> A Train to Equestria
>  by Teq
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> All Aboard! (Amiens)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Ameins, Destination Nice


A long, shrill whistle sounded across the pony packed platform. Just in time too; it was beginning to snow. There was a bustle of movement as ponies pushed past each other, some trying to board the train, some trying to disembark. Most of the ponies were civilians, travelling on business or for leisure. They had the usual set of berets, trench coats, trilbies, jackets and so on. Some had saddlebags, other didn’t. Some smoked on pipes or imported cigarettes, others didn’t. All very mundane. Except for the ponies spilling out of the carriage at the end of the train. The well-armoured, well-armed carriage with the all too familiar symbol on it.

A head poked out the side. The chiselled features of the stallion made him look like he’d been cut from marble. He played around briefly with the garrison cap mounted on his head; a shade of greyish green. He stepped out of the carriage and flipped a notebook out of his pocket, also drawing a pen. He gave a loud bark in a deep, gravelly voice and, one by one, came the carriage's ‘passengers’. The almost over encumbered ponies began to file out. Over their backs were large packs and saddlebags, various items of equipment hanging off them. Upon their heads, shielding their eyes from the glare of the snow, were iconic steel helmets, with straps that fed under the chin. They wore the same greyish green uniforms, and most had (amongst other items of kit) well-polished bolt action rifles slung over their backs. The garrison cap wearing pony had at his hip a large sub machinegun, and he counted each pony who hopped down from the wagon, each one giving a crisp salute as they fell in line. The last off the carriage was a tall, formidable pony who looked to be of noble birth, a peaked cap shielding his eyes and a Knight’s Cross on his breast pocket. The officer saluted the younger officer, who saluted back and ordered the gathering of ponies off into a quick march, yelling at the top of his lungs as the military ponies marched in step.

For Vinyle, this was a familiar sight. She was at this station a lot, being one of France’s most prized musicians, and saw this sort of thing every time she came. Ponies rushed to get out of the way of the oncoming soldiers, so as not to be trampled. The unicorn, as white as the snow that now fell upon her head, smirked. She hefted her saddlebags onto her back and made her way to the front of the train, where the reserved carriages were. She could afford to be luxurious. She was Vinyle Rayure, and anypony who didn’t have her records playing on the gramophone was missing out. Her songs were fresh, unique and bloody good to listen too. Sure, the age of the home radio was dawning as more and more ponies could afford the luxury of owning their own wireless, but she liked to think that vinyl records wouldn't go out of fashion for quite a few years yet. She wanted her music to still be played across France for years to come.
She flashed a pass at the attendant at the carriage door, who bowed his head as he recognised her, “Madame Rayure. It is a pleasure. Can I take your bags for you?”
“No, thank you. I can manage.” The attendant nodded and opened up the carriage, moving to one side to allow the unicorn entry.
“Madame?”
“Yes?”
“I really like your new song. Have a pleasant journey.” Vinyle blinked as a stray snowflake blew into her eye.
“Thank you.” The attendant nodded once more, before closing the carriage door. After waiting a few moments, he looked to either side and held up a brightly coloured flag. Somewhere outside, a whistle peeped and the train shuddered, beginning to move away ever so slowly.

Vinyle made her way down the passage of first class compartments, looking for the one she’d reserved. She was sharing the journey with another pony, but she didn't mind. She was glad for the company, actually. This was going to be a long journey.

She peered at the numbers to either side of each compartment door until she found the one that matched her's. She slid open the door and beheld the room inside. It was spacious, and well furnished, with a bunk bed embedded into one wall. There was a large open space in the middle, and seats on either side, and a sizeable window opposite the door, with its own set of blinds. Yes, this was the only way to travel. She stepped into the compartment and slid the door shut behind her, beginning to feel the train pick up speed and hearing the soft clickity clack of the wheels on the rails.

She squirmed out of her saddlebags and placed them in a compartment under the seat. The bunks were on the left wall, relative to the door, and she now sat on the seats in front of them, looking across at the pony sitting opposite her. The pony was also a mare; a humble earth pony. She wore very refined, black clothes and her mane was very clean and well kept, sweeping back and flowing down her neck like a dark grey river. Her eyes sparkled and shone with the hue of greyish purple. She wore, around her neck, a pink tie, which snaked down over her breast and tapered to a point just above her stomach. Next to her, leaning against the seat, was what looked like a large guitar case, but was obviously much too big to be a guitar. Neither of them talked. They both sat in silence, looking each other over.

Eventually, Vinyle coughed and smiled at her, “Bonjour, madame. My name is Vinyle Rayure. I assume you’ve heard of me. And you are?” The mare hesitated briefly.
“My name is Oktava.” The mare spoke in fluent French, but her accent gave her away. She definitely was not native, and Vinyle made a game out of trying to silently guess where she came from. Eventually she gave up and just asked.
“You speak French, but you’re not from here. Where have you come from?”
“I have come from Russia.”
“Really? You’ve travelled that far already? That’s some distance.”
“Well, I’ve been here for a while now. I have a house in Paris, you see. I was living there when…” she paused, thinking of a way to phrase this without offending the French mare. “When they arrived.”
“I see. So why are you all the way up here? Why come up to Amiens just to catch a train?”

