Maria Calag's Story

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MIYOSHI
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MIYOSHI
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Even with his nose deep in Friedrich’s work for free spirits Cyril was still able to sense a figure materialize at his side. Before the foot coming down like a striking hammer met its target, the young adult turned to face his artifact. No words were spoken, nor were anything thoughts transmitted through a mental connection. Only the exchange of gazes occurred.

”Wulf, tell my wife I love her.”

”As if somebody would marry you.” The girl followed up ruthlessly deadpan.

”True, but still painful.

Cyril angled his vision up at the source of the kick from his seated position. Almost instantaneously, the extremely faint signs of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and despite common belief, it was genuine. ”Glad to see you’re doing well after our escapade, Maria.” He spoke in a voiced laced in neither amiability nor derision. Only professional esteem, which in itself was peculiar considering that Cyril was the polar opposite of professional. The Philippine was one of the very, very, very few people awarded with the privilege of being on the exiguous mental list labeled COMPETENT. Her mentality was comprised of the right amounts acumen and cynicism to gaze unobstructedly through the looking glass. On top of that, she was a living and breathing example of the reason to never look down upon people of short stature. In a deriding sense, of course. As the idiom went: The smaller they are, the easier it is to stab the living shit out of you.

”Sure you’ve been fine with that guy who’s at the apex of masculinity- Speaking of which, greetings Basilio.” Both Cyril and Wulf waved in unison at the Saniwa’s escort, who would most like have been in the midst of panic if he had claustrophobia. The blond unconsciously referred to artifacts as human beings. And why should he do anything beside that? They eat, sleep, and shit. To his understanding, those were the core fundamentals of what it meant to be “human”. Although in his mind he knew they were products of the soul, discerning between specific origins required far too much effort for the Belgian to squander. ”Hey, since you’re here, I want you to tell me what you think of this little excerpt?” Cyril abruptly switched gears without noticed, his slack stature now brimmed with energy once his gaze had been cast back to the literature in his hands. After a low breath, words filled with enthrallment flew forth. ”Even the distinction between soul and body is wholly due to the primitive conception of the dream, as also the hypothesis of the embodied soul, whence the development of all superstition, and also, probably the belief in god. “The dead still live: for they appear to the living in dreams.” Very befitting of our current arrangements, right? The last few words lost their vibrance as Cyril looked away from the book to witness Maria’s reaction. Seamlessly, the young adult was once again his lethargic self. Though hopefully the cutout would refresh the surely tired Maria and Basilio, he didn’t really make it a priority to transmit his words in a warm manner.

As much as he hated to admit it, Maria had done Cyril a solid. Back when Wulf’s personality was still in the midst of being cultivated, and at the time had bared a close resemblance to a blank canvas, the Spiritualist had “fleshed out” the girl’s colors almost effortlessly. Cyril was, one would say, in total awe. Surely being members of the same sex was a crucial factor, but perhaps it was all of the facets entailed with another human being that. It’s not that Wulf ever shirked from telling Cyril about something that was on her mind, in fact he was her go-to for such issues, in spite of the lack of lucid empathy he exhibited. He had never explicitly thanked Maria, and chances are, he never would. There was no meaning in such a petty matter.

For karma had already caught up with him.

Cyril was able to digest the words that cut through the air as well as those on the pages before him. Though, he did find his interest piqued when Myoshi nonchalantly dropped the bomb filled with quite the payload. So the people whose job was to prevent deaths would now ensure one would take place. Talk about a plot twist. It wasn’t cheesy, in all actuality, it had taken the combat Saniwa by surprise. The only sign of a response were his widened eyes, which only remained in that form for a short-lived second before mellowing out once again.

"Wait, seriously?!” Wulfetrud internally exclaimed while she shared the same expression as Ms. Christine. An anxious glance to her side confirmed that her partner was completely impassive to this revelation. She yet again envied that aloof side of him, but then again, one of them had to maintain a cool head. Her furred ears twitched uneasily as Miyoshi led the team on, not letting a single consonant fall short of any ears. Even though the Saniwa coolly made an attempt to rationalize what had slithered out of his mouth, a shiver still ran up the girl’s spine despite the amount of carbon dioxide in the room.

