Post by Eden Morgan on Feb 3, 2018 14:18:46 GMT -5
I think I've played this song before
The melody is different
But I hear the drums of war
The melody is different
But I hear the drums of war
The train churns furiously across the countryside, hellbent on its destination, the rumble of its wheels on the track breaking through any amount of silence and peace the surrounding area had known. Thick clouds of smoke billow upward, a study in contrast against a dark sky, just as was the implacable black of the modern marvel against its snowy-white surroundings.
The light snowfall is just visible through the curtains. A young woman, her hair as dark as the body of the vessel she rides upon, tugs the fine material back into place, obscuring the view and once again instilling the illusion that this was nothing other than, an albeit elegant, dining car. Slim fingers comb through her fashionably short bob, smoothing through the perfect waves and continuing downward, giving the impression the style were newly acquired and she expected more length to be there. She looks over to a young gentleman seated at the table beside her, contentedly passing the time by carefully attending to his patent leather boots with a rag and a jar of petroleum jelly in an act of defiance for the wintry weather they found themselves in. His own hair, lighter than hers but still dark in its own right, was gathered at the nape of his neck in a smooth knot. It gave the effect that his hair was shorter than she knew it to be. It might actually be longer than hers now, she considers, her lips pursed.
“Ms. Morgan? I believe it's your turn.”
Pulled from her thoughts by the soft, smoothly cultured voice, she casts startlingly blue eyes on her other travel companion seated across from her. Dr. Gabriel Baal, ever the perfect gentleman and suitor, indicates the cards between them politely. There was no censure in his tone, and his expression was placid and affable, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, perhaps the slightest quirk to his perfectly waxed mustache that let her know he was aware the direction her thoughts had traveled. She self-consciously tugs at the ends of a strand of hair once more before looking down to her hand.
“Are you ever going to tell us why we're making this journey, Jet, or do you enjoy leaving us in suspense?” she questions irritably, barely bothering to lower her voice. The three of them were alone in the car, dinner having long since been served and cleared away, the other passengers retired to either the lonely comforts of their personal cabins within the sleeper car or the bar where they were served by a charming and dapper bartender. Still, the look she receives from Dr. Baal was clear.
Careful.
The young man continues to work at his boots for a moment before deigning to look up as she lays a card down, her expression triumphant.
“You know he's only going to beat you. He always does,” he says matter-of-factly. She scowls at him.
“What are we doing here, Jet?” she asks through gritted teeth, her ill-humor hardly helped by the sudden choking sound Dr. Baal makes, indicating his difficulty withholding his amusement at the barb so blithely tossed her way.
“Why, we're going to Indianapolis. Aren't you aware of our destination?” he answers innocently, his words prompting her to throw her cards down in a huff.
“I'm well aware of our destination, I'm simply a little unclear on why we had to make this journey in all haste, and why you insisted I cut my hair!”
“Ah, vanity. Now we get to the heart of the matter,” teases Dr. Baal.
Before she can respond, Jet speaks again.
“Have you truly never heard it said that it's not the destination, it's the journey that is of import?”
She looks to him incredulously.
“You speak in riddles now? You're getting as bad as him,” she jerks her chin to the good doctor across from her, who appears to take offense at her words.
“I beg your pardon, Ms. Morgan--”
“Eden!” she snaps. “You're well aware what my name is, use it. There's no one else in here,” she says sulkily, casting her gaze around the empty car.
The look he gives her is patronizing beyond measure, causing her to bristle.
“-- Eden. I was merely stating that even on his best day, Somers could never hope to be my equal,” he says with a sardonic gleam in his eye.
Jet casts his eyes heavenward.
“If the two of you are just about done trying my patience--”
Eden's eyes widen.
“Trying your patience?!”
“-- then I could perhaps explain the conditions in which we find ourselves. Not that these are particularly difficult conditions. I think you'll find we've been in far worse circumstances, Eden. A little trust wouldn't be amiss,” Jet says reproachfully before drawing a folded newspaper from within the inner pockets of his dinner jacket, and tossing it onto the table between her and Dr. Baal. The date at the upper corner reads February 2, 1931, only the day before. Briefly, Eden ponders how the bulky paper hadn't ruined the line of his coat, but before she can dwell on the mystery, she snatches the reading material toward her and then sticks her tongue out at Gabriel in a childish manner. He chuckles with amusement before getting to his feet and moving around behind her, leaning over her to study the front page.
Jet watches as their eyes move over the page, the smile on his face growing when a dawning knowledge appears and spreads over theirs. Eden lowers the paper, saying nothing as Gabriel picks it up and moves back to his seat, still perusing it, her eyes all for Jet and his catching excitement.
