The train rattled on down its course, countryside rolling past the windows covered in white snow. Vinyle sucked on the end of her pencil as she gazed at trees and fences flashing past, thinking to herself. At last, she crossed out a line of text and jotted a new one beneath, reading it back to herself, putting it to a beat and seeing how it sounded. Lyrics were always a hard part, especially when she didn’t even have a melody to put them to. She accepted that what she’d written lacked pace and rhythm and probably would never make it into any of her songs, but it was something to keep her occupied as she waited for the next station.
Oktava had taken to snoozing gently, what with evening now upon them and early night rapidly approaching. It had been a very draining afternoon, what with the incident at Laon and the subsequent re-questioning that followed. Vinyle and Oktava had gotten through their stories just fine the second time round, but Vinyle got the sense that the officer was suspicious of Oktava. Maybe it was her accent, but whatever it was his hoof never left the holster of his pistol throughout the conversation, and Vinyle was sure he was weighing up whether to take the risk and arrest her. Oktava herself was clearly tense, and Vinyle had visions of a Nagant pistol battling a rather surprised Walther. That had not happened, but the officer and his party had managed to root out another suspicious individual following the second questioning, and the whole party was now stationed in a compartment two doors down, waiting for the stop at Chalons-en-Champagne to discharge him into the care of the Gestapo. Since then the mood had been tense, and Vinyle was taking this moment of solitude to calm herself down.
She continued to jot as the sky turned from a light grey to a deep, purpley black as night began to take hold. Vinyle lit the solitary lamp in the carriage, taking care to put up the necessary black-out curtains to stop the light escaping. The policy was introduced by French authorities since the war started, but now the Germans were in control and British raids were becoming more common, the Germans insisted that all windows be blacked out, especially on trains that were a vital source of troop transport. Vinyle knew that there wasn’t necessarily a set punishment for it, and it was often left at the discretion of the officers. Still, she didn’t trust the discretion of any German, let alone an officer, so she complied with their rules. Plus, she needed the light to see by and didn’t particularly want to get bombed by her own allies.
There was a loud snort and a half-hearted flurry of limbs as Oktava abruptly awoke and gazed bleary eyed at Vinyle, who gazed back, somewhat startled. Oktava wiped the side of her mouth on her coat sleeve and rubbed one eye, motioning to ask Vinyle something. She started her sentence instinctively in Russian, but quickly started over in French, warranting a look of concern from her companion, “What time is it?”
“Twelve past ten. You’re very lucky the Germans aren’t listening, or that little slip up could have cost you.”
“I know, I should be more careful. It’s just habit.”
“It’s a dangerous habit.”
“I know, I won’t do it again. Where are we? Have we stopped off yet?”
“No, and we’re maybe an hour or two out yet, so make yourself comfortable.” Oktava sniffed and stood up, taking a moment to give her body a good shake to wake herself up. The alcohol must have been having an effect on her, as her head felt unnaturally fuzzy. She was used to early starts and long periods of sleeplessness, so it was odd to feel so heady after only a light nap. She settled herself back down in her seat and ran a hoof through her mane a few times until she didn’t feel quite so bad.
Vinyle continued to write, several times scoring out words, sentences, or sometimes putting a big cross through entire pages. At one point she even decided to give up on the whole venture and start from scratch, with an entirely new lyric, beat and dreamed up melody. As she occasionally pencilled in a word here or there, or made the odd correction, Oktava dug around in her bountiful pockets. She produced the seventy francs she’d displayed earlier, comprised of a fifty franc note and the remaining twenty in a conglomerate of coins displaying a range of values. She looked up at Vinyle with a wide eyed stare, “I’m going to buy some food. Where’s the service cart?”
“It’s a few cars down that way, but I wouldn’t if I were you. There’s a German officer’s carriage between here and there and chances are they’ll want to check your papers. I’m not sure the German passport trick will work a second time.”
Oktava couldn’t help but look disheartened. She slumped back into her set, head bowed down against her chest. With an outstretched foreleg, she murmured a quiet, “You do it then. I don’t care what you get, just get something edible. Use my money, I don’t want to trouble you too much.”
“It’s no bother, I needed something to do anyway. Are you allergic to anything?”
“No. Go, I’m hungry.” Vinyle sniffed, accepting the money from the mare’s outstretched hoof, counting it quickly before slipping into her coat pocket. With a nod, she slid open the door to their compartment and stepped out into the passage for the first time in a while. Using her magic, she shut the door behind her, moving to make her way back across the length of the train.
