When Grillby awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the window and birdsong sounding, he very nearly thought he was dreaming. It had been raining for days with no real reprieve. Surely on a crisp autumn morning, such a bright day was impossible. He couldn't possibly be lying stretched out in a beam of cozy sunlight as it draped its way through his window.
And then he was out of bed in an instant, intent to make the most of the break in the weather while he had the chance. Fuku was still asleep - thank heavens for small miracles - by the time he was dressed and around. He scribbled her a quick note about his trip to Southforge, calculated his deposit as best he could in the rush, and was out the door at no less than a jog. A few miners saw him on their walk up the mountain, and they waved and laughed him well wishes as he went. Everyone knew Grillby and Fuku were forced to stay pent up in the little bar when the rains were heavy, and everyone wished him luck now that he could finally, finally run the errands he'd been unable to.
So down at a brisk jog, and then a brisk walk, he went. His shoes muddied nearly as quickly as he moved, every step finding its way onto marshy grass and pooled water. But he'd come prepared and wore boots, and though the earthen paste was unsightly on the hem of his pants, it otherwise didn't bother him.
One, two miles up the railroad tracks he went, until Calamity Home had faded into the mist of the early morning and the cluttered mountain forests. There was no train station in Calamity - at least, not for passengers. Only coal. The nearest station was the one he presently walked to, ramshackle and battered by both elements and passing soul, nestled like a decaying grave at the crossroads between Calamity and four other nearby mines who shoveled the black rock from the hills. Often Grillby was the only one at the stop, for certainly many people stepped off the train at the little station, but very few got back on it again. Not that it was any of Grillby's business who came or who went. It was just something he noticed.
His wait at the platform, like so many other times before, passed uneventfully - though this time not in complete solitude. He was joined shortly by a woman and her son, the man a worker from a nearby mine - Grillby didn't ask which, but the pin on his uniform and the shape of his face looked familiar. He was escorting his mother to the station so that she could run into town for effects their little mining settlement didn't afford them. They both seemed nervous, and Grillby couldn't blame them. If they worked at a scrip mine - and the son likely did - the baron wouldn't take too kindly to his business going elsewhere.
Upon seeing Grillby there the three of them struck up a meandering conversation, and once the son was assured Grillby and his mother were going the same direction, he left the lady in Grillby's care, returning up the road he'd come down. Likely trying to get back to his home before anyone could rightly notice where he'd gone. The lady, a woman who Grillby eventually parsed together was named Armani Russo, was a no-nonsense sort, seeming completely unconvinced having an escort of any sort would be worth the effort. She could take care of herself.
Grillby figured she was probably right.
He recognized her accent as one that was familiar around these parts - a lot of miners were brought here from overseas to work for cheap, and she was no exception. Whether Armani herself was a worker or whether she had simply immigrated over with her son, Grillby had no idea - and figured it too rude to ask. But he was certain she'd lived to forget more hardship than he'd ever seen in his lifetime. Still, it had seemed her son was keen on having her looked after, so Grillby resolved, while they were taking the same train to Southforge at least, to keep an eye out for her.
As pleasant people are want to do when left alone, the two of them chatted offhandedly - and somewhat falteringly, as they both found each other's accents difficult - about the weather, and their work. She seemed a bit put off that he was in the business of selling alcohol, giving him a soft and somewhat familiar lecture about the troubles of any substance to mess with the mind. He agreed politely.
He found out she was a bit of a seamstress and was often hard at work patching up the clothes of the workers in the settlement she lived in, as well as sewing clothes for many of the kids running through their little town. She boasted pridefully about a girl whose wedding was upcoming in the next year, for which she would be hand-sewing all the lace on the dress. Grillby found it nothing short of marvelous. He had no idea how some people had the patience and skill it took to sew something as intricate as lacework. He had trouble tailoring his own clothes without mangling the fabric. He told her as much, launching the woman into a hearty talk about the intricacies of sewing and measuring. Grillby could have listened to her for ages.
The train came and they boarded, finding seats nearby enough to each other that if prompted they could continue their conversation. Grillby sat near the window, a bit more comfortable with the billowing smoke that would sift its way into the cars than most others who might choose such a seat.
