorts of words. And from Neumann's aloof, perhaps even bashful reaction to his friend's words, perhaps this one history had the merit of truth behind it.

Perhaps.

Hélène had underestimated this man, boyish and quick to pass judgement as he seems. He throws his thoughts out like gems for the world to revel in as only a child does, but his actions had hidden to her how often precious insights had passed from his lips. He is juvenile in his ways, but it only hides how truly terrifying he can be. An important reminder then, that some monsters are not monstrous, and some idiots not ignorant.

Frau Austerlitz had began to speak when Ricther had ceased, but it seemed that the table’s attentions had shifted to Neumann - and by extension, whatever had caught his attention. Amelia’s sights drifted to a gold-plated mirror on the opposite wall, settling on the reflection of a thin man, clad in the Wehrmacht officer's decorated greys. Though - after a moment, he himself seems to be shocked at sight of their table. He averts his gaze and comes from whence he came. Hélène had twisted in her seat at Neumann’s preoccupation, and only just managed to catch a glimpse from the corner of her eye as he froze, and his eyes glinted red in the low light before he turned and disappeared again.

“Strange fellow,” Richter spoke.

Strange indeed, for Amelia swore she had spied a reddish tint in the strange man's eyes. Making a show of looking over her shoulder, Amelia turns to face opposing side of the room - only to see the closed door, and the other joyous and inebriated patrons. Hélène was tense now, the double confrontation reminding her of the stakes.

Quick to change the subject, Richter says, “It is late! I do hope Herr Kazetani recovers well.”

Recovering, Hélène turns back carefully and casts her eyes downward, surprised to see that the plate she had been eating from empty. Ah. Of course. As Amelia turns back, she quickly leans in to her, smiling again. “Frau Austerlitz, it seems that we are done with our meals, if wouldn’t mind accompanying me to our quarters for the night?”

Hélène’s face, girlish and eager, is betrayed by a tenseness around her eyes - the man had spooked her. Richter’s dismissal rings the silence, pressing down upon them. “It is getting late, I think it would be for the best.”

Hélène quickly jumps on the out, only barely holding back the desperation and discomfort she is stifling. They carefully depart, Amelia leading the way with goodnights and goodbyes. She follows, softening their exit with more of her weaponized charm.

“It was wonderful to meet you both, I am so glad to have had to opportunity to talk and I eagerly await a chance to speak to you both when your busy schedules allow. In favor of the later hour however, I will have to bid you goodnight.” After their replies she smiles, curtseys lightly, and turns to follow Amelia into the next car.



Hélène deftly steps into the sleeping cart with her long skirts swishing softly as she moves to the side, Amelia quickly closing the door behind her. With no more audience, Hélène’s charming but vacuous impression falls, leaving her tense but grim. Peering around the hall, they see no one.

“That man had red eyes,” she says to the Frenchwoman, quiet and grave. Her companion remains silent, caution visible in her gaze despite the increasing fatigue laid upon her falling shoulders.

Amelia strides toward their carriage, sparing only a quick, hurried glance around the room. Seeing nothing out of place, she gestures to her associate while glimpsing into the empty hallway - to ensure the pair had not been followed. Hélène is quick to follow her into their room, efficiently closing and the locking the door, before she turns to her own things. The memory of the odd man hangs over them, deepening the silence as they sort through their luggage. Amelia takes a tad longer to unpack, fumbling with more than one strap, mind occupied and features furrowed in thought. Though once they are sure there is no surveillance, the quiet breaks.

“You’re… quite sure they’re red, yes?” Amelia questions, slipping a hand within her coat to check her pistol.

“I only saw him for a moment, but the light reflected red, no matter how dim. He was… more than strange.” Hélène shrugs into her much warmer French coat, grateful to add another layer on top of her dirndl. She quickly checks over her own Gandor pistol, before placing it in one of her many hidden pockets. “I can go look to see where he went, if you would like stay here and contact your Artifact?” After a slow, weary nod and gesture from Amelia, she quickly turns around and walks back into the hallway.