Vinyle spent several minutes once in the service cart pondering over what to buy. Rather to her misfortune, she had managed to arrive in the cart at the same time as a German soldier, and briefly engaged in a small battle for attention from the waiter. Ultimately, it came down to the simple fact that the soldier had a rifle, and Vinyle did not, so she was forced to wait patiently in silent contempt as the soldier spent far too long choosing and paying for a bottle of champagne. When the waiter finally turned her attention towards Vinyle, she’d already decided to just have a selection of pastries thrown into a bag for a total charge of seventeen francs. She could’ve afforded to go bigger (it was, after all, somepony else’s money) but she wasn’t really in the mood for hanging about.
She trudged her way back, quietly wondering to herself how many more times she’d be making this trip throughout her journey. There were no lights in the working class carriages, and consequently most of the ponies in them were already sleeping. The only movement was from the occasional individual who’d brought a torch with them, or from the soldier patrolling quietly up and down the carriage. Vinyle stopped for a moment in one of the carriages, a soldier having just passed her, and listened carefully. Over the usually melodic rumbling of the train and the clops of hooves on the carriage floor, Vinyle could hear a low humming off in the distance. Intrigued, she moved closer to one of the windows, stepping over a stallion’s suitcase to do so. She gazed out into inky blackness. The humming persisted, and to her startled surprise was soon interrupted by a series of brilliant flashes from in the darkness. The sound of ack-ack fire soon reached her ears, distant and muffled, but distinctive. A search light blinked into existence and began tracing the skies, guiding the anti-aircraft gun. Vinyle pulled herself away from the window.
The officer’s carriage was a relatively uneventful milestone. Two officers were still awake, talking in hushed voices to amber lamplight, casting long black figures on the walls behind them and their faces half darkened by shadows. In a corner of the room that Vinyle couldn’t see, a dog snarled in its sleep. A soldier with a rifle in his lap sat in a chair pushed up against one of the walls, his head resting on one shoulder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically. Vinyle couldn’t help but think; that soldier was going to end up with a really bad neck in the morning.
Vinyle crossed the remaining short gaps in the journey to her carriage, taking care in the darkness not to slip off. Soon she was sliding open the door to her carriage and throwing the bag of pastries into Oktava’s lap, pouring the remaining change onto the seat next to her. The Russian was flipping through the pages of her book, not really reading any of them. Her eyes were still somewhat glazed over and she winced in the bright light of the lamp whenever she looked up. Vinyle slumped back into her seat and ran a hoof through her mane, yawning to herself, “Do you… mind if I take a nap? My eyes are dropping out of my head.” Vinyle removed her shades and rubbed one of her eyes.
“Not at all, I’ll probably just… read for a while.” Oktava sniffed slightly, rubbing her nose on her coat sleeve, which Vinyle couldn’t help thinking must’ve been absolutely filthy by now.
“Cool. Wake me up when we get to Chalons.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” Vinyle rolled backwards onto one of the bunks embedded in the wall, pulling the curtain closed with her magic. Letting her head drop back against the pillow, it was moments before her eyes fell shut and sleep overtook her.
It was one of the deepest sleeps Vinyle had ever experienced. She could’ve slept for days had she not been abruptly jolted awake by the train lurching to a halt. Its whistle blew sharply as the hiss of compressed air from the brakes filled the night. Yanked from her slumber with little warning, Vinyle inadvertently slammed her head into the bunk above, “Ah! Shit!” She yawned and massaged her forehead, “Oktava, you… you awake?” The composer kicked at the curtain to her side worming her way back into her seat. Oktava, it seemed, was not awake. She lay on her side on her seat, wrapped in her coat and drooling slightly out of the side of her mouth. Vinyle could hear the sound of movement in the corridor and on the platform, the sound of tired hooves dragging over the floor, the sound of a mother shushing her child back to sleep, the sound of a harsh German growl ushering a suspect individual off the train.
Rather unceremoniously, Vinyle stood up and jabbed Oktava harshly in one shoulder, the Russian waking with a start and immediately complaining, “Ow, Vinyle! What is it?”
“We’ve reached the station, I think.”
“We have?” Oktava sat up and wiped the saliva from her cheek. “Sorry. I was supposed to wake you, wasn’t I? I guess I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.”
“It’s fine, the train woke me up.”
“You look like death.”
“Thanks, you too.” The two afforded themselves a chuckle. There was little excuse to laugh these days, so they relished the opportunity. Vinyle collapsed back into her seat, absentmindedly drumming on her chest, and affixing her shades back onto her nose.
“You have very nice eyes, Vinyle. You should show them off some more.”