By mid-morning he was disembarking in Southforge and waving farewell to Miss Armani Russo.
Southforge was a change of pace from Calamity Home, and the shift was always a bit jarring when Grillby entered town. The train station was large, though far from grand - a functional stop on the way to many less functional places - but it mirrored the look of the town. Industrial, calculated, all brick and mortar and coal, stark and stiff as its inhabitants seemed to be, apathetic onlookers to a world that constantly ebbed its way through. And it was incredibly, uncomfortably, human. Not that humankind was on their own something to be wary of - Grillby served dozens of them every week, after all. They tended to be suspicious, but then again, most people were. And many of them could be neighborly if they had the mind for it.
It was simply that there were so many of them here in Southforge that put Grillby on edge. Unlike Calamity Home where the number of humans and monsters was somewhat evenly split amongst the population, in Southforge, Grillby often found himself in the minority. Even now as he walked through the familiar space, he gleaned several quizzical stares, as though none of them had seem something quite like him before. Glancing around he counted, outside of himself, maybe five other monsters milling about the space - all of them seeming just as stiff and uncomfortable as he did.
He supposed… regretfully... it spoke ill of his character that so many humans in one place made him so wary, and he tried to ignore the feeling. At the very least he made greater effort to treat the people around him with innocent fairness, as if it could somehow quell how self-conscious he felt.
Out of the train station he went, artfully weaving his way past scattered groups of people as they milled about on their own business. He set his eyes first on the bank up the road, his pace brisk and his gaze focused. Once inside the official looking brick building, he let out a sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He waited patiently in line, ignoring more questioning glances in his direction. He knew his business after all, and he'd been here often. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
The teller was one he was familiar with - a lady named Mary-Ellen - and upon seeing him she brightened instantly. Grillby flickered a smile at her in return.
"Oh! Mister Grillby! I'd been wondering where you'd gotten off to!" she said warmly, waiting patiently on him to fill out his deposit slip and recount his money, "Good to see you haven't drowned out there in the tall timbers."
"It would take more than a little rain to manage that, I think," Grillby sparked as he laughed, "Though the sky did try it's damnedest, I think, regardless."
"How's Fuku doing?"
"Oh, about the same as before. Missed a week of school because of all the bad weather. The teacher stops by in the evening to drop off assignments though."
"Goodness that's awful," Mary-Ellen hummed, recounting what he passed her with the practiced ease of someone who'd been working for the bank for years, "I can't imagine what it's like to be all cooped up every time the weather turns sour - especially around here."
"Oh, we make do," Grillby hummed, "Say, you mind giving me some advice?"
"As best I can give it!"
"Got any doctors in town who might know something about insomnia?"
The teller paused, and for a moment the shuffle of bills and change was the only thing to be heard between the two of them. Finally she said, "Well… I suppose we've got one. He's got an office down the street, right next to the barber. But I must warn you Mister Grillby, he'll be awfully expensive to see. Especially given… well."
"Ah."
"I am sorry," the Mary-Ellen said, clearly embarrassed, "Some folks just don't take kindly to anyone who isn't human. There's a monster doctor on the south side of town, uhm… I'm sorry I don't know his name. I don't see a lot of his patrons in here so I couldn't tell you much about him."
Grillby flashed her a tired sort of smile, "It's fine. I appreciate your help regardless."
"Well… I hope you have a lovely day, sir," she said, scribbling his receipt and flashing him one final smile, "And do be careful out there. I hear it's supposed to rain again this afternoon."
Her smile turned a bit more mischievous then, "Now don't come back here Mister Grillby until you're ready to take me to dinner, you hear?"
Grillby laughed, "Whenever Southforge gets a place worth taking a bright young woman, I'll be sure to."
The two of them laughed as he left, and there was a pleasant lilt to her tone as she took on her next customer. Grillby shook his head. Why that girl insisted on taking a shine to him, he had no idea. He was mostly convinced she was teasing him - he'd heard her say similar things to other customers before. It always seemed to catch hi off-guard nonetheless.
Right.
His errands.