Of course. In the name of science. Any second now, Cyril expected Miyoshi to slip into a labcoat produced from a hatch in the ceiling and go forth as an envoy of science. Every generic mad scientist believes that his cause is just no matter the horrors that may lead up to the culmination of his efforts, for it’s all in the name of science. Though mad scientists never seemed to be chained by budget cuts and external benefactors. The guy continued to droll on until the older, veteran Kazetani took the spotlight. Cyril forced himself to hold back the urge to click his tongue after another death stick was ignited, his eyes follow its grey essence as it weakened in density. His eyes were brought back to the Head Saniwa when his ears picked up his own unwelcomed name. He could feel minutes shaved off his life as the words sank in and registered. Although, after he took the other eccentric characters within the room into account, he had gotten off somewhat easy. After the other members had received their assignments, father and son exchanged volleys that probably comprised the familial bonds between them. It would’ve been a heart-warming sight, only if the two individuals weren’t batshit and if Cyril had he actually listened to.

The young adult was now at a crossroads. A pivotal juncture. A fight with temptation. Cyril glanced up to Miyoshi and back down to the book multiple times, until Wulf nudged him in the arm with her elbow. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips as he brought the two uneven halves of the book together in one hand and inelegantly got to his feet, with his artifact in briskly in tow. ”Well, guess I have to make this official? Where do I sign in blood?” He brusquely fixed his stature and opened his mouth again, ”I, Cyril Noel, and Wulfetrud, hereby swear to protect Maria Calag and Basilio to the best of our abilities and then some, lest the former perish and return to this plane to haunt my kitchen’s sink drawer.” He felt another nudge, this time a bit harder than the first. Wulf didn’t seem to enjoy the verbal jab and pouted. ”Glad to be onboard.”

As long as there's sleep and fine wine.

Hopefully the train ride would stop Wulf's caterwauling on taking a scenic trip.

KNICKERBOKERX
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KNICKERBOKERX
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TWOSTWOS
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TWOSTWOS
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Every abrupt back and forth sway of the train effortlessly broke his concentration as he attempted to chew through the book in short, jutted, forced breaks. His inability to focus on the literature clenched so tightly between his hands that it looked like his fingers would burrow through book was also attributed to the girl to his side, who was currently acting under the feint of a better half. Scary thing is, she played the role with stunning finesse and authenticity, almost as if he true emotions had taken ahold of her heart and generated the words that gracefully left her mouth. The iconically sheepish Wulfetrud flawlessly put on the performance of a vivacious maiden, seeing the sights and sounds regardless of the wartime hindrances with her true love, a not-so sociable Belgian who far surpassed the level Stoic. ”Oh, I believe being reserved has more than just a few good qualities!” or ”He may seem a little standoffish, but he’s a softy at heart, really!”

She had rehearsed lines similar to those above in the case that somebody happened to note the apparent disparity between the two lovebirds, as any human being with even one partially operational eyeball would. Most would assume that not even love could overcome such a stark contrast, but- ”Why let love dictate who we harmonize with when we can just abide by our own hearts and minds?” Wulf couldn’t lie, she may have revised a certain statement Cyril had made about religion a few weeks prior, but as they say, cats never forget. If the duo hadn’t set themselves on the Combat faction, and Cyril was one to really let his personal stances bleed into his choices in the field, then surely Wulf would have force- nudged her partner to take part in Espionage, even though he had no tact when it came to, as he described them “life threatening social altercations”. Although Saniwa were clandestine by default, the artifact just relished the conception of her slipping her way into a corrupt organization’s numbers, or stealthily stealing high value information and sneaking past waves of guards. Of course, this reverie may have been a tad bit influenced by the array of spy and mystery books painstakingly organized in their flat’s bookshelves. It was one of the few things Cyril was earnestly attentive with.