“Eh, the shades are kind of my thing now. I think ponies would be a little thrown off if I stopped wearing them.”
There was a knock on the compartment door. Oktava cast a worried glance Vinyle’s direction and mouthed the word ‘who?’
‘I have no idea.’ Vinyle stood up and made her way to the door, sliding it open and plastering a smile onto her muzzle lest a German be on the other side. As it turned out, the pony on the other side was another young mare, perhaps in her mid-twenties, dressed in a large overcoat and with a hat so covered in snow that Vinyle couldn’t discern what colour it was supposed to be. She smiled back at Vinyle, and spoke in fluent French, “Bonjour, madame, I believe this is my compartment?”
“I don’t think so.” Vinyle was only supposed to be sharing with one other pony.
“Really?” The mare looked down at her ticket. “Non, this is the one. It says right here, see?” The mare handed the ticket to Vinyle, who quickly set about examining it. Sure enough, the mare wasn’t lying.
“Okay, well… Come on in, I suppose.” Vinyle stepped out of the way to allow the mare entry to the compartment. The peculiar arrival bowed her head, and doffed her hat, stepping in and dropping onto the seat opposite Oktava, just to the right of where Vinyle had been sitting. Vinyle shut the door and peered over her shades at the mare in what was typically her suspicious look, “And who might you be, madame?”
“Me?” The mare was busy wriggling out of her coat to reveal a brown waistcoat, a golden pocket watch in one pocket, “Oh, my name is Dazzling Diamond, but my friends call me Dazzle. I’m a jeweller, see? I study gemstones. My namesake probably gives away my favourite, but hey, who doesn’t love diamonds? And you’re Vinyle Rayure, don’t think I didn’t recognise you. Pleasure making your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you, and though I’ve never personally been a great fan of jazz music, I suppose your music is the closest anypony has ever come to swaying me.”
Vinyle wasn’t sure if that last remark was a compliment or not, so she just smiled anyway. She sat herself back down and look across at Oktava, who just shrugged at her. The train gave a sharp lurch and slowly began to pick up pace again, pulling away from the station and beginning the next leg of its journey. Vinyle sighed, “So where are you headed then, Dazzle.”
“Hey, what is this? A Gestapo investigation? Hey, I’m only joking, it’s cool. I’m afraid I can’t really say, it’s a bit of a secret.”
“Is it Nice, by any chance?”
The mare looked over at Vinyle curiously and somewhat cautiously, “Why yes, it is. Is this a Gestapo investigation?”
“No, of course not. Me? The great Rayure, a Gestapo officer? Please.”
“Then how did you know?”
Vinyle shrugged, “Call it intuition.”
Silence hung in the carriage for a moment. Eventually Oktava leaned forward and muttered, “So what’s out next stop?”
“Troyes.” Vinyle said, rather matter-of-factly. Dazzle suddenly began to take an interest in Oktava.
“Excuse me, madame, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. You just heard my opening pitch so how about you tell me a bit about yourself?”
Oktava shrank back into the depths of her coat, unsure of how to respond briefly. Eventually she cleared her throat, “My name is Druckfarbe.”
“Druckfarbe? That sounds German. Are you German?”
“No, I’m Portuguese.”
“Ah, right, my apologies.” At this, Oktava cast a rather incredulous look in Vinyle’s direction.
“So what do you play? Quite clearly you play something. Guitar or something?”
“I play the cello.”
“Ahh, I see, I see. That’s really interesting actually, I’ve never met a cellist before. Would I know you from anything? Are you a composer? I think I’m beginning to sense a theme going on in this compartment.”
“No, I just play. I play classics. I don’t compose. Actually, that’s not quite true, I’ve written a couple of songs for the piano, but nothing on an orchestral scale.”
“Oh, alright, cool. Are you any good?” Oktava didn’t warrant that question with a response, which Vinyle could totally understand.
Before the conversation could carry on any further, the compartment doors were mercifully opened by the ticket collector from the beginning of Vinyle’s journey, his kepi now noticeably more slanted and his mannerisms now much more subdued, “Tickets please.” Vinyle and Oktava quickly produced their already clipped tickets and the stallion nodded. Stifling a yawn, he turned to the new mare, “And your ticket, madame?”
“Here you are, monsieur.” The stallion, who had been awake since the early hours of the previous morning, paid no heed to the mare’s attempts at making conversation, and simply went to clipping the ticket. He handed it back and only just remembered to say, “Merci, madame.” He slid the carriage door shut and continued on his journey down the length of the train.
Dazzle stuffed the ticket into one of her waistcoat pockets, “So, to Troyes.”
Interval.