Setting down the radio, Amelia’s thoughts turned to her artifact, and the accompanying drumming in her temples. Familiar thoughts met hers, and for several seconds, there was not an uttered word. Leaning on the camera, she allowed herself this brief respite, for with the color of her Artifact’s thoughts, she knew the answer to her own question before she even began.

Is that poltergeist dealt with?

Not yet. They're still planning on the - eh, how and when, I believe.

There was a sympathetic layer to her Artifact's words, and it seemed only amplified by her impatience and pain both. That percussive pain was beginning to grate, the incessant scratch in her head. It pounded and pounded and pounded -

Amelia. Only a few more minutes.

Of course, it was simple for a sniper to suggest patience.

Nonetheless, she began to hum as she did from time to time, beginning to unpack the radio. A small quirk - or even a trick, perhaps. He had said keeping a tune in his mind kept the frost from his hands, and the seductive allure of his dreams far from his thoughts. Perhaps it was a trick of a different sort - for she felt her artifact withdraw from her thoughts. Surely to conceal a smug attitude from providing a placebo for her issues.

Yet, that bit went here. This slid out of a concealed nook, and secured another thing here. It was impressive, how such an otherwise large and cumbersome object could be hidden so, and so simply converted. These three things - the admiration, the music, the ever-present frustration towards her artifact - they occupied the alarmingly short time she had alone before someone would fling the door open.



The door closes loudly behind her as the empty hallway warps and fades, almost like a mist, or possibly a mirage. It was an odd experience, her vision fading away at the edges, slowly moving inward, only for her to see what she felt she had been seeing along. Hélène’s thoughts jump and scream in her head, fighting each other; her muscles twitch in fear and her heart beats like a wardrum in her ears, calling her to battle.

The tone of Herr Stanfield’s voice implies that things have deeply gone wrong.

With no time to think on his conversation, she memorizes as much as she can to examine later. Revealed in the peculiar experience, Stanfield’s back is turned to her, his body blocking whoever he is talking to.

As she takes a step towards him, he suddenly shifts and she is shocked to see Herr Kazetani on the ground, smears of blood around his mouth. The squirming feeling of panic hits her hard in the gut-almost like a sucker punch. To see such a capable Saniwa on the ground looking worse for wear, what would the rest of them come to?

No longer performing for her Nazi hosts, she runs towards them, only barely conscious of the puddle on the ground as she leaps over it. Getting even closer, her heart rate jumps yet again to see such a reputed bodyguard bleeding as well. Aghast, it is almost impossible to stop herself from asking rapid-fire questions.

“I do not have anything in my luggage for this, do either of you have anything that will do?” she asks even as she herds Claire closer to her room. Without even pausing to hear them answer, she emphatically gestures the Gandor man to her door before offering her arm to Miyoshi, who takes it with some reluctance.

Inside, a very bewildered Amelia is met with the bloodied, beleaguered Claire, followed shortly by Helene supporting a wavering Kazetani.

With both bloody men back in her room, she closes the door and turns to survey them in better lighting. The obvious nicks and cuts on Stanfield were concerning, but more alarming was the seeping blood soaking into his waistcoat. A glance at the man still on her arm shows no more injuries than the blood from his mouth, so she quickly deposits him on her bed exchanging a grim look to Amelia’s puzzled expression.

Setting her coat atop the radio, Amelia questions, “What - what even happened?” as her eyes drift between the two battered men.

Lips quirking, and jaw clench in irritated stress, Hélène replies more sharply than she intends. “Why, I’m not quite sure. I am rather preoccupied with treating their injuries at the moment. I’m sure that they can tell you once we have the luxury of time.” She sends a scathing look at the two men seated on her bed, daring them to act before they are well.

“Unless whatever or whoever did this is dead and gone, I’d like to know if I should be holding a gun in hand in case they come through that door to finish the job.” Amelia retorted.

“I've no doubt that the Revenant won't be returning,” Miyoshi firmly says. There is a certain stillness to his gaze, and he does not smile.

Finally , Hélène reaches for Stanfield. “Will you be needing bandages for that?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it Hel, it’s just a flesh wound,” Claire winces as he takes off his jacket, “take care of my old...friend first.”