But this mission more than sufficed. Yet the young girl couldn’t shake the underlying feeling that some other force made her carry herself and the act with such credibility. She didn’t have enough time to think before the words had already flew from her mouth. While Cyril dragged himself through an experience that could be likened to walking on glass, Wulf attempted to propagate some genial conversation with Samael and the unresponsive mass of disheveled and aged skin that was Albert Gammond, their VIP, a hazy visage of who was surely an astute and bright Saniwa. Was being the key word. For a man who had resigned himself unto the clutches of death, in Wulf’s eyes the person before her and the mental image she had manifested prior surely didn’t resonate. She at least expected him to be huffing on a death stick in silent acceptance, hell, maybe two or three at the same time just to express how done he was with living. A demeanor that fit with a phrase Cyril fancied, ”Gaze upon the field of fucks that I give, and see that it lay barren.” and then he would envelop himself in whatever he was reading just a moment prior, or rest in a pool of apathy. She felt like she was talking to a pair of brick walls, watching powerlessly as her words bounced off of their impermeable facades.

Soon enough Even Wulfetrud gave up and shot a giddy smile at Cyril, one that a lover overcome by infatuation and ardor would sport. She maintained the vibrant countenance, though she was forced to summon a fair amount of resistance to not reveal the internal turbulence she was currently experiencing. Although her eyes were undividedly locked on Cyril’s deadpan face, she could see an unfocused individual in the background, lying motionlessly on the other side of the window.

”It’s still there...” Wulfetrud whined over the mental connection they shared while she maintained her cool.

”Powerful observation.” The Saniwa coolly shot back as he narrowed the eyes that currently danced across the book’s page.

Flip

”Shouldn’t we… deal with it?” Her voice was chocked full of perturbation, but the girl felt like she already knew the imminent answer.

”I’m still reading.” Cue internal sigh, followed by Wulf’s withering faith in humanity.

Flip

”And why should we ‘deal with it’? It’s not like it has lashed out at us or has given any visual sign of such intentions. For argument’s sake, say we did decide to engage it. It’s borderline impossible to do so from within the car should it decide to join us in here, and taking it on outside were draw just as much attention. On top of that, we would be limited to melee weapons since people would freak at a gunshot, and the last thing I want is a bunch of ticked of Nazis telling me to burn my books again. Even though the whole thing could potentially be written off as ‘Armed and crazed occult group dressed in black suits takes over the Joffre’, I don’t want to get an earful from the higher-ups. As my rule of thumb goes, no matter if its human or spirit, if you don’t regard its existence, it’s not there.”

Flip

He raised multiple good points, save for that expected endnote, but still it was a surprise that he could reason with her on a rational level and skim the pages at an almost inhuman speed. The Saniwa didn’t even cast his stray gaze over to the girl for even a moment.

”But rest assured if it does exhibit any hostile intentions towards Gammond, you and I will put it down. Sounds good? Ah, here it is.” Using the arm she was already tightly wrapped around as a support, she leaned over Cyril’s shoulder and peered down at the page he had finally came to a halt on. Turns out he was reading the extremely vital and pivotal compendium right in the open, just with a different cover to hide the far from nondescript rite on the front board. Wulf read at a pace nearly as fast as Cyril. Her past life as an abbess vied with her partner’s prowess in the world of literature digestion. She instantly put two and two together and connected the description on the page with the snapshot practically embedded into her mind.

”...So it’s not Sinterklaas.”

”Not funny.”

”I had a giggle. So, estranged lover…?’

Wulf’s perspective slowly panned up to Cyril’s blank expression.

”Cyri-”

”No.”

Well, it was clinging to their window for a reason. Samael didn't strike her as much of a romantic, so that left…

”Not worth it. He’s already dead. I don’t think telling him that his lover’s ghost has come back to haunt him will make a difference, and besides, I’m sure he’s already aware of her presence, even in his current state.”

So that’s how it was? Two souls that had forced apart by unforeseen events, and after finally being given the chance to reunite they squander it? No. After tonight they would reunite, despite the ties they broke off. Gammond’s soul would leave the confines of his body, and Cyril and Wulf will put the poltergeist to rest, and only then would the two finally become whole again, even though they were parted of their own or one party's intentions.

”I know what you’re thinking. A happy ending, like a Gan Jiang and Mo Ye ending.” Cyril brought the two parts of the book together with a resounding clap and set it to his side, then fixed Wulf’s flat cap which had moved from its original place. Of course this was all speculation. Maybe Gammond and the glassy-eyed poltergeist hanging onto the window shared no connection at all, and this was but a happenstance event. But they didn’t know that, and really, they didn’t need to to finish the job.