“This is the Infinity Express,” she says carefully, tapping the table lightly with her fingertips, her gaze catching his and holding his.
Jet nods.
“But that article says that there were seven identical trains leaving from various parts of the country at the same time bound for Indianapolis. It's meant to throw off any possible shenanigans that might transpire involving the Global diamond. What makes you believe it's on this train?” she asks eagerly. Gabriel lowers the paper, listening intently for Jet's reasoning.
Jet shrugs nonchalantly.
“I wasn't entirely sure, to be perfectly honest. I considered the options and made a gamble. It's paid off in spades.”
“I'll ask again, how do you know?” Eden questions him, a slow smile spreading across Gabriel's face.
“Because of our fellow passengers. I thought that one chap looked familiar,” the doctor muses, fingering the waxed tips of his blonde mustache. “Though one can hardly be faulted for not recognizing him right off. He isn't known for being particularly attentive to this sort of thing. In fact, he's barely present for his own heists.”
Jet inclines his head.
“Are you entirely certain aren't just sour because of that trinket he took off of you once?” he inquires, Gabriel's amusement turning scathing.
“He got lucky.”
“Possibly. Either way, I relieved him of his burden once his true nature won out,” Jet says with a smile, his words a clearly returned strike from Gabriel's barb earlier.
Eden barely pays attention to their banter as she frowns, her mind racing back to the all the faces she'd seen at the other tables at dinner. Had any stood out?
There had been a few couples, some young and some old, but one in particular... a young couple. Both blonde, the woman having drawn her attention because of her sickly countenance and the dark circles that seemed to encompass her eyes, and the way she kept looking about her in a wary manner, as if she expected to be accosted at any moment; but it was the Irish accent of her male counterpart that had really stood out. A tall man with lime green eyes dressed entirely in black...
Her own eyes widen in sudden understanding.
“The Gael. That was him... and her... she's --” she begins, Gabriel finishing for her, as if musing aloud.
“Lucille, or Lucy as she prefers to be called. One of the leaders of the Wylde Bunch. I'd heard they'd begun to work together, as much as one can work with either of them.”
Jet nods, he and Eden sensing Gabriel's familiarity with the subject, but not broaching it. It was an old wound best left closed.
“And?” he probes, Eden frowning, sitting up as realization hits her.
“Pretty Boy Wallace. I thought that man looked familiar,” she swears under her breath. “I should have known him right off, but I was distracted...” she trails off, chewing her lower lip at the implications.
“You have a tendency of getting distracted, my dear. It does you no favors,” Gabriel says pointedly and then looks to Jet. “I did notice that madcap Rydell at the station before we boarded, though if he's on this train I've yet to notice him, which is to be expected, honestly. He's never been what one might consider a contender,” he adds with a chuckle, Jet and Eden joining him with a light laugh.
“Not that he'd be able to make his way into first class. He's likely stowed himself away in someone's trunk,” she puts in, rolling her eyes at the thought. Still, it was a possibility that neither of her cohorts discounted.
“Yes, I expect so. But do you understand why I'm confident in the deduction I've made?” Jet asks.
Eden nods.
“If they're here, that confirms it,” Gabriel muses firmly, if a little quietly. “And Machine Gun Scott--” he begins, Eden interrupting him this time.
“Turned informant,” she says darkly, her gaze going to the window as though she could see through the curtains into the snowy world beyond them. “Sold information to those two persistent detective dogs, The Spyder and The Cemetery Man.”
“You know he could still turn up. Just because he's a rat doesn't mean he isn't in this for himself,” Jet muses.
She turns back to look at them, eyes gone cold.
“Leave Zane Scott to me,” she practically purrs, running the pad of her thumb over the sharp edges of her nails. “We have unfinished business, he and I.”
“I would have thought that business to be long finished after you left him holding an empty bag when the two of you were Syndicate together. Along with Pretty Boy and that other chap-- what was his name again?” Gabriel asks.
“The Kingsman, as you well know. He was her most recent victim, after all,” Jet says ruefully before looking to Eden. “And now you understand the necessity for the change in appearance and the ruse. You were far too recognizable with all that hair and your usual finery. But now, you have the look of what you purport to be-- a well-to-do governess traveling to Indianapolis to meet the family of her affianced--” he nods to Gabriel, “-- under the watchful chaperonage of her brother,” he places a hand on his own chest.
Eden inclines her head, conceding the point.
“I would wager that the Gael and the others are sweating bullets currently, wondering if they've hit upon the right train or not,” she says, her smile glittering viciously.
