To be frank, Sven wasn't actually all that sure why he was sitting in the sweeper's bar. He didn't really head there all that often anyways, nevertheless at night. He normally got his information from Annette. But there was something that was pulling him into the small hole in the wall he was sitting in on his way back to the hotel from buying smokes. It was like a large red magnet, or rather, a rusted over magnet, was pulling him into the completely unsanitary sweeper's bar. And it wasn't the scent of alcohol and the roar of boisterous men, either.

So there he sat, hiding in a corner with his hat pulled low over his head, a cigarette in his mouth as he waited for his calling. Or, whatever the hell you could call an itch to head into a random bar for absolutely no reason in the middle of the night. Sven was slightly irked by one loud man sitting at the bar, waiving his hands, and his beer, about in the air with no disregard for who wanted to listen or didn't, screaming out the stuff that in no way, shape, or form could be true.

"I swear, I saw 'im with me own eyes! The Black Cat! 'e ain't dead! 'e was sitting right outside a bakery, eatin' a bread bun and sharing 'is milk with a cat! A CAT!" the short and fat man yelled, sloshing more beer out of his mug and onto another guy, much to his chagrin.

"Look, ya dolt! Black Cat is, and has been, D. E. A. D. Dead! He died a year ago! You know that!" a tall and muscular man interjected, glaring down at him before downing the rest of his mug. Soon after that loud exclamation, all of the men sitting around the bar stepped up to debate their beliefs, except one in the corner, who had ceased to socialize with anyone in the bar. Sven focused his gaze on this man slyly under the brim of his hat, sitting back in his chair.

The man sitting in the corner had messy chocolate hair, the kind that made women want to run their hands through it constantly, despite probably the massive amounts of hair gel it probably contained. But, the thing that left Sven wondering was when the man ran a hand through his messy brown hair, it parted naturally, like it stuck up like that normally. The baggy white shirt that the man wore stuck to his figure quite flatteringly, except to the fact that you could see a partial outline of his ribs, making it look like he had taken ribbons and tied them with equal space in between on his chest. The fact worried Sven slightly, considering how young the man looked, but he said nothing as his eyes met with the gun hanging on his thigh. Quite the amount of heat to be packing, even for a sweeper… Sven thought as he brought his eyes up to the man's face, halting when he met his eyes.

The honey-colored eyes had more depths than anyone could imagine, like golden seas, and could capture you and drown you if you stared too long. Compared to Sven's calm, open green eyes, this man made it look like he carried his soul in his eyes. And it was slightly frightening. While Sven was caught in this man's eyes, he had somehow moved over to his table, sitting adjacent to him with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of milk in his hands.

"Hello? Are you in there, pops?" the man asked flatly, raising an eyebrow as Sven shook his head for a moment to clear his confusion.

"Yeah. And I'm not pops! I'm only 28," Sven snapped, glaring at the man and taking a deep drag of his cancer stick. The man laughed, raising his hands in the air after setting down his glass of milk.

"Hey, who am I to judge? I just thought you looked older. Sorry," the man said, his eyes dancing with glee and laughter. For some reason, this just irritated Sven a lot more.

"Well I'm not. Who the hell are you, anyways?" Sven asked, staring at the man suspiciously.

"Train Heartnet. I'm a sweeper, obviously. I just started a few months ago," Train answered pleasantly. "And you are?"

"Sven Vollfied," the green-haired man replied.

"Nice to meet'cha, old man," Train teased, giving a cat-like grin. Sven growled a few curses as he looked over Train once more. His eyes soon met the roman numeral 13 on his chest, raising an eyebrow in realization.

Well then. This shall be fun.