”We’ll make it happen.” Cyril leaned on his seat, sinking into the lethargy he aligned himself with.

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"It's a woman." She pauses, trying to recall what few details she'd gleaned in her brief glance. "Long white dress, brown hair. I didn't get a good look." It troubles her that she failed to take note of more than that, but perhaps the information she would receive from her Artifact may wind up more useful than any physical description.

In the next carriage over, Basilio collects his things from the floor with the assistance of some strangers. Maria. The Saniwa gently severs the flow of power at being called, knowing he had finished his task. What he's learned troubles him, though his tone remains impassive as he relays the information. She can't be stronger than a rank C.

Maria holds a hand up, gesturing that Lee wait until she finishes her private conversation. She thinks for a moment, brows furrowing as she decides on how she feels about the new information. Her face turns to one of worry as she replies to her Artifact.

I should be relieved, but instead I feel it's a cause of concern.

It's suspicious. It relieves her that Basilio understands. Her brown eyes flick towards Peter for a moment before returning to Lee, the silence heavy as they await her response.

Finally, she opens her mouth to speak, her voice remaining hushed and almost afraid. And truthfully, she is. "Basilio estimates her to be around Rank C." Acknowledging the Poltergeist's presence only puts her one step closer to the dreaded outcome. "I don't think she's it, but she's connected in some way."

Abruptly, she straightens and squares her shoulders. It's best she does not dwell on the result, but instead ensure she does her job as well as she can. "I will tell Cyril and Wulf, though I'm afraid it might cause a few questions should they both disappear at the same time." Then she remembers their disguise, and a small smile forms on her lips despite the gravity of the situation. "Or maybe just a few raised eyebrows. Regardless one or both of them will join you."

"Lead the way, Sir Lee." As they exit the booth, they both make certain that the hall is empty before departing, walking as fast as their silent steps could carry them. They exit the carriage, and Maria crosses over to the next with considerably more confidence than before. She makes a silent gesture with her hand, indicating where Lee's target is.

A small, dark hand tightly grips the doorknob. Her slight form is hidden from view, at the risk of her current precarious position. Basilio, would it be safe to come in?

Inside, Basilio tilts his head just slightly left, taking into account the noise and the people. Not the best, but it should do. You'll gain more attention by being gone any longer. He would offer another distraction, but short of repeating the same, none came to mind. Maria understands this and she moves quickly, taking care to open the door only as large as she needed to minimize the noise. Thankfully, the train's precious cargo enables a slower pace; she re-enters the carriage, none the wiser.

Maria enters the toilets, washing her hands briefly before entering the civilian's gazes once again. Some look up at her arrival, but they quickly return to their own business. Most humans are self-absorbed creatures, and for now she thanks that fact. When she passes Wulf and Cyril, she leans in against their seat for a couple of seconds, as if steadying herself against the sway of the train. In that brief moment her hands move in a practiced gesture they'd agreed on before they'd even boarded.

With her task done, she returns to her seat. Basilio does not look at her even once. She fakes a smile at the gentleman she'd been conversing with a few minutes before, who looks at her with concern. He says as much, and Maria grips the fabric of her skirt. For now, her task is done and she congratulates herself briefly before entertaining the man's questions, as she likely would for the next half hour until she is needed again.

"Thank you, but I'm feeling much better now. What were we discussing before my stomach made an untimely upheaval?" The man is happy to take the bait. She makes herself comfortable, hopeful that her partners will accomplish their given tasks.

Cyril gaze lethargically oscillated starting from the late maiden who was the non-living embodiment of crippling depression, the scruffy old fart who was the living embodiment of crippling depression, and came to a halt at the Aussie, then continued to pan back. Rinse and repeat. All the while Wulf rested her chin on her Saniwa's rigid arm as she gradually caught up to him and began to put two and two together. This left the younger combat Saniwa adequate time to gauge how deep in shit mere happenstance had placed them. Had he not been in public, his head would have surely sagged into his palm out of anguish. Yes, he was already aware that the spirit had been screwed over by an estranged lover during her time in the world of the living. Aside from deep ravines that far surpassed the depth ordinary wrinkles, she was as much of a youthful flower as she was alive. Cyril continued to internally digest the situation, piecing together the jigsawed scenario with the powers of deduction and second rate glue.