“It's likely, but that only means they'll be more desperate to learn if they've been correct. I'd be willing to bet they'll find themselves wandering the cabins in the twilight hours, hoping to uncover either the gem or their failure. They won't wait, and so, neither should we,” Jet says seriously. “We must get to it first.”
“Indeed. But, we have the upper hand,” Gabriel says, drumming his fingers on the tabletop lightly, the other two looking to him.
“They don't know where the owls are... and we do,” he says with a secretive smile, his two partners joining in, the corners of their mouths lifting.
And so it seems my mission is the same
What always ends in bloodshed
Begins as just a game
What always ends in bloodshed
Begins as just a game
Eden steps out of her cabin and into the long corridor that runs the length of the sleeper car. She pulls her wrapper more tightly around her, the short waves of her hair not as tidy as they had been before, giving the impression that she'd only just woken from sleep. In fact, she had not slept this night, and she knew Jet and Gabriel hadn't either.
None of them could sleep before a job.
The richly colored dark cherry wood serves to illuminate the translucent, porcelain quality of her skin as she moves slowly, quietly along the corridor, her actions brought to light by the glow of the moon as she passes by the windows showcasing a magnificent, if blurry, winter wonderland.
It was right. It was perfect. She was the snowy owl, after all, and she was in her element.
As she passes each cabin, counting the door as she goes, she listens cautiously, waiting for any hint of sound. There was none, and she made none to cause alarm in anyone else who might be listening for the same thing.
Four.... Five....
She doesn't slow in her leisurely walk, merely passing closer to the door to the sixth cabin, her nails trailing lightly against it as though it were a natural thing. Three taps in no particular rhythm, so that if anyone were to hear it, even if they were listening for something, it would be a sound easily discounted.
She moves on.
Seven... Eight... Nine...
Again, she veers closer to the cabins, particularly the tenth door, her nails trailing once more against it. Four taps this time, the rhythm again indiscernible, but it wasn't meant to be.
The man inside would understand.
History repeating
Eden doesn't slow, but continues on, departing the sleeper car for one of the baggage cars. As she goes, passing into the shadow, she slowly changes. She sheds the white wrapper and its impenetrable barrier of modesty, her clothing beneath it nondescript but of good quality, her famous curves all but hidden beneath the fabric and the bindings that held her even beneath that.
It wouldn't do for anyone to learn that the mysterious female member of the infamous trio of thieves known as The Court, the femme fatale behind the red lips and the dramatic white owl mask who went by the calling card of “The Black Widow” was none other than Eden Morgan, at one time one of the sultriest jazz acts in Chicago. She'd held the premiere slot for a time, had left the stage in triumph, a storm of applause and whistles trailing in her wake like she was some goddess carrying destruction with each step.
And in a way, she was.
And then she'd gone quiet, disappearing into the background while others held her slot. One after the other attempted to hold what she had, to capture her magic, only to be overturned by someone else weeks later.
None could be what she had been, though each tried in his own way. Not even Gabriel Baal or Jet Somers.
Eden picks her way among the luggage, stopping before a trunk and drawing a key from an unseen pocket. She pauses, listening. The eyes could lie, shadows could be hidden within, but the ears-- even a breath makes a sound. Hearing nothing, she leans over, unlocking the trunk and lifting the lid. Nestled within on a bed of silks like three owl masks, each a mark of the wearer's personality. With their identities safely hidden behind their masks, no one was aware that the immensely likeable Jet Somers was actually the ruthless man known only as “The Living Weapon” or that the charming Gabriel Baal was in fact the cold-blooded villain known as “The Serpent”.
They had been careful, very careful.
Eden slips the white mask over her face, the feathers immediately obscuring her features. She steps back into the shadows as the door to the baggage car opens once more, admitting Gabriel followed by Jet. She steps back into the light, a smile curving the scarlet red of her lips as the two of them descend upon the trunk, immediately concealing their faces each with their own chosen owl.
They were nameless. Deadly. Powerful.
And now, it was time to work.
So here I am, beginning a new page
There was one car left. Eden pulls open the door to observation car, the end in the long line of the train. She wipes at the corner of her mouth, her fingertips coming away stained red with blood, not lipstick.
It wasn't hers.
They had been correct, the others scurrying like mice after a particularly delectable bite of cheese left out on the countertop. And as soon as each had born witness to an owl, they immediately became ravenous, saliva glistening on their bared teeth-- the prize was close.
The owls were here.