The train shuddered slightly as it continued on its way. They were still in the city, but the buildings were beginning to thin out. Soon they’d be in open country until their next stop in Laons. Vinyle could see ponies walking around the streets going about their business. On a nearby road, a German Kubelwagen drove by, an ordinary soldier at the wheel and two officers in the back. Every street had a German barracks on it, and every street corner had an armed soldier standing and watching the crowds. Vinyle wouldn’t have been able to tell, but she was certain that somewhere amongst the crowds there would be Gestapo officers looking to hunt down resistance fighters. That was part of the reason she’d taken this train herself.

“Well,” began Oktava, snapping Vinyle back to attention. “I live in Paris, but I came up here to catch this particular train. It is the only one in France that goes all the way to Nice that was within driving distance. Trains in and out of Paris are heavily controlled, as you might expect.”
“Why are you going to Nice, might I ask?” Oktava looked left, then right, checking that nopony was hiding in the compartment or outside the door. She spoke in a hushed voice so there was no chance of anypony else in another compartment hearing them.
“Do you work for the Germans?”
“What? No! I’m loyal to my country. Vive la France!”
“Okay, well, I’m planning to catch a ship to Equestria. It’s the only ship headed there and it’s sailing out of Nice in about a week. This train ought to arrive in time for me to catch a lift and leave this continent.”

Vinyle was briefly stunned. This pony was taking a train across the entire of France, all the way down to Nice, and wanted to risk getting aboard a ship to Equestria? That was exactly what she herself was on this train for! What were the chances? She said as much, and the Russian gave a small smile, “That is convenient, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Vinyle would have taken a ship out of one of the other major ports that were a little closer to home if it weren’t for various reasons. The first was that all of the major ports along the northern and western coasts of France were under German control. That meant she ran a higher risk of being captured. Another was that getting a ship from those ports was very difficult indeed. You needed an entire scrapbook of formal papers and documents to get aboard, and even if you did, there were no ships to Equestria from any of those ports anyway. Nice was the only port town that harboured an Equestrian ship, and both Vinyle and now Oktava were keen to board it.

There was a curt knock at the door, before it was slid open. Before them stood a formally dressed stallion with a kepi on his head, a pouch at his side, “Tickets please.” Vinyle fished around in the pockets of her coat, trying to find her ticket. Oktava produced hers immediately from the breast pocket of her blazer, handing it to the stallion who clipped it for her. He handed it back with a quiet, “Have a pleasant journey, madame,” He then rounded on Vinyle. “Your ticket, madame.” Vinyle still couldn’t find it. It wasn’t in her chest pocket, nor the two pockets at her side, and nor was it in the internal pocket on the inside. This was not good. She wasn’t going to have set off on this massive journey only to be stopped by the French railway system. Wait, could she just show him her reservation? It had proof of purchase on it and all, so it should be okay. She produced a folded up piece of paper from a pocket at her side and showed it to the stallion. He checked it over, then checked it over again. Vinyle waited anxiously. What happened if he refused it? She couldn’t find her ticket, but she could have sworn she’d received one.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the stallion handed the form back to her and said, “Very well. Have a pleasant journey.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” The stallion shut the door as he turned to continue on his journey down the carriage. Vinyle laughed awkwardly to herself, “That was a little tense.” Oktava simply nodded quietly.

“So what’s with that case?” Vinyle gestured to the large case off to Oktava’s side.
“Oh, it is my cello.”
“You’re a cellist?”
“Yes. I’m quiet famous in Russia, and here in France actually. I’m all about the classics. Of course, the cello is what I associate with, but it isn’t the only instrument I can play. I’m quite adept at the flute and I can play a piano to a reasonable standard. What about you? What do you play?”
Vinyle brushed back her mane. It was messy, a vibrant shade of electric blue, unusual for the time period. She smiled, “Oh, I don’t really play very much. I write mostly. I write songs. New songs, songs that are different. I’m not about the classics, but I’m more with the modern kind of music. I’m quite famous for my jazz pieces. You know, swing music, that stuff from Equestria. I was really the first to make it popular here in France.”
“Really?” Oktava scrunched her nose slightly. “I never really liked jazz music.”
“Funny that, because I never really liked the classics.”
“Oh dear. Well that’s unfortunate. Hopefully this won’t cause any troubles.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not that I don’t like classics, I just find them a little boring. I like jazz because it’s lively and energetic!”
“I like classics for the exact opposite reason.”

The two continued this debate for quite some time, neither of them gaining headway. They weren’t arguing, as such, just keeping each other occupied. It was going to be a long and very arduous journey. They weren’t really out to prove that there side was any better than the other either, again they were just making conversation. Vinyle was the more talkative of the two, often going off on a tangent and not giving Oktava a chance to get a word in, which she didn’t seem to mind. She was quite quiet.