She didn't gravitate to this section of the train car just out of a ghostly whim. Something tied to the poltergeist let her here like a bee to honey. Problem was, the honey was of an unexpected brand. He crossed himself out by default, which left the VIP and Cyril's comrade. In all honesty he had already narrowed down that the former was the honey. And he probably was in all actuality, given his current age and the fact that Lee didn't seem like the kind of guy to maintain a relationship to such a zenith, and then abruptly sever it. Yet low and behold, the maiden's vacant gaze didn't lie on the husk, but the guy blabbering about all of the shit that could kill other shit within the shit-colored outback. "...Tch. The Australians were originally Brits."

Wulf's cat nudged slightly, "Pardon? I don't quite fol- oh. Shit."

"Shit is right."

"Deep shit?"

"Unfortunately."

The two sighed heavily in unison, the girl's more pronounced and human than her partner's. Wulf's acute hearing picked up footsteps out of tune with the clashing of wheels and rails. (WIP)

Silence hung low over the table after Richter ceased to speak. For what seemed like minutes, it lingered. Amelia could feel it in her ears, each rhythmic thud, thud, thud in her temples sent waves through her vision, cutting through the silence. She didn't speak.

Your German boys have not lost their homes, Richter. If leaving is bravery, then what does that make destruction? Loss? Amelia thought, raising a glass to her lips, eyes still locked on Richter. The cool water soothed her head, somewhat - though she didn't dare touch the wine, not while she still sustained Samael's ability.

Eventually, the singer spoke. It was a blessing that Hélène was adored so - her words could dance and twirl around the two German men, wrapping them around her fingers with a fine verbal tapestry, her mere visage melting their masculine shells. Even the curt, formally practiced Kazetani was himself enamored, though that seemed to be from a previous encounter. Amelia wondered if there was something deeper under their practiced small-talk.

“And of course I’m sure we will bond greatly as roommates, Frau Austerlitz. I glad to have the chance to learn more about you and your work.” Hélène had addressed her, and Amelia had just began to reply when she heard the clang of steel. Across the table, Kazetani had dropped his fork, becoming the victim of several curious glances, including a strange gaze from Neumann.

Something about the younger officer seemed strange. This action - this look he had developed, it seemed analytical, precise. Perhaps predatory. A slip of the Neumann mask, and perhaps a glimpse into the character motive below. It definitely didn't seem to fit the proud, condescending behavior he'd formerly maintained, where a smirk or look of disdain, accompanied by some dismissive remark might have better fit her expectations. Of course, he could just dislike the Japanese, but he really has laid into the two of them so far.

“Are you tired, Herr Kazetani?” The question was piercing. To Kazetani's credit, he played the drop off as exhaustion - which, from his maintenance of Kimura's ability, could be genuine - and seemed to spur no alarm from Richter, who politely dismissed his guest.

“Have the two of you met before? I am just curious.” Richter continued, seeming to draw attention away from his Japanese guest, diverting it to the two 'German' women. Almost as quickly, Helene leapt upon the opportunity with her same song and dance, before turning to occupy Neumann.

In any case, Amelia had a target - it is her task to vet suspicious characters, after all, and Neumann's hostility seemed a decent starting point.

Though it wasn't him she turned to - her attention shifted towards Richter once more. "I'm afraid I haven't met Frau Köhler until today - I had previously only known her from the plays and records."

She met the older man's gaze, then glanced aside to Neumann. The man was quick to cast doubt over the two Japanese representatives, and their history. Now, she was about to cast her curiosity on his own background. "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?"

Amelia was careful to avoid a direct question of war. She didn't want to irritate Richter, and of the two, getting information out of the older officer would likely be easier for her. Perhaps letting the Hauptfeldwebel's common nickname slip might even warm the conversation, even if the mention brought her own recollections to surface. A nickname in the German Heer, but a code, a target, to those who had opposed Germany.

