A Train Ride

Oneshot: A train ride

Cho-cho, cho-cho
The train kept moving, its mechanical noise drowning the soft murmur of conversation that the passengers caused. The weather was somewhat chilly, not enough to make one uncomfortable, but certainly enough for one to wish for a warm body engulfing their own in a hug. My eyes travelled up at this thought, and what they found, captivated them.
There's something magical about having a considerably older woman interested in you, as a young man with low self-esteem. Let me tell you, it does magic on your confidence and the way you carry yourself.
Her eyes were a greyish blue -my favorite color, go figure- and her lips were full and pinkish. Her high cheek bone, straight nose, and arched eyebrows gave her an aristocratic air, regardless of the fact that she, like me, hated the bastards with an unrivaled passion. Her not-so-rounded-not-so-sharp chin gave way to a long, elegant neck, the purest shade of ivory, that extended to connect to a bountiful chest, covered yet belayed by her black night gown. A clash of white and black accented her figure, and those slightly wide hips of hers made the gown flare somewhat, before parting at the left side to show a long, creamy leg, and black high heels.
"What, cat got your tongue?"
Her voice, so playful, so sharp, never ceased to make me smile softly, like a man reminiscing of a better time. Her name was Gloria. Our inside woman. Our spy in the midst of military generals and their gossiping wives. A true femme fatale, using her charm to turn men into drooling fools. Her fingers were long, and in her hands, she had a bottle of -not wine, no- Vodka. The clear liquid sloshing around, distorting the soft light of the train cabin, allowing you mere glimpses of the world of possibilities that it offered if consumed.
"You could opt out if you want, you know"
Her smile was teasing, daring me
"It's okay," she said dramatically, "if a young man like yourself couldn't hold his drink well. This baby," here she lifted the bottle up tantalizingly "turned drinking veterans into fools after one glass" a lone, well manicured and black painted finger lifted in the air.
'Weird' I thought 'Glasses for vodka? I guess you learn something new everyday'
"So, darlin', what's it gonna be? Are you in, or are you out? Are you going to drink with mean old Gloria to your collective victory over the pigs of military?"
She never got sick of teasing me about my relatively young age. Nineteen isn't that young, goddamnit! Well, she thought I couldn't handle my liquor? Oh, bring it on
"Serve it up, darling, and we'll see what happens" my voice, surprisingly soft, as I was often told, broke through my reverie. Strange, how one's voice could betray one's thoughts so easily.
"Well, here goes, but please, do try not to barf on me. This gown cost a little fortune." With a laugh in her voice, she poured two glasses, and handed me mine.
"To our victory, and to something more."
Her words set me on fire. Months of repressed emotions were set aflame under my cool façade. Like I said, nothing like an older woman's interest in you to wake up your carnal instincts. I grabbed my glass clumsily, and she held hers like a queen would hold a glass of the finest wine.
"To our victory, and to something more." I mimicked her toast, and in a move that left her utterly flabbergasted, downed my whole glass in one, huge gulp. I didn't belch. Point for you, young man.
Her silvery eyes -and wasn't this another thing to marvel at? Sometimes grey, sometimes silver, and sometimes the clearest of blues. But always mesmerizing- widened, and her teasing smirk faltered on her angelic face.
"You shouldn't have done that," said angelic face was now marred by a concerned frown "this is some really strong stuff, and you're a bloody novice. You should have taken your time."
I chuckled, the sound just a little bit harsh, and tipped my glass towards her, "Just pour another, old hag, and watch." I challenged callously.
The look on her face could only be described as delicately dubious, as she sipped some of her own drink in thought.
"Are you sure?" She asked, "When I first tried this, I only could drink half of a glass while staying conscious. You really don't have to do this to impress me. You've done more than enough in the past few months." She said, her eyes, for once, shone with sincerity, and I smiled softly, grateful for the chance to see the real Gloria, without her well worn masks.
"What, darlin', are you scared?" I mocked gently, making sure that my eyes conveyed my gratitude, and my confidence.
"Well," she shrugged, pouring me another glass, "you're the higher up here." And it was true. Despite how young this body is, despite the fact that I look absolutely unassuming, I was the main reason and catalyst of the latest events in the ongoing civil war. A battalion of soldiers, decimated. Seven generals, assassinated in their beds. Eight strongholds, seized by the revolutionaries. I was the mastermind behind hundreds of operations, and I participated in most of them. I was gaining ground for us, and with it, indisputable credit and favor with the real higher ups.
"The ongoing civil war aside," I murmured, eyes looking around in vigilance, "let us get absolutely hammered." I took the second glass, this time nursing it calmly, enjoying the burn in my throat, knowing that my point was made.
The minutes passed in tranquil silence, only broken by the sound of the chugging train, and my thoughts wandered to places not worth mentioning, for their overtly bloody nature. I was a killer. A destroyer of armies. Too many lives were taken on my command, and many still by my own, boney hands. I did not, however, consider myself a murderer. I did it all, neither for pleasure nor for revenge -may my family's souls rest in peace-, but merely out of a single, irresistible urge; to protect. To return what was forcibly taken. To liberate my homeland from the brutes that occupy it, regardless of the fact that it was, once, their land also.