Eventually Oktava butted in, “How old are you, madame Rayure?”
“Twenty three, why?”
“I am twenty two. My birthday is in two weeks’ time.”
“I just had my twenty third a few days ago, actually. That was the day the Germans showed up at my door and stole all of my things. I still have most of my records though, and a small portable wireless. Do you want me to turn it on? We can listen to some music? Maybe lighten the atmosphere a bit?”
“Very well.” Vinyle drew her saddlebags out from under her seat, opening them and pulling out the radio. She groaned in annoyance when she saw a small piece of paper come out with it. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. So that was where her ticket was. She rested the radio on the window sill and extended the antenna, flicking the set on and playing around with the dials until she found a radio station. Most of the stations here were under German occupation and heavily censored, only letting through German propaganda and old classics, most of which were in German anyway, so neither of them could understand them. But Vinyle managed to find one that wasn’t so heavily censored and soon one of her own jazz songs was playing over the radio, filling the compartment with upbeat, joyous music which took the edge of the depressing atmosphere.

Vinyle laughed and began to dance in the middle of the compartment, swinging her hips and her forelegs around in the air in a complicated series of movements and generally having a good time. Oktava was less enthusiastic, and instead settled to just watch as Vinyle swung her rump around and flicked her tail about.

The door to their compartment slid open and Vinyle immediately stopped dancing. In the door way was a black shirted stallion with a peaked cap on his head. On one arm was a red armband, the familiar swastika emblazoned onto it. At the stallions hip was a holster, in which was his Luger P08. The SS officer growled at her and spoke in very bad French, “Turn that off immediately. Jazz music is not allowed anymore. Either listen to some proper music or turn the radio off.”
“Sorry, monsieur.” The stallion sniffed and flared his nostrils, watching as Vinyle switched off the radio and returned it to her saddlebags. Satisfied, the officer turned to leave.
“Do not let me catch you playing such degenerate music again. If you cannot appreciate true music then you should not be allowed to listen to music at all.” With that, the officer shut the door and walked back down the carriage, his hooves making loud clopping noises as he did so. Vinyle waited and heard a door slide open, then shut again. She reopened her own door and began to make her way outside.

Oktava called to her, “Where are you going?”
“I’m just going to see who else we’re sharing a carriage with.”


Interval.

> Service! (Amiens-Laon)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m just going to see who we’re sharing a carriage with.”

Oktava nodded once and, in silence, began to open the cello case at her side. Vinyle couldn’t really see what Oktava was doing, but it was only a few brief moments before she closed the case, slipping something into her coat pocket and coming to stand next to Vinyle, “I will come too. I don’t much like the idea of being left alone.”
“That’s probably wise, what with all the Germans slinking around. What’s that in your pocket, by the way?” Vinyle gestured vaguely at her, referring to the unseen item she’d tried to sneak past her.
“It is my peace of mind, Vinyle.” The answer was cryptic, but it was good enough for Vinyle, so she stepped out of the compartment and into the corridor, standing to one side to allow Oktava out too. Vinyle closed the door behind her and locked it. These trains had their share of thieves.

Vinyle returned the key to her pocket and looked up and down the carriage. There were eight compartments in total, two more towards the front of the train, four further down and one directly opposite. The door at the end of the carriage (which led to another reserved carriage) opened and in stepped  a rifle wielding soldier, covered in snow. He sneezed violently as he shut the door, but not before another flurry of snow blew in and carpeted his uniform in tiny flecks of white. He swore under his breath before turning and marching down the corridor, passing the mares and offering a quiet, “Entschuldigung,” before turning to the left and entering the compartment on the left side in front of the door to the coal carriage. Vinyle snorted and began to look through the windows of each compartment.

By the time she and Oktava had finished making their rounds of the carriage, they had reached open country. Vinyle exhaled deeply and gazed out of the window. Trees darted past, the fields a beautifully soft white. France really was beautiful this time of year. The thick snow made it harder to see the rolling barbed wire fences and German roadblocks. There was nopony about outside, and the snow was almost completely undisturbed.

The scouting had proved useful. Opposite their carriage was a small family of three, content with minding their own business. One up from them was a room with three German soldiers seated in it, including a junior officer and a mechanic. Opposite from them was an empty room. One room down from theirs was another family, this one slightly larger and consisting of five members. Opposite from them, there was a room with two Wehrmacht soldiers playing cards. The final room down from theirs was filled with SS officers. There were four in total, plus one black shirted, helmet wearing pony that looked like their driver. There had been a bit of trouble when they’d found this out as the driver spotted them and attempted to interrogate them. Eventually the SS officers ordered him to stand down, as there were no grounds on which they could charge them. The final compartment contained what looked like two business ponies in brown suits. They both had saddlebags at their sides so they looked legitimate, but one had to look very carefully to see through the disguise. The muzzle of a Luger was just visible below one of their coats, and the newspaper that one of them tucked under their foreleg was in German. So they were also sharing their carriage with two Gestapo spies.