Break the spear, and the army falls.

Cyril gaze lethargically oscillated starting from the late maiden who was the non-living embodiment of crippling depression, the scruffy old fart who was the living embodiment of crippling depression, and came to a halt at the Aussie, then continued to pan back. Rinse and repeat. All the while Wulf rested her chin on her Saniwa's rigid arm as she gradually caught up to him and began to put two and two together. This left the younger combat Saniwa adequate time to gauge how deep in shit mere happenstance had placed them. Had he not been in public, his head would have surely sagged into his palm out of anguish. Yes, he was already aware that the spirit had been screwed over by an estranged lover during her time in the world of the living. Aside from deep ravines that far surpassed the depth ordinary wrinkles, she was as much of a youthful flower as she was alive. Cyril continued to internally digest the situation, piecing together the jigsawed scenario with the powers of deduction and second rate glue.

She didn't gravitate to this section of the train car just out of a ghostly whim. Something tied to the poltergeist let her here like a bee to honey. Problem was, the honey was of an unexpected brand. He crossed himself out by default, which left the VIP and Cyril's comrade. In all honesty he had already narrowed down that the former was the honey. And he probably was in all actuality, given his current age and the fact that Lee didn't seem like the kind of guy to maintain a relationship to such a zenith, and then abruptly sever it. Yet low and behold, the maiden's vacant gaze didn't lie on the husk, but the guy blabbering about all of the shit that could kill other shit within the shit-colored outback. "...Tch. Royal empire my ass."

Wulf's cat nudged slightly, "Pardon? I don't quite fol- oh. Shit."

"Shit is right."

"Deep shit?"

"Unfortunately."

The two sighed heavily in unison, the girl's more pronounced and human than her partner's, almost void of life. Wulf's acute hearing picked up footsteps out of tune with the clashing of wheels against cold rails. She removed her chin from the fine curvature of her partner's arm to cast a sideways glance out at the aisle. What she reeled in was a subtle yet pertinent gesture from the owner of the aforementioned footsteps. The artifact gave a faint smirk in response, hushed behind it was the ignition that she had been waiting for. Maria continued down the car more steadfast than Notus. The older girl was most definitely aware of the storm she had just hailed. After she reclined into the posture her role required of her, Wulf confirmed that the blond Saniwa had also acknowledged the passing cue but gave no such sign. Instead there he was, stoically flipping through pages with cursory speed while a poltergeist with more than just a grudge and marital issues beamed at the passengers with glazed over eyes. If he had the power to do so, Cyril would undoubtedly will an air raid to cease just so he could finish a chapter. Hell, as much as it pains Wulf, that's giving her partner, the embodiment of apathy, way too much credit. Chances are he wouldn't even budge while sirens and people alike wailed as Do's rained volatile despair down from above.

And then it happened. A sensation dug and weeviled its way through Cyril's axis and atlas. His head slackened to rest against the window, his vision now fully encompassed by the Dames' tattered snow-white dress. Without pause the feeling proceeded to burrow its way through spinal marrow avoiding any pit stops between bone segments. Electrifying captured the feeling in a word.

Disconcerting also sufficed.

After it subsided, Cyril was instantly met with Wulf's weary gaze of mild perturbation. She had only gotten a whiff of the cat food, while the Saniwa received the whole box.

"C-Cyri-"She began, only to be interrupted.

"PROJEKT HITLER!"

The hairs on the back of her practically stood at attention. If the seats were slightly wide, she would have gotten on all fours, arched her backed, and hissed at the young adult with a swipe or two. Had she not contained herself, her cap would have been flung off by her ears. All the while this exchange strictly transpired within the mental connection between the two, completely unaware of the concerned or alarmed looks aimed their way. Samael was probably awkwardly twiddling his thumbs meanwhile an equally soulless looking Brit sulked in despondency under the loathing gaze of his late ex. Wulf had to get a grasp on this situation fast, lest she actually have to pull off something more than just dotingly hanging onto the Saniwa's arm.

"C-calm down love, it's just the wind~. Not like a ghost is tracing the train or anything~." She soothed the guise that was her lover as she shifted her wait onto his side.