Other questions strain from behind her teeth, but the dark emotions behind their eyes stop her from badgering them. Stubbornly ignoring his protests, she quickly takes off the apron of her dirndl, and binds the cloth over wound, and ties the apron strings tightly around his chest to stop the bleeding.

Moving to the other side of the room, Amelia soaks and offers a handkerchief to Helene. The other woman uses it to begin the long process of cleaning his less serious cuts, focussed and intent. Narrowing her eyes, she glares in frustration at the layers of cloth in the way. Setting down the cloth for a moment, she crosses her arms. “Your shirt. Take it off. You’ll only contaminate these further.”

Meanwhile, Amelia rummages through one of the smaller pieces of luggage, fumbling through a small pile of clothes to retrieve a small canvas sack, a symbolic, faded red cross peeling from the front. The rusty latches give way, revealing neatly wrapped paper boxes and a few metal tins. She pries a pair labeled “Pansements”, offering them over her shoulder to Helene. “These are - how do you call them in English? Dressings? They’ll keep the deeper cuts clean - after they’re washed, of course.”

Hélène takes them gratefully, giving a long look at the Frenchwoman before turning back. With a deep breath, she sets them carefully on the clean sheets next to Claire. Taking up the wet cloth again, she concentrates again on the newly bared wounds. As she finishes with the last of them, the panic in her veins slowly abates.

Miyoshi’s voice breaks the singer’s focus temporarily.

“Ms. Kohler. If it’s of no trouble, would you be so kind?” Miyoshi evenly says, his voice masterfully controlled. “Just my mouth,” he says, crafting a well-fashioned smirk despite himself.

In spite of the situation, she can’t help smiling at the line. “Of course Herr Kazetani, how remiss of me.” Her own voice is miraculously even, and somehow even manages to come off as warm. She turns to wet her own handkerchief in the sink, and looks at imploringly at Amelia to disinfect Claire now that he is free of blood.

After an odd glance towards the duo, Amelia pointedly focuses her attention towards Claire, exhaling a subtle, quiet sigh as she rips open another package.

“Typical Mouse, flirting even when he’s on the verge of death,” Claire mutters, briefly leaning to Amelia, “he would sell himself out to Nikolai if it made him blush.”

“It was worse earlier. They seemed about ready to ravish one another on the table.” Amelia replied in a low whisper, pinching together a nasty wound on the abdomen while she applies a bandage.

“At least you’ve got your eyes on the road,” Claire winces when the bandage touches raw flesh but covers it up with a laugh, “I’m hoping he’ll snap out of it once the--”

He catches himself before he continues.

“--once the shock wears off.”

Amelia pauses, seeming to listen, but continues regardless. She is silent for a few moments, before speaking as she reaches for the kit once more, “Once the shock wears off, then, perhaps it’d be worth mentioning how a Revenant took two rank A Saniwa by surprise.”

“We expected an assassin,” Claire replies tersely, “but not one after Miyoshi.”

On the other side of the car, the singer is yet again drawn into the Kazetani’s games. Hélène carefully takes his jaw in her hand, fingertips brushing lightly against his throat. Tilting his face towards the light, she leans closer, licking her lips in an odd mixture of nervousness, arousal, and concentration. She gently wipes at the corner of his mouth, moving down his chin to catch the dried blood crusted on his jawline. Satisfied that the last of the blood is gone, Hélène leans back again, giving his throat one last gentle caress before stepping away from the bed.

“Hmmm,” Miyoshi hums, seemingly satisfied with his treatment. Something in his voice indicates that he has more planned for her, though his intentions are masked. His eyes remain locked on hers, and his placid smile grows more devilish as he watches her expressions grow. He seems to have regained enough strength to catch her hand, audacity learned from his British compatriots, and pulls her in slightly.

His lips gently brush by her ear, and Helene feels his warm breath at her neck.

She gives a full body twitch, barely stopping a shudder from running through her body. She grinds her teeth lightly even as she blushes intensely, unable to stop herself from leaning into him.