Gloria perked up, and it brought me out of my reverie -again? I guess I'm getting old-, only to hear a slight disturbance in the train cabin next to ours. She was almost panicking, and I couldn't begin to guess at a reason for it.
Ah! She thought I was utterly lost to the world! Oh, sweet, naïve Gloria. This brand of vodka is certainly strong, and I could feel a soft buzz in my head, but I was no novice. I kept the stories of having to drink different alcoholic drinks instead of non existent water, while being thirteen years old and on the run, from everyone else. Ergo, nobody knew of my unfathomable alcohol tolerance, or the fact that what could and should knock a veteran drunk the hell out, is only enough for me to feel slightly off.
I chuckled in amusement, and her scared eyes -scared for my life, not hers, I noticed- swiveled to look at me.
"Wha'," I pretended to slur, "cat go' ya' tongue, babe?", and she looked convinced.
She held a finger to her lips, and her other hand moved to the gun strapped to her thigh, covered by the fabric.
However, before she could grab it, the door to our cabin broke down, and two men waked in. I, at once, pretended to be knocked out, and observed them out of my peripheral vision.
"Is it him?" Asked the older man. Ah, old Patrick. One of the more ruthless generals the military had. And one they kept close, because they couldn't afford to lose him. He wouldn't be here if my presence was just a rumor. A rat. How sweet. We had a bloody snitch in our midst, again, and this one was high enough on the food chain to know where I am. Well, this is something to chew on later, when we're not being held at gun point. Oh? I forgot to mention it? They had two other men, holding machine guns, standing vigil at the door. Pretty uncouth, if you ask me. At least pretend to extend the offer of joining us to them, you know? We all know that they're grunts, but there's no need to treat them like grunts. You're not making a point here.
"Sir, yes sir!", shouted the younger man, "this is him, Calamity, the revolutionary that was stirring trouble for the last few months!" Oh, they gave me a monicker? This is rich! I think this is one of the soldiers I spared in the last decimation. No matter, things will be righted again tonight.
"Hmm," Patrick breathed softly, "And this is his spy, I believe. Such a gorgeous thing. We will enjoy extracting every single secret out of you." I could hear the leer he shot at her in his voice.
"General Patrick of the East," spat Gloria, "do the other generals know what you do with their children when the are left in your care? Hmm? Would you like that secret out in the open?" bless you, my love, so utterly unshakable even in the face of overwhelming odds. Never cowering, even at the threat of rape and torture.
I couldn't see the general's face, but it must have been going through the colors of the rainbow at this last remark, and he barked an order for the tiny man -look who's talking, eh?- standing by him to go back out, and close the door, making sure no one disturbed him.
"So, Gloria, little spy," he said enticingly, "how about we play a little game? We take the Calamity here, and you give us an answer to every question we ask, and I can guarantee you a safe life, far away from all of this mess. What do you say?" It could be my hyperactive imagination at work, but I think he was wiggling his eyebrows. Gross.
"I have another game to propose," said my little angel, her voice betraying none of her fear or concern, "I give you everything you need, and I mean everything, and you allow both of us to live as prisoners, together. I have a lot to give, and you know that." She finished, voice still even.
She wasn't bluffing. I would have know if she had been. She genuinely intended to sell both the revolution and herself to keep me alive and next to her. My love, what have I done in this bloodstained life of mine to deserve an angel like you?
"Well, miss Gloria, you are asking for quite a lot," the hateful little cockroach said thoughtfully, pretending to contemplate the offer, "you companion's head is being called for by the whole military. At least, by those not refusing to call on his name, in fear of him appearing in front of them. Do know, that you will have to give us the leaders of this farce on a silver platter for us to consider not hanging him." He tried to sound like a wizened old man, who had our best interests in mind.
Gloria, bless her heart, was about to open her mouth to say something -still not sure what- when suddenly, I moved.
Ten seconds later, a knife was sticking out of the dead general's neck, right between two of his cervical vertebrae, cutting his spinal cord and ending his life with little to no hassle or noise. The fools outside won't suspect a thing.
"Now love," I signed to my angel, "get those guns of yours, and follow me. We have another massacre to add to my name." I grinned cheekily.
I watched as many unidentifiable emotions warred over her beautiful face. Bewilderment. Concern. Confusion. Anger. Guilt. And finally, soul-deep relief.
"I was bluffing him," she signed back, "surely you know that."
"Of course you were. And I was also drunk out of my mind, and this knife materialized out of nothing and totally did not come out of my sleeve." I signed, with a disgustingly fake serious look.
It is said, that all is well that ends well. And after counting twelve dead soldiers and three lieutenants, in addition to old Patrick, I couldn't label this as anything less than spectacular.
Oh, the mind-blowing sex after was a bonus, too, but that's between you and me, aye?