"Talk some sense or else I'll burn your book."

Well that had Cyril, as the Reich would call it, sufficiently triggered. Before the blond could get off a retort his vision finally focused, only to be stared down by his artifact. He decided it was the more feasible route to digest the sensation from earlier and translate it. After a brief sigh the Saniwa delved into clarification, ”"I sensed something else," He started, "The Dames isn't our main worry, to say the least." Yet it still remained an issue that they needed to remedy. And soon, otherwise the Brit would expire in a fashion not to the Kazetani Senior's liking, as godawful as that sounded. "Yet if you don't excise the tumor, it will continue to grow at an exponential rate." Obviously a line straight out of a book and simplified. Wulf's ears twitched as she sighed, "Was rather enjoying reclining for a change. Well, c'est la vie."

!xmashelp

As Maria enters the carriage once again, she informs the blond man that his partner has retreated into their sleeping quarters. She returns to her seat, where the German she'd been conversing with voices concern over herself and the woman she'd assisted. She thinks of Wulf, who remains hidden and away from her car.

"We're both fine. I just made her some tea and chatted with her to soothe her." She mentally applauds herself for the flawless lie, a small smile almost making it to her lips before it freezes in place. The chill is unmistakable; the Spiritualist in her recoils as the Saniwa-side grips onto the feeling like a lifeline. It fades, then returns, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

She picks up her connection to Basilio, whose face remains impassive as she feeds him information and expands on her Artifact's abilities. Can you tell what it is?

Too far. I'll need to get closer; it's coming from further back.

Then go. It'll be suspicious if I leave again. She politely covers her mouth at a forced yawn, to which her conversation partner gives her a sympathetic smile and allows them to settle down into silence. Behind her, Basilio mutters a quiet apology to nearby parties and exits his booth, looking as if he simply wants to stretch his legs. A quick study of his large frame will reveal some truth in his excuse.

Basilio makes his way to the next car with people only giving him a cursory glance. There are some others in the corridor, but all are simply making their way to either the toilets or their own booths. Outside, the quiet French countryside echoes with remnants of war littering its pastures, softly lit by the moonlight.

Basilio, could you check if Lee is in his booth?

He quietly travels down the hall and makes a discreet turn towards Booth 2, opening the door just slightly - enough to tell him that neither the West Wind nor his Artifact are inside. A frown appears on his face, although if it is from the missing persons or the murderous feeling that hangs in the air is debatable. Neither of them are here. He continues, taking in what he can as he feels Maria's energy travel through him. Basilio pauses, takes note of the guard stationed in front of the door and turns back. Unable to travel further, he feels a slight wave of disappointment at being unable to learn more.

It's stronger here, but I can't go any further, and it disappears too often for me to lock onto. All I can tell is that it aims to kill, probably sometime soon. The news concerns him, but supports their theory; the Dames Blanches might've been a simple ruse to expend their efforts and resources.

Maria, seated comfortably in the civillian car, comes to the same conclusion. She retrieves pen and paper from a small bag underneath her seat and begins writing German words with their English translation next to them. Should anyone care to look, it would appear she is simply reviewing her vocabulary. After a certain point however, her words change to reflect a summary of the evening's events.

　 　　 　dames neutralized
　 　　 　something else present; murderous, foreboding; back of train
　 　　 　dames may have been used as ruse
　 　　 　lee and peter missing
　 　　 　worth investigating

She discreetly tears away the page, and stands, making her way to Gammond and Samael. Fixing a polite smile on her face, she gestures towards the papers left on the table. "If you're finished with these, may I borrow them?" Samael nods and hands her the newspapers; as they exchange, she wordlessly slips the slightly crumpled note into his larger hands. With the German press in hand, she thanks him and returns to her seat. At almost the exact same time, the carriage door opens and Basilio enters.

The two sit down without even looking at each other, although the shared worry evident in their connection speaks for them both. Are we going to look for it later? Basilio eases into his former position, looking at the inky black of the French night.

Maria nonchalantly flips a page, most of it gibberish to her untrained eye. Probably. It depends on what the Kazetani has to say.

Then I guess all that's left to do is wait. He leans back, and settles in for a long night.