“That was highly adequate Ms. Kohler. Thank you,” he says, playfully tugging at her wrist. The Spiritualist places a light peck at her pulse point, and releases her when he finishes. He retains a nonchalant mien, and she realizes with annoyance that she is helpless against his sensuality.

Too flustered to speak, she stands for a moment, sharing his body warmth. With a deep breath, she remembers where she is. Hastily steps back, she eyes him from under her eyelashes with a mixture of hunger and wariness. Her cheeks still bright red, and breathing still a little too fast, she asks him drily, “Feeling better already, I assume?”

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xFor a bare few seconds, Amelia managed to retain what scant composure she had assembled within the duo’s presence. It didn’t last long, and her temple sunk into the very mattress the two men had previously bled upon. The carpeted floor dug into her knees from every bump and shake caused by the train’s rapid travel, but she paid the discomfort little mind, for most of it was devoted to maintaining slow, conscious thought.

You can let it down, now.

The familiar touch of her Artifact’s mind had graced her own, and no sooner had the message ended than Amelia released the ability. The relief was instant and euphoric - the headache turned to a mere dull throb, her vision cleared significantly, and she felt conscious. Tired - but without fear of fainting.

They finally took care of the poltergeist?

A sardonic amusement took hold of her thoughts for a moment, though she was unsure if the origin was her own mind, or Samael’s. Perhaps both. At least Gammond was safe -

Not at all, unfortunately. They think it was a distraction - a, yes, a ‘ruse’? What kind of word -

Focus, please?

A distraction perhaps, for some ill intent she’s sensing in the back of the train. Also - it seems the Australians are missing, which would explain why your radio’s been quiet. Now… should I be passing anything along? Did Kazetani say anything?

Not a word. Him and the American were ambushed, somehow. Second poltergeist, meant for him instead of Gammond, though.

Nothing? Well, do you think he was attacked because he might know more - get rid of the person who’s most likely to recognize the assassin?

Amelia called to mind the events that took place just minutes prior. How could Kazetani know when an assassin is coming? He couldn’t even sense his own - and - and honestly -

And he’s human too, right? We tend to make mistakes, and besides, an injury for them would have ended as a pine box for you. Now, when you can, ask him to throw those of us in here a line.

In the morning, then. I’m not certain where their quarters are now - and for tonight, I don’t think we’ll encounter any more excitement. Can you tell the others about the second poltergeist, and to pay attention for a man with red eyes? He was wearing an officer’s uniform and seemed to be avoiding Saniwa on sight.

Samael didn’t reply, but Amelia could tell he was standing up. He would pass it along. Pushing away from his mind, she opened her eyes, revealing Hélène who had not moved an inch from when Amelia had closed them.

After the two men had left, Hélène had stood motionless for a moment, eyes still caught on the door. Although her vision had stalled on it, she couldn’t see anything but Herr Kazetani’s last departing smirk, his musky cologne still stuck in her nostrils, and seemingly clogging her thoughts.

While her roommate was preoccupied in her own thoughts, Hélène blinked quickly, shivering in a full body twitch as if to throw his presence off her mind, and walked over to lock the door in a haze. Without thinking on it, her body continued to move around to small room, packing away various belongings and changing into vastly more comfortable night clothes. All the while, Hélène still couldn’t rid herself of Miyoshi’s specter, his actions haunting her thoughts as her body moved automatically.

Her emotions were slow to react, leaking through in a trickle: one by one. The first to return was a blinding rage-at his audacity, at her helplessness, at the situation in general. It was a familiar feeling, and she took solace in it as the guilt and embarrassment slowly crept back in. Done with her tasks, Hélène returned to a motionless pose, staring listlessly at her bags as she stood in front of her bed. Her body swayed slightly with the motion of the train rushing into the night, but her only real movements were the minute twitches of her face as she tried to process all her thoughts.

Fruitlessly, she tried to smother them, to purge them from her mind. Eventually, in a futile fit of frustration she pushed them to the back of her cluttered mind for when Walter could easily dispose of them.

“Hélène,” Amelia’s voice slithered through the silence, quieter and gentler now that they were the only two.