With the players set
They'd fought, each of them, Eden, Jet, and Gabriel, through obstacles thrown up around them. Lucille had quickly thrown off her frail image and launched herself as a wild animal into Gabriel, lending credence as to why her crew had often been called the Wylde bunch. Eden suspected she was currently searching for her teeth along the floor of one of the baggage cars, as Gabriel had swiftly spun an impressive and heavy cane into view, bringing it crashing up into her jaw, the sickening crunch audible.
The Gael had come out of nowhere, lying in wait for an opportune moment. Eden had barely had enough time to call out to Jet, catching the movement from the corner of her eye as the Gael had lunged toward him, going for his mask. It was a predictable move, though the Gael would view it as otherwise. So many times, people had gone for their masks in an attempt to learn their identity, though what good would it do them when their boots were on the curious one's throat as she suspected was the location of Jet's pristinely polished and now weather appropriate footwear.
With Jet and Gabriel occupied, she continued on as it was anticipated would happen. The three of them could handle themselves individually, but they wouldn't be deterred in their mission.
Acquire the Global diamond.
She had been brought up short when Pretty Boy Wallace stepped into her path, ever the showman, and well known for his propensity toward exposition. He was well into his monologue on how cunning, dashing, daring, and brilliant he was, on his way to the handsome portion when Madcap Rydell cut his triumphant speech short, an act considered to be one of the highest affronts to Wallace's person. Eden had battled Wallace before, knew the fight that lay before her-- only to see that fight carry on out the door of that particular baggage car and over the side.
Madcap indeed. Rydell had successfully derailed both he and Wallace's fortunes.
And so, Eden had moved on, unencumbered, her mind on the task at hand. The diamond had not been found as of yet, but it was here, she was certain of it.
Except now, she had run out of train, the observation car the last stop-- she comes to a halt as a large, dark figure moves into the light.
It's time to pick the stage
“Zane,” she hisses his name, the wide grin in response alerting her to her mistake. He knew her voice, knew it well. Dropping all pretense, she pulls the mask from her face and raises it over her head.
“Eden. A pleasure as always,” he says, his tone decrying his words. “I assume you're here for the diamond?”
The corners of Eden's mouth lift, but she says nothing. He shrugs.
“Have it your way, then. You always have. But you'll understand if I don't wait around for your newest fools to arrive,” Zane says, Eden remaining unmoving as he steps forward, the moonlight shining on the gun held loosely in his hand but still pointed in her direction. He looks around the car, his eyes scanning intently. “I have it on good authority that the diamond is on this train, and I intend to make it mine.”
Eden snorts.
“On good authority? Was that your reward for being a good informant? You know how often Spyder and the Cemetery Man turn on their people. Just as soon as you show yourself not to be the amenable lapdog and echo chamber they require, they'll turn to someone else. Possibly someone you already know. And won't that be fun, Zane? Of course, I suppose you grew used to being a yes man when you started running with that loon “Two Gun” Hastings,” she says, rolling her eyes, arms raised at the elbows, palms facing outward to show she wasn't armed.
“He's not a loon, you take him too lightly,” Zane admonishes.
Eden rolls her eyes.
“He's called Two Gun because the idiot started carrying two guns when he repeatedly forgot whether he'd loaded his one. Instead of making sure, he carries two. No, not a loon at all. Fine crew you've attached yourself to. Rat,” she sneers.
“I've done nothing but gain in my recent endeavors,” Zane mocks her, Eden sighing and nodding.
“Yes, I concede, there is that. And now, you'll take the diamond for yourself. You've outsmarted me, once again, Zane. How did you do it? Can you explain it to me?” she asks sincerely.
Zane frowns, watching her narrowly before taking on a pompous air.
“Of course, but I'm not sure you'll appreciate the gravity of what I have to tell you. Tell me your thoughts and I'll tell you if you're correct.”
Eden nods.
“Well, I'll try, though I can't hope to be a match to such a superior intellect. As you've been informed that the diamond is on this particular train, I would assume you've been told its exact location. After all, while it's wonderful for the train to be narrowed down for you, that's quite a lot to search isn't it? You would hold out for more information than that, you're not one to take the first bone thrown your way. No, not you. So, you know it's on this train, you know exactly where it is, something that I was too late in discovering for myself. I can only assume you've made arrangements ahead of time for just such an occurrence,” Eden says, shaking her head, lamenting her mistakes.
“Very good, Eden. You're learning. And what did you discover for yourself?” Zane asks, moving closer to her, the gun pointed steadily.
Eden sighs.