Another soldier had come through on his way to the coal carriage, and when Oktava walked into him he threatened to shoot her. Oktava had immediately plunged her hoof into her coat, and the soldier lowered his rifle. Not sure what it was that Oktava had concealed in her coat, the soldier wasn’t ready to take any risks. He instead turned his nose up at both Oktava and Vinyle and continued on his trip. The mechanic in their carriage also left with him, reducing the number of potential threats by one. Still, Vinyle was curious as to what Oktava had tucked away in her coat that was so important.

Back in their carriage, Vinyle looked back at Oktava, “So, what actually do you have in your pocket? What’s so important about it?”
“Do you promise not to tell anypony?”
“Yes.”
“You really cannot tell anypony! It’s not exactly legal.”
“Yes, yes, very well! What is it already?” Oktava sighed and put her hoof back into her pocket, pulling out the item inside. It was sleek and black, with a hoof-carved wooden handle. Oktava held it by the handle as Vinyle stared at it. “What is it?”
“It is a Nagant M1895. It was a gift from my father before I left for France. He was a soldier during the Great War, and he’d received this from his commanding officer as a present. He’d been wounded in an act of bravery, ultimately saving the officer’s life. It is unique and very valuable. I’ve never fired it before, but I always keep it in my cello case, just in case I have to use it.”
“If the Germans find you with this, you’re going to be in serious trouble!”
“Hence I cannot let them find out. If I have to, I will not hesitate to use it though. If it will save my life, or indeed…” she paused briefly. “Your life, then I will do what is necessary.” She tucked the pistol back into her coat.

Vinyle had no weapons of her own. She used to, though. She used to have an old Lebel rifle from the Great War, but it was confiscated from her once the war started so that they could arm the French soldiers quicker. On her person at the moment, however, she was without weapons. She didn’t even have a small pocket knife. She didn’t expect to have to come into any tight scrapes with the Germans, however, so she didn’t feel like she needed one. Just her wits and her identity papers and maybe a small amount of luck.

Clickity clack, clickity clack. The train kept speeding along the rails towards its next destination. As far as Vinyle knew, there weren’t any German checkpoints in this particular stretch of track, but they may have changed that since she’d last checked. Their next stop was Laon, and they were making a very brief passage through the extreme north of the Beauvais region. If there were going to be any checkpoints, they’d be there. For now though, she was content to just watch the scenery and enjoy the view as the snow continued to fall as heavily as ever. She saw a small village not too far away from the track. There was a road close by, and as they shot by she saw a German halftrack with a full load of soldiers in the back, and one soldier at the trigger of a shielded MG42. The halftrack was headed for the town, and Vinyle feared that something bad was about to occur. It put her stomach into a twist and made her feel uneasy. Still, she couldn’t stop it. She was already on the train and she didn’t plan on getting off any time soon.

But the thought of it was knotting her stomach. She stood up again, searching in her coat for money. She found 32 francs in change and declared that she was going to find something to drink. She needed something alcoholic, just to calm her nerves. She wasn’t exactly at ease amongst all of these Nazi officials and the halftrack of infantry had really put her on edge. She asked if Oktava wanted anything, but she abstained. The earth pony undid her pink tie and let it hang around her neck like a drugged snake.

She left the compartment and set her sights on the service carriage. Normally, on a train this size, it would be the carriage immediately after the second reserved one. But, since the Germans had arrived, they’d changed the system, so that now the service carriage was on the opposite side of the train, nearer to where all of the soldiers are positioned. Vinyle would have to go through another reserved carriage and at least three other working class ones before she got to her destination. And that wasn’t accounting for the various armoured carriages there were likely to be further on. Frigging Germans always trying to make things more efficient. Vinyle actually kind of liked the old system.

Still, the more time she spent complaining the more time it would take her to make the trip. She made her way down the corridor until she reached the door that connected the two carriages. She cracked it open. The wind howled as they rushed along the rails, snow flew past and painted the exterior in white. She was going to have to be very careful not to lose her balance. She opened the door fully and was immediately struck in the face by a blast of cold air. She gritted her teeth and pushed her way outside, shutting the door behind her. She could feel the freezing cold metal beneath her hooves that kept the carriages together and quickly made her way across the short distance separating her and the second reserved carriage. She flung the door open and bolted inside as quickly as she could.

She was covered in snow, but now she was inside she no longer felt the chilling effects of the wind. She shivered violently and rubbed one of her forelegs to keep herself warm. This carriage was identical in design to the last one, which meant there were eight carriages. Vinyle wasn’t too keen to go snooping and looking into any of them, but she couldn’t help sneak a peek into one. Inside were two German soldiers, but such soldiers Vinyle hadn’t seen before. Both of them had thick white coats on, with steel helmets and thick scarves wrapped around their necks. They both carried strange looking rifles (or at least had them by their sides) which lacked the usual bolt mechanism but instead possessed a small exterior clip. The rifles were both slung and both sported a large optical scope. Vinyle had heard tales of the ruthlessness of the German snipers.