Distracted from her inner turmoil, Helene looked up. The all-consuming mix of frustration and powerlessness that had been churning in her stomach and bubbling up in chest like the awful burn of bile was settling slowly, and as she slotted it away the rest of the world finally came back into focus. The furrow between her brows flattened out, and realizing that her jaw was still tightly clenched, she released it, surprised at the remaining ache.

Looking over at her roommate, Hélène felt the guilt and embarrassment compound yet again. The Frenchwoman had sat atop the bed, and looked as put-together as ever, her eyes gleaming with raptor-sharp competence even as her exhaustion faded her edges. Blinking quickly, she realized that Amelia was waiting for her reply. “Yes?” She asked softly, inquiring-but hesitant now that her firm footing had been lost.

"What history do you two have to let him get to you like that?” Amelia asked, pressing the issue.

Hélène’s cheek twitched slightly in an aborted grimace. “Not much of one, to be honest.” She looked down with a depreciating smile. “I met him briefly in Vienna at a recital of mine. It seems as though he is much more dangerous and magnetic than I ever thought.” She was quick to make eye contact again as she cautioned Amelia, “Our meeting was very brief, I did not think much of it at the time.” Hélène looked into the middle distance, the warm glow of the memory curdling in light of the man’s recent actions. “He was… charming, elegant, but very brief. His impression was made more from his beauty and exoticism than from anything he said or did. We exchanged no more than five sentences to each other, but it seems he has been keeping an eye on me for much longer than I have on him.”

“He thought he could control you when you met - and now he knows that he can. Why is that, when you’re as capable? Why do you see him as dangerous, instead of the other way around?” Amelia countered, adjusting her position. She sat straighter, her sharp gaze unwavering from Hélène’s.

Hélène stiffens, readjusting herself to face her roommate fully. Her eyes are steely when they meet Amelia’s again. With a grim smile she replies, “He is dangerous in the same way Herr Neumann is dangerous-a child toying in people’s thoughts, reading everyone as an open book. He had met me for less than an hour, and yet was perfectly able to push my buttons. He is a snake charmer, and not every snake he charms will be harmless.” Her smile turns pained. “I knew exactly what he was doing when he was seducing me, but I still fell for it. If he does the same thing tomorrow, I might yet fall for it again. He is dangerous because he is powerful in quiet ways, independent of station or wealth. His power is cannot be lost or taken away, and it can tame even the greatest of foes.”

Amelia’s thoughts turned to the man in question. Her knowledge was limited to the elder Kazetani. Head priest of the East wind, with rumors alluding to his iron grasp of power and strong intellect. The younger seemed similar - his hold on the others around him was apparent, and he walked and talked with self-assured, cunning authority. He knew the power and control he had over others, and seemed to relish in it, if she were to judge based on his treatment of Hélène tonight.

But, he wasn’t a machine. Whatever illusions of invincibility Hélène believed were wasted upon Amelia. It seemed he had fallen ill at the table, taking a quick retreat. His recuperation could explain how they were ambushed so easily, and also Claire’s slip of the tongue. Kazetani’s health could be worse than he lets on - and if so, perhaps his strong grip on both Hélène and others was false as well?

After the few moments of silence, Amelia grabbed the bed’s edge, shifting herself closer towards Hélène, “That power isn’t as invincible as it seems; if you let me, I can show you how to protect yourself from those games men like him like to play.”

She extended her hand, palm up, to Hélène.

Hélène blinked slowly for a second as she processed what her roommate meant. Oh my. It seems I walked into the play of more than one gamesmaster tonight. Let us see how well this one treats her pawns, shall we? For a second time that night, she was charmed despite herself. No stranger to stepping in and around the webs of others, she was glad she no longer took offense to the machinations of most. It had made her life much less stressful at the very least.

With a boyishly gleeful smile-a devilish tilt hiding in its corners-she took Amelia’s hand. “I would be delighted to see myself protected from the games of men.” Her smiles turned a little wolfish. “And I would love to see how you play this game as well.” She gave Amelia a friendly, conspiring look to soften her words, eager to see how she would do, these two women against the world.