London, 1868. The city was thriving. Or well, mostly. Jacob Frye found himself sitting atop of the train. The sun was setting in the north, painting the skies many different hues of pink, purple, orange, and red. Around them, the city began winding down for the day. People hurried to their homes, restaurants, or the occasional play in a theater. Sitting for another while, until the sky was nothing more than a dark purple, edging towards a darker blue, dotted with the faint glow of stars, Jacob found himself suppressing a yawn. Perhaps it was time to get up, make his way back into the train, and get comfortable on his little makeshift bed of a bench. Waiting till they'd passed under a small bridge, he stood up, stretching with a soft groan. Now standing up, his eye caught a peculiar looking carriage.
"Fancy little thing, that is," he muttered to no one in particular. Perhaps to himself. Pity it'd been a long day, or he might have found himself investigating it a little further. For now, he simply watched it as it drove out of his view, before climbing down, back into the train.