It began with a start; Kurapika opened his eyes and looked around, not having realized he'd fallen asleep in the first place. The train was still moving, taking him south of the line on the trail of a fugitive; a member of the Phantom Troupe. The scenery outside rolled and lept, filled with the spring green quickly darkening for the oncoming summer bake. The hills of Tennessee were enough to leave a body searching for a less demanding route, and as far as he could tell the train was it. He was used to going by foot or horse, occasionally hopping in somebody's wagon while they weren't paying close attention, so the train was a saving grace hurtling him down and down into the swelter of Georgia on a tip.
One lousy tip. He kept his hat in his lap while sitting and under an arm while otherwise indoors, but with the way the sun was striking him through the window he thought maybe he should change that habit. Instead, he drew the curtain and stretched his legs before him. One lousy tip taking him so far east and so far south, away from the ashes and char and buried bones he was never going to stop having nightmares about.
That must have been why he woke so suddenly, another bad dream. He brushed the idea aside to pull a hunk of trail-dried bread some innkeeper gave him back in the north. He peered out through the mesh of the curtain, dying the landscape a bleached maroon, and tried to make a guess at how long he'd napped for, and how much longer until arrival. Judging by the sun it had been a few hours, he should be there sometime after sunset. Then he'd get to work.
When the train pulled into his station, Kurapika grabbed his bag and disembarked, heading first to an inn for a few hours proper rest before looking around for a man with blue navy tattoos by the name of Majitani. A large man with an alleged kill count and thirst for blood to match the gang he claimed to be a part of, and the detail said he had a spider tattoo to match. This was more information than he'd gotten previously, ever, and was thus suspect until he tested this Majitani's metal himself.
He let the night air in through the window while he slept, letting it lull him more than the silence of a room could. The sounds of night birds and cicadas rang through the darkness until he couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything, lost in the depths of slumber until just before dawn. His restless body got him up and downstairs even before the innkeeper had gotten out of bed. The tip didn't say where this Majitani liked to hang out, but the saloon was a good guess.
Kurapika's feet led him out of the main part of town and into the lushness of the local river, almost a swamp. Cattails and philodendrons brushed along his hips as he pushed into the flow of water, toes balanced on dry patches of stone and clay. He crossed to a larger slab of rock to wait for the sunrise, breathing deeply. It really was starkly different than the scrublands and slot canyons he knew, but not terribly so. His mother told him about a place like this that they had lived before, a tropical paradise she'd called it, where the warmth was wet and clung throughout the year. He thought about it while in the bath, while the water was still hot enough to steam, wondering what it would be like to be surrounded in it at all times.
He supposed it was like this, humidity wafting from where the morning sun warmed the water plants and thrushes, evaporating from his sleeves where he'd dipped his hands into the river to wash his face.
When the sun stopped warming and began to cook him was when he headed back into town to check the saloon for patrons. The wooden doors were worn smooth and polished, probably some time ago by the lack of shine, and swung open for him easily as he stepped inside. It was still early, and the few people already inside greeted him with comfortable if not very warm nods. He went to the bar, bringing a hand up onto the counter as he leaned in for the bartender to speak to him.
"Can I get you something to drink, ah, son?" He hesitated on the last word, looking Kurapika over, as if it mattered.
"I'm looking to meet with a man supposedly lives around here, blue tattoos and a nasty attitude. You know when about he comes in?" Better to assume he does than ask to make sure, the less suspicious the better. The bartender reached up to rub his mouth, leaning in to lower his voice.
"He comes in later in the day usually, what business could you have with him though, I wonder?" Now he really did look Kurapika over, curiously rather than a quick glance to avoid stepping in shit.
"Just looking for a talk, unless he isn't, of course." Kurapika felt his mouth pull into a small smirk as the bartender narrowed his eyes.
"Don't wreck my bar, alright? And if you're gonna sit here and wait for him I've got a preference that you spend some money too." He lightened up when Kurapika bought a drink and took it to a back table to wait, full view of the entrance.
It was only a few hours of sitting there watching the town wake up through a window when the man with blue tattoos came into the bar, his large body straining the sleeves of his shirt. He glanced in Kurapika's direction and his expression twitched into a sneer, but he leaned against the counter to talk to the bartender in a low voice instead of making anything of it. Kurapika noted how many times he snuck another glance towards his far table, the late morning sun illuminating him and sending split rays of light through his glass over the table, a fan of many colors. He wondered absently if the sneering had to do with his appearance or simply his intrusion as a stranger, someone out of place.
When Majitani finally stopped shooting him looks he stood and brought his empty glass to the bar, sliding it across the wooden surface as he looked up at the large man a couple feet away, lids low and unimpressed. Sure was a lot of muscle but none of it looked all that useful, just big, probably spent most of his time working out rather than actually doing any work.
"You got a staring problem?" Majitani leered at him, pushing some implication that simply breezed over Kurapika's shoulders.
"Me? No, just looking at your tattoos." They seemed real enough anyway, and they were truly extensive, covering him like a modern Pict.
"Well I think you're being a pest, and if you haven't guessed I'm good and ready to squash pests." The man's eyes glittered and Kurapika saw the bartender look away to start reorganizing his collection of bottles. "Rather than ruin this establishment how about you come with me outside."
"Alright, lead the way." Kurapika held back a smile as Majitani paused, so clearly recalculating it was amusing.
"Yes! Yes, well I won't hold back just on account of you looking like a sissy." One large blue hand clenched into a fist on the bar, and Kurapika tilted his head to look at it before replying.
"That's fine with me, I had no intention of holding back for you either."
Silence followed, and Kurapika was beginning to get the impression most people in the room were avoiding eye contact so they wouldn't laugh, as opposed to deferential fear. Majitani cleared his throat. "Well, alright, let's get on with it then before you start regretting your words." He pulled his shirt up and over his body, tossing it onto the bar, and turning for the swinging doors.
Kurapika's vision hazed over red before he even saw the black tattoo maring the intricate blue details, the sensation of missing a step or three on a ladder followed swiftly by a prickling at his skin that didn't stop until he was being pulled off the cowering man under him. Air didn't want to enter his lungs despite his frantic breathing, mind hazy. It was fake, it was clearly fake, and yet he couldn't control himself at all. He turned his face away and shut his eyes tight.
"What's your problem! I thought you were gonna kill me for a moment there, what's wrong with you?" Majitani rolled out from the fetal position to scoot farther away, doing nothing to save face even as people from outside crowded the doorway to see what the commotion was all about.
"Liar, you're a liar for wearing that tattoo. Damn it!" Kurapika hissed through his teeth and got to his knees, then his feet, stalking towards Majitani as the people who had pulled him off followed warily. "Tell me something useful about the Phantom Troupe or I'll finish the job."
"B-birmingham! I, last I heard they had a meeting place in Birmingham, I don't even know if they're using it now." Majitani's hands came up as Kurapika took another step nearer. "I swear! Someone get this crazy kid out of here already!"
Kurapika allowed himself to be steered by the shoulders out of the saloon, a path clearing easily through the crowd as he was deposited on the porch. "You go on and give it a rest, son, that guy's all bluster and you know it." To his credit, the bartender didn't flinch when Kurapika roughly shrugged him off, breathing out hard through his nose.
"Suppose I do. I meant to let him take it outside." His hands shook as he straightened his shirt, tucking it into his pants once more, but they were steadier then a minute earlier.
Birmingham then. Another state over, another train, another lousy tip he couldn't trust any more than he could a gut feeling and a claim on clairvoyance. He grabbed his bag before the day was over and caught the next transport out before he decided to go looking for Majitani again for any extra information he might have.