She shivered again and continued on her way, not taking the time to stop and look through any of the other compartments as she went. She braced herself for another rush of cold air as she flung open the door and made her way across the small divide, more snow driving into her face. It made it very hard to see where she was going, and she was grateful for the rail just to one side of the opposite door which she could use to guide herself. She prised open the door and slipped inside and out of the cold.

But what she’d expected to be the first of a series of working class carriages was, in fact, not. It was very well furnished, but with a strange layout. She was standing in some sort of corridor, which curved around one side of the carriage, with the two very large rooms on the other. There was a deep red carpet and a pleasant trim along the walls, which were themselves well painted. There were also red satin curtains over the windows. Such a lavishly decorated carriage was almost certainly under control of the Germans.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked around the corner. There was nopony in the corridor, save for two soldiers with submachine guns at their waists, standing at the position of attention and not moving. Vinyle could hear conversations going on in German and wished she knew what was being said. She made her way along the corridor and attempted to spy into the room without either of the guards noticing. She didn’t see much before the closest guard seized her and pushed her against the wall with a heavy thud. The other guard raised his submachine gun in preparation to fire in case I tried to fight back. There was a loud barking from a dog in the room which was quickly shushed.

The guard pinning her to the wall immediately frisk searched her, looking for concealed weapons or other contraband, before searching her pockets for her identification papers. Being caught without you papers was against the law now, but fortunately Vinyle had hers on her and the guard took them out, flicking them open and using the information to verify her identity. The first thing he did was ask for her name, which she confidently provided. Then he asked for her date of birth, which she again provided. He held the papers up and looked between them and her, using the photograph to try and gauge her likeness. The last thing he did before handing the papers back was cock his head to one side and lean over slightly to catch a glimpse at her rump, comparing the cutie mark on her flank to the one in another photograph. Satisfied, the German folded her papers and handed them back to her. She quickly snatched them off him and continued on her way, not saying a word to the soldier.

She hadn’t seen much, but what she had seen intrigued her. Inside the room had been several ponies. In a chair close to the door was another junior officer, his hooves clasped behind his head as he snoozed. The centrepiece of the room was a large and lavish desk, upon which were many maps and papers and behind which stood a pony of what appeared to be significant importance. His uniform was a deep brown, and he wore a long trench coat upon which was a Knight’s Cross. He had been talking to two other officers, one of which sported the usually grey-green uniform of the Wehrmacht and the other the carbon black of the SS. In another corner at a much smaller desk was a pony in a white shirt, a red armband on one leg, tapping away at a typewriter. Vinyle hadn’t known of the presence of the officer’s party, but now she was she was curious to learn more as to why they were here. More urgently, however, she was curious as to how much further she’d have to go to get that drink.

She made the usual short, cold, snow covered crossing to the next carriage and found herself in the first of the working class carriages. There was no privacy here, as the only things separating the many compartments were wire meshes. There were easily a dozen civilians in this carriage, with about half a dozen soldiers either sitting and talking to each other or patrolling the central corridor. Vinyle squeezed past one of them and passed a group of civilians who recognised her an immediately went silent as she walked past, exchanging a few excited quips in French which went generally along the lines of, “I bet fifteen francs she hits one of those soldiers.” She was sorry to disappoint, but she liked the idea of keeping her head on her shoulders a lot more than hitting one of the German soldiers.

The next carriage on was another working class one, so there wasn’t anything really interesting there. As she entered the next carriage along, however, something was different. Where normally there should have been the third working class carriage, there was instead an unfurnished one that had been filled with an unknown cargo. There were two German soldiers marching around the carriage whilst a few mechanics crouched down and played with the fastening. Overseeing the carriage was a junior officer, who leaned on the wall with a clipboard in one hoof and a pen in his mouth, jotting down notes as the various mechanics called over various different things. Vinyle made her way through the room with few problems, but was left wondering what the Germans were transporting.

She made her way through another working class carriage before, at last, reaching the white painted interior of the service carriage. Most of the carriage was taken up by a large counter, behind which stood a finely dressed young stallion and an assortment of beverages and foodstuffs. It all looked very good; the pastries, the wines, the waiter. Vinyle was just worried as to how much it was going to cost her. She made her way up to the counter and smiled at the stallion, “Bonjour, monsieur.”
“Bonjour, madame. How may I serve you?”
“How much for a decent bottle of wine?”
“Well, madame, that very much depends on the wine. This one here, for example,” he held up a bottle of red wine and showed it to her. “Is a mere fifteen francs. If you wanted to go more up market, you can try this,” he showed her a bottle of white wine with a rather lavish label. “That would cost you twenty five francs. The choice is yours. Or you could invest in some Champaign. That’s very popular amongst the Germans.”