“Oh, very well, rub my nose in it, I deserve it for being a fool. You and Pretty Boy Wallace are obviously working together, using that fool Rydell as a foil. The two of them took what, looking back appears to be, a very contrived tumble from the train, and likely landed quite harmlessly in a snowbank not long ago. Yes, that diamond is no longer on this train, of course that won't be noticed until we're well into Indianapolis,” she bemoans, looking to him. She starts to applaud, her smile bright. “Well done, Zane. You've done it once again. It's amazing how you never seem to fall to your own hubris,” she says admiringly.
Zane smiles and takes a bow before her.
“Well done, Eden, but as I'm sure you're aware, I have a diamond to acquire,” he says, backing toward the door and the deck on the back of the car.
“You got me again, Zane. One day, perhaps, we'll meet on an even playing field,” Eden says wistfully.
Zane makes another bow before slipping out the door. Eden waits and watches as he pitches himself over the side and into a snowbank, wondering if the cold was a shock to the senses as it should have been.
Her eyes again scan the compartment, a secretive smile on her lips as she slips the owl mask once again over her face.
“One day.”
Eden perches on one of the barstools, crossing her legs as smoothly as you please in a manner decidedly against proper decorum, her manner subdued. Beside her, Jet and Gabriel, each with his own libation of choice, stare morosely into their cups. The Indianapolis police had already interviewed everyone on the train, the Gael and Lucille carted off to jail under suspicion. The three members of The Court, back in their everyday disguises, sat alone at the bar, running over the events that had led them to this sorry state of affairs.
“I thought we had every base covered,” Jet says for what must be the hundredth time.
“Sometimes you can't cover every eventuality. That's the nature of the universe,” Gabriel intones.
“But for Zane Scott to sneak aboard and take what was ours...” Jet trails off, thunderstruck.
Eden nods sympathetically, sipping from her own glass and trailing a finger over the red lipstick left behind on the rim.
“It's a shame, but he was just two steps ahead of us,” she says. “Once I realized the diamond was in the observation car, I got there as soon as I could, but I was too late. I saw him just as he was throwing himself over the side,” she laments.
Jet shakes his head in frustration.
“We were so close-- I just knew we would take that--”
“It was one diamond, Jet. Perhaps it's for the best, only one of us could have had it, truly,” Eden says, tensing as Gabriel looks to her suspiciously. She smiles sweetly at him.
“Would you two excuse me? I have to go to the little girl's room,” she says, slipping down off the barstool. She stops beside Jet, giving him a hug, Jet only half returning it.
“You never know, I could be wrong. Maybe that diamond ended up with the person who deserved it the most,” Eden says, trying to make things better.
Jet snorts.
“We deserved that thing. We did! We defeated the Gael, that Wylde witch. If only you could have held up your end with Scott...” Jet trails off, not even looking at her.
“Yes. If only,” Eden says softly, conscious of Gabriel's eyes still on her. “Yes, well... I'll try to be what you expect me to be next time, Jet.”
And with that, she turns, moving off to the restroom, the heavy weight of Gabriel's gaze boring between her shoulderblades until she disappears through the door and from view.
“I just don't get it. We had everything planned, it was all set perfectly. We should have come out on top. There was no way for us to lose,” Jet continues, Gabriel nodding but saying nothing as he takes a drink.
The sound of a car roaring to life from outside, causes Gabriel and Jet to both sit upright.
“Jet... tell me you still have the key to the car,” Gabriel's statement is almost a question, pleading in a way. Jet quickly pats his pockets, his eyes widening.
“No...” he whispers, disbelief in his voice, but his look was all-too-knowing.
After all, she had done this before.
He and Gabriel leap from the stools, knocking them over in their haste to get to a window. Jet yanks the curtains wide and shoves it up furiously, his eyes scanning the busy station and parking area just outside. He'd pre-arranged to have a car waiting for them when they got to Indianapolis, a perk of riding first class, the key delivered to him by one of the eager to please waitstaff--
“Goddammit!” he roars, slamming his hand down on the windowframe when they both watch as Eden Morgan waves to them from the driver's seat of the car. She reaches into a large purse beside her, drawing out a midnight blue velvet bag and holding it up for the two of them to see before pursing her lips and kissing in its direction, winking at them.
“No! She's not doing this again!” Jet shoves away from the window, running through the train to get to the door and catch her before she leaves. Behind him, Gabriel stays put, watching as she adjusts the rearview mirror, fixing her hair before taking off just as Jet reaches where she had once been, his frustration and anger evident.
“We'll meet again, Ms. Morgan. Of that, I'm sure,” Gabriel says with a gleam in his eye as he turns, picking up his cane and moving off in the opposite direction in which Jet had gone.
History repeating