//------------------------------// // Prologue: Ramblings of an Old Railroader // Story: Luna's Daylight // by Alicorn_Avionics //------------------------------// Luna's Daylight Prologue: Ramblings of an Old Railroader NOTE: Descriptions for all railroading terms used in this chapter can be found in the author's notes. "Mr. Eperts, you have a visitor," Droned an obviously bored nurse from the doorway before walking away, leaving a young man bewildered at the threshold. The man scanned the room from his vantage point, taking in the details. The room itself was small, as could be expected at such a retirement home, being only big enough for one bed, a nightstand, a bookshelf, a dresser, and an armchair; and yet its occupant had managed to fill it with a lifetime of memories. Dozens of framed photographs covered the beige walls, with placards and awards adding a glint of gold in the filtered sunlight snaking past the blinds. Several albums containing more pictures of his past were neatly tucked within the singular nightstand. The more the young man glanced about the room, the more intrigued he became. He began to notice the various other trinkets and oddities the other man had obtained in his lifetime. A model of Southern Pacific's Daylight Limited populated a corner of the dresser. Railyard signage pocked the walls wherever there was room between photos. A single placard, six inches tall by eighteen inches wide, caught the young man's eye. The number "4455" stood out in gleaming brass upon a background of bright, glossy red. He edged closer to it, trying to discern its importance. "Ah, so you fancy her old number plate," Came a voice from underneath the bed's comforter. The young man spun around on the spot to face an older gentleman sitting up on the bed. "I don't blame you, she was one hell of a looker in her time..." the old man trailed off, allowing the wrinkled corners of his mouth to curl into a small smile of reminiscence. "Oh, pardon me," He began again, snapping out of his revelry, "I don't get quite too many visitors around here. My name's-" "Willard Eperts?" "Eh, yes, yes. 'Willy' to those who knew me. And you are... ?" "John Turner. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Eperts. My father has told me a lot about you." The young man greeted, stepping over to the bed and shaking his hand. "John... Turner?" Willard repeated, the rusted gears of his mind grinding at the mention of the name. The name was familiar, he had known a Turner at one point during his ninety-plus years alive. He squinted his beaded eyes at his guest, searching for similarities. John slowly grew uncomfortable as the old man's scrutiny continued. He tried to back away, only to be pulled back in by Willard grasping his hand fiercely. How the old man had kept so much strength at his age was beyond him. Suddenly, a look of revelation sprung to Willard's weathered features, his eyes gleaming. "You-you're Morty's boy! Hooo-ho! I knew that old bastard had a girl!" Willard wheezed joyfully. After calming himself down, he noticed John's look of bewilderment. "Murton, Murton Turner? He was your gandpappy, wasn't he?" John nodded. "Ha, ha! Come, sit, have a seat! I'll have Missy bring us along something. What brings you here, boy?" "I've seen you in a lot of the photos my dad kept of you and my grandfather. He died before I was born, and I want to learn more about him. You two worked for the Southern Pacific railroad, right?" "More than that, son. Mort- er, Murton was the engineer and I the stoker for the Daylight. A damn shame they scrapped most of 'em. Beautiful engines..." He forlornly mused, glancing over at the number placard. "Bah, that's in the past anyway. So, what is it you wanna know? How we whiled away the hours on the main iron, or how the two of us dodged the war?" John shifted in the armchair and produced a large gold coin roughly the size of a half dollar. "Well, my father said you might know something about this." Willard squinted, trying to focus on the coin's design. He grabbed his glasses off of the bedstand and slid them on, his eyes going wide as the design became clear. "Where did you get that?" Willard breathlessly asked, raising a shaking hand for the trinket. He turned it over and over again, examining every inch of its surface. A stylized sun with a crescent moon nested within it lay embossed on one face, while the heads of two unicorns engraved on the other side smiled gently at the coin's bearer. The phrase "Concordia et pax pro omnibus" was etched into its rim. "There's a story behind this coin," he said, holding it up so John could see "Canterlot Minted" arched over the sun and moon, "a story I promised Morty I'd not tell a soul until he was good an' buried. Now, it's been onwards of forty years since then, an' you're gonna be the first to hear it." He chuckled slightly. "Fitting, really, to be talking to his own kin about it." "Anyway, that day started like any other in the San Francisco yard, fog creepin' through the bogies..."