Vinyle scanned the selection a couple times. She was by no means an expert on wine. She didn’t usually drink it, but she wanted to bring something back for Oktava to enjoy as well, and she looked like quite a refined mare. She wanted something that would be friendly to her wallet but also make her look sophisticated. Wait, what did she care? She never cared about what other ponies thought of her (unless it was good) and that was part of what made her who she was. Why did she feel the need to impress this pony? Maybe she just wanted to make herself look important, or maybe she wanted to prove to her that she knew what being classy was all about? Maybe she just wanted to build bridges early on to make the gruelling journey slightly less gruelling? Whatever the reason, she picked up a bottle of white wine for twenty francs. The waited unscrewed the cork with a corkscrew, before returning it to the neck so that it could be transported more easily. He offered to carry it back to the carriage for her, but she refused, fearing that he may charge her for the additional service. She picked up two glasses on her way out and began the journey back to her carriage.

Admittedly, maybe getting that waiter to help her wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all. Getting the doors open was proving a bit of a nightmare and she almost slipped off onto the tracks and under the wheels at one point. She managed to make it the full return journey without being stopped and searched, though, so that was a bonus. She returned to her carriage with a sigh of relief, sliding open the door to her compartment and smiling at Oktava, who was sitting staring out of the window at the beautiful scenery. Vinyl closed the door and set about pouring the beverage, leaning back in her seat and at last relaxing.

Interval.

> Papers Please! (Laon)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bottle now almost finished, Vinyle felt a lot more at ease. The alcohol had dumbed her down a bit and she no longer worried as much about the Nazis next door. In fact, she was content just to watch out of the window at the fields of snow and the criss crossing roads. Occasionally there would be a convoy of cargo trucks, or a parked tank, or a motorcycle group, or a large troop patrol, but all in all, the scenery was quite nice. It was a shame it was covered with little soldiers.

Vinyle began to notice houses popping up a lot closer to the track. She opened the window slightly and peered out, looking down the track in their direction of travel. At last, Laon was coming into view. She had survived the first leg of her long journey to Nice on the southern coast. The train began to slow down as they entered the city. Vinyle didn’t intend to disembark, not even to buy a paper, so she was content to pay little attention. Although, the train was slowing down remarkably quickly. A little too quickly, perhaps. Vinyle looked out of the window once more. They were still some way off the terminal, and were still only just on the outskirts of Laon, yet the train was almost at a complete stop. This could only be a bad thing.

The train gave a slight lurch as the breaks took full effect, stopping the train dead. Vinyle listened intently. She heard the thunk of hooves falling hard onto the floor of the carriage. The attendant said a few words, and he received a harsh reply. In German. Vinyle scrabbled for the door and peeked out. Already rapping on the door of the first compartment was a Wehrmacht officer, with a Walther P38 strapped at his waist. On either side of him were two soldiers bearing rifles. Vinyle closed the door carefully and, with a worried look, turned back to Oktava. She looked rather nonplussed.

“What’s the matter?”
“Germans. There are Germans on the train.”
“I know that.”
“More Germans! I think they’re inspecting papers.”
“Why would they do that now?”
“I don’t know, they just are! Questioning it isn’t going to make them go away, now get your papers ready. It’s best not to keep them waiting, lest they get antsy.” As Vinyle said this, she drew her papers from her coat pocket. Everything was in order; she had checked before she left. All she had to do was answer the questions thrown at her. Of course, she knew the answers already, as the questions were always the same. She knew it was supposed to catch ponies out that were using fake identities, but surely if you were organised enough to get fake papers in the first place, you’d have taken the time to revise your cover story? The concept did not concern Vinyle, she just thought it a problematic system.

Vinyle looked up from her papers to see Oktava pull her passport out of her pocket. Vinyle’s heart sank slightly. No way was Oktava getting past an inspection with a Russian passport. The Germans were still fighting hard against the Russians and probably wouldn’t take kindly to seeing one here, in a country that they were supposed to have conquered. Vinyle checked that the Germans were not right outside the door and challenged the mare, “Really? You don’t have a French passport?”
Oktava looked briefly confused, and then her ears drooped. She looked down at her passport. She flipped it open. She cursed quietly in her native tongue, “I… I must have taken the wrong one. How can this be? I made sure! How did I confuse the two?” Oktava looked up at Vinyle with worry in her eyes. “They’re going to arrest me! I’m sure I brought my French one! Maybe it’s in my cello case? Or in another pocket, maybe?”

In a whirlwind of panic Oktava opened the case of her instrument and checked behind it. She seemed to dig around for quite a while, which made Vinyle wonder what other contraband she had hidden in it. Not finding what she was after, she checked the pockets on the outside. Then she frisked herself, turning out all of her pockets onto her seat. Vinyle was surprised by what she saw. In the pile slowly growing on her seat were two sets of identity papers, both in French, but with different names, ages, and occupations. She had a work permit, likely forged, about seventy francs, twenty rubles, and…
“Five hundred Reichmarks? Why are you carrying German currency?”
Oktava looked at her briefly, holding in her hoof a German passport. Vinyle narrowed her eyes to a squint, “You’re German?”
“No. I have the necessary documents to impersonate several nationalities. I had to pass through Germany to get here in the first place!”
“You have a German passport, but not a French one?”
“I do have a French one! I just don’t know where it is!”

There was a clattering of hooves on the screen door… 

Of the compartment opposite. The officer barked a command and the door opened. Oktava hastily returned all of the items on her seat to her pockets, but kept the German passport ready. Of course! The soldiers wouldn’t suspect a fellow German. At least, what they perceived to be a German. Vinyle leaned a little closer, “Can you even speak German?”
“I can speak a little. I know enough to get past an inspection, but not to hold a conversation.”
“What if they try conversation?”
“Then I’ll have to hope I understand what they’re saying.”

Knock, knock. Vinyle tensed immediately, but not too much to be noticeable. Oktava, on the other hoof, seemed to freeze in fright. The officer slid open the door to their compartment and glared in at them with shrewd, narrow eyes. He briefly surveyed the compartment before rounding on Vinyle, staring intently at her as if trying to read her papers through her hooves. Eventually he held out a hoof, “Ausweispapiere bitte.” Vinyle obeyed without question, passing her papers over for the officer to flip open and briefly scan over. “Name.”
“Vinyle Rayure.”
“Date of birth.”
“February twentieth, 1917.”
The officer compared the photographs on the papers to the respective parts of Vinyle’s anatomy. “What is the purpose of your trip?”

Vinyle was silent for a moment. That question had caught her off guard. The officer spoke perfect French, which annoyed her, but the question had never been posed to her on a trip before, and she hadn’t really prepared a response. She hastily searched for one now, before panic overtook her, “I am travelling to help compose a new record.”
“Where?”
“Nice.”
“How long will you stay?”
“A week.”
“You have a lot of luggage for somepony only staying a week.”
“Most of it is recording equipment.” Vinyle smiled casually but inoffensively at the officer, trying to look relaxed and confident with her response. The German was taking an uncomfortably long time to return her papers. He folded them up again, and for one horrible moment Vinyle thought he was motioning to tuck them into the pocket of his tunic. Instead, he simply returned Vinyle’s papers, and turned to the soldier on his left. In German, he recited everything that Vinyle had said for the soldier to jot down. Vinyle squinted. No doubt they would return later to check that her story hadn’t changed.

With Vinyle checked and fully confirmed, the officer turned on Oktava, who did her best not to cower away from him. The officer eyed her German passport suspiciously, “Ausweispapiere bitte.” Oktava timidly handed over her passport. The officer flicked it open.
“Sie sind Deutsch?”
“Ja.”
“Wie heißen Sie?”
“Frau Druckfarbe.”
“Wann sind Sie geboren?”
“Zwanzigsten Dezember, 1918.”
“Warum sind Sie hier?”
“Ich bin Sekretärin. Ich arbeite für der Oberst von Nice.”
“Werden Sie für wie lange in Nice arbeiten?”
“Für die Dauer von der Krieg.”

Vinyle had understood none of what had been shared between the two, but she was impressed by Oktava’s ability. She’d spoken fluently and confidently, and hadn’t stuttered or had to pause to think. No doubt she had rehearsed her story a lot, as Vinyle would have expected. The officer glanced between the two photographs on the passport, and then closed it. He motioned to hand it back. Just before Oktava could grab it, the officer retracted his fore leg, “Es tut mir leid, meine Frau. Eine Sekunde bitte.” 

Oktava seemed to visibly shrivel. 

The officer took no heed and simply flipped the passport over. 

He scanned the back. 

With a very slight nod of his head, he passed the passport back, “Dankeschön, Frau Druckfarbe.” The officer once again recited everything that had been said, and the soldier hurriedly scribbled it down. The door to their compartment was slid shut, and Vinyle waited and listened as the officer moved further down the carriage. Vinyle released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Vinyle slid her papers back into her pocket, and addressed her travelling companion, “What was that all about?”
Oktava flipped her German passport over, “He was no doubt looking for the seal on the back. It’s a good thing I had that fixed before I left Germany.”
“What about it?” Oktava showed Vinyle the back of the passport, which displayed a Prussian eagle with wings outstretched, carrying in its claws the regretfully familiar swastika.
“It was changed when the war started from a hunched eagle to an upright one, and the swastika was added. They’re probably using it as a method of finding counterfeit passports. Like I say, I had mine fixed before I left Germany.” Oktava returned her fake passport to her pocket and sighed in relief. That had been close. 

Really close.

Whilst Oktava lay completely at ease, Vinyle was still tense.
“You realise that they’ll be back?”
“They will?”
“To check your backstory. They’ll be back in maybe a half hour? Possibly even after we’ve left Laon. They’ll ask you the same questions again, to make sure that your backstory is the same. If it doesn’t match up, or you change details…” Vinyle didn’t continue verbally, but just held out her hooves as if holding a rifle and made a clicking noise with her tongue.

Nerves in the compartment stayed frayed, even after the train started moving again and they were at last nearing the terminal. Vinyle was anxious. They would be back soon, they were bound to be. Who would be getting on at this station? More Germans? Maybe they’d all be kicked off to make room for more SS officers? Vinyle squeaked in surprise as she heard the heavy thunk of hooves on the roof above her. The train had slowed down enough to make the rushing wind less of a problem, and Vinyle could make out the sound of somepony walking along the roof of the carriage. No doubt it was a German soldier, maybe looking for ponies who’d hitchhiked on the roof to avoid paying, or who’d scurried up there to avoid inspection. By the time the train had come to a complete stop, the pony had clambered down on the other side and made his way back through the carriage. It was one of the snipers that Vinyle had seen before.

A whistle blew and the doors were opened, ponies spilling off the train onto the platform, and others waiting patiently (or in some cases, rather impatiently) for their chance to get on board. One of the doors to Vinyle’s carriage was flung open, and a gruff command was shouted in German. Vinyle peered through the window into the corridor of the carriage, with Oktava at her side, equally interested. A soldier marched past, rifle slung across his back. Almost immediately behind him was a civilian pony, who looked visibly shaken. What had happened to him? He must have failed the inspection. Was he a foreigner? A wanted resistance fighter? Had he just insulted the officer or spoken out against the Nazis? Whatever the reason, the officer from before was close behind him with his pistol tucked into the base of the civilian’s neck. As they made their way past, the other soldier from the original trio brought up the rear, checking that he wasn’t being followed by anypony that could be working in league with the stallion they’d caught.

The stallion was marched onto the station and immediately escorted away by what looked to be an agent of the Gestapo. Vinyle resumed her seat, looking worriedly at Oktava, “That’s why you need to be careful. Especially if the SS or Gestapo are involved in any way.”
“I can see. What did he do?”
“It doesn’t matter what he did, he’s with the Gestapo now. He’s as good as dead.”
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Oktava’s tone of voice made that seem more of a statement than a question.
“It’s life. You have to deal with it.” Vinyle slumped back in her seat, forelegs hanging uselessly by her sides. It was a very emotionally draining thing to watch the Germans capture somepony. It was best not to think about what was going to happen to them. But, such was life under the Nazis, and until such time as they were out of France (which Vinyle was sure they eventually would be) that was how things were. That was exactly why Vinyle was on this train – to escape from the Germans and to live a life without fear.

Vinyle managed to barter a newspaper off one of the ponies that boarded their carriage, and in silence she and Oktava skimmed over the headlines, looking for any important news updates. The paper was naturally very heavily censored, and it was likely that every single word had been carefully scrutinised by an SS official to make sure there were no hidden messages or double meanings to any of it. The paper proved to be of little use, but Vinyle did take note of one article, which told of a recent escape from a prisoner of war camp back in Amiens. The article warned pedestrians and passengers on public transport to watch for any suspicious individuals (that weren’t the Gestapo) and to immediately report anypony that looked as though they could be in league with the resistance movement. The article wasn’t greatly informative, but Vinyle took pleasure in the knowledge that somepony had bested the Nazis in something.

Vinyle tossed the paper onto the empty area of seat next to her and sighed. The train gave a lurch and started to move again, commencing the next leg of its journey towards Nice. Vinyle took a small watch out of her coat pocket and gazed at it briefly. It had been midday when the train had left Amiens, and it was now half past one. Vinyle had never been particularly fond of long journeys, and already she was starting to feel bored. She looked across at Oktava, who had produced a reasonably large paperback from somewhere, flicking a page every minute or so. Vinyle peered at the cover. It was a very simple cover, a very simple black, and in white lettering at the top was something in Russian that Vinyle couldn’t understand. She inquired as to its translation, but Oktava didn’t respond. So heavily engrossed in her story was she that she didn’t notice when Vinyle attempted several times to attract her attention. Eventually, however, she looked up, “Pardon?”
“What book are you reading?” Vinyle said as calmly and as not through her teeth as she could manage. Oktava shut the book and turned it to look at the cover, in an almost affectionate manner.
“Vasilii the Unlucky. It’s about a cruel merchant who keeps trying to kill a peasant colt named Vasilii. A lot of other things happen, but I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you. It’s one of my favourite tales that I brought with me from Russia.”
“All I’ll say is that you better not let the Germans catch you with it, or there will be searching questions.”
Oktava simply smiled, “Don’t worry about me, Vinyle. I’ve made it this far all the way from Russia and they haven’t caught me. I’m not going to let a book be my downfall.”
“What about a passport?”
Oktava sneered.

Vinyle leant back against her seat, looking out the window at the buildings speeding by gradually faster, at the ponies that ran about on their daily business, at the German soldiers that patrolled the streets, at the halftracks and armoured vehicles that littered the cityscape. One day, Vinyle thought, they won’t be here. One day there will be no German soldiers. There won’t be any halftracks or SS officers or Gestapo agents or censorship. That day would come, but it may not even be within Vinyle’s lifetime. If she stayed here, in her home country, it almost definitely wouldn’t be within her lifetime. That was why she needed to escape. She needed to live to see a free France again. She rested her chin on her hoof as she kept watching. One day.

“Next stop: Chalons-en-Champagne!”

Interval.

> Dazzle (Chalons-en-Champagne)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.