Grillby looked up at the sky. Sure enough the once bright clear morning was already turning itself overcast. He should hurry.
The briskness back in his step Grillby meandered through the city, stopping at his regular haunts and filling out his orders. He commissioned a replacement for his broken table - due to be finished in the next week or so. Food for the bar, and more alcohol. The price of sugar and flour had both gone up, much to his chagrin. It seemed it was getting increasingly expensive just to keep the store stocked, and he didn't like the idea of raising his prices.
He stopped by the doctor the teller had pointed out to him - meeting a pale and starchy looking man whose tongue was as knife-sharp as his features. He took one look at Grillby and seemed instantly closed off to helping him. When Grillby asked what he recommended for sleep, he was given a rough lecture on the complex differences between human and monster anatomy, and how the man wouldn't even know how to help him if he tried. It was clear a few minutes in the man had no intentions of hearing Grillby out, and so rather rudely, the elemental excused himself from the conversation while the doctor was mid-sentence.
He didn't have time for this.
He spent the next hour asking around for the monster doctor, with little success and some resistance. Most people had no idea who he was talking about, and some seemed actively suspicious of his presence, as though he could somehow bear them ill-will just by existing in their general area. It was wearying, and eventually Grillby was forced to give up. He simply didn't have the time. The sky shook threateningly with the soft rumble of thunder, distant but building, and on the mountains upwind he could see blankets of rain hazing the air with ominous grey.
He didn't fancy the walk home from his train stop would be a pleasant one if he got caught in a downpour, and the general store didn't have any umbrellas.
So Grillby dashed back to the train station, purchased himself a ticket for the next outgoing train - and, he learned, the last train of the day. He dropped a nickel on a newspaper and some coffee and waited patiently on a bench with a slowly growing crowd of people. Many more of these gathering numbers were monsters, and of the mixed group of them Grillby could pick out familiar articles - overalls, oil bottles, lamps and carbide. These were miners, new hires to some operation in the hills somewhere. Quietly he wished them luck and turned a page in his paper.
It was about then that he heard a ruckus strike up at the far end of the train station, and he peered up from his paper to see what was going on. With a startled spark, he recognized Miss Armani, speaking fervently with the ticket seller. Across the distance it was hard to really make out what she was saying, but he could recognize a stern 'no' in the voice of the ticket master. Quietly remembering that he'd promised himself he'd keep an eye on her, Grillby folded his paper and got to his feet.
"Excuse me," Grillby hummed pleasantly as he approached the pair of them, trying to look as friendly and unassuming as possible, "I couldn't help but hear your distress across the way - is everything alright?"
"He says they're all out of tickets for the evening!" Miss Armani said, her voice noticeably frantic, "I must get back home sir, must. My husband is waiting for me, and my son-"
"Then you can walk," the ticket master said, sternly, but not altogether callously. Grillby caught from him the bored severity of someone who was simply dedicated to their job. Currently, unfortunately, his job making sure the train wasn't overbooked, "The last train is full up, ma'am. And regulation says we can't have people standing in the isles. You should have bought your ticket sooner."
"I cannot walk sir," she insisted, "My leg is bad. And it will be nightfall before I make it back - you'd have me walk in the rain in the middle of the night?"
"Then get a room in town and come back tomorrow," came the brisk answer.
"I can't! I can't I-"
Oh dear. She was crying. Like a flipping switch she'd gone from adamant and angry to devastated in an instant. And all Grillby could do was stand awkwardly by and listen as she babbled. She sobbed about not having the money to stay a night in town, and about the medicine she'd just bought for her husband, who was sick with a fever and unable to work, and how her son wasn't bringing home enough money from the mines to put bread on their table. To his credit, the ticket master seemed genuinely remorseful of her situation. But Grillby figured there wasn't anything that he could do about it.
"Uhm," Grillby spoke up quietly, "Is there any other service that goes out to the mining camps? A coach or-?"
"Sometimes," the man said with a wince, "But with the rain we've had all the roads are either mud pits or flooded out. You could maybe get a cart to the next station over, but I doubt you'd make it all the way out to the last stop."
Grillby sighed and ran his hand through the flame of his head. Well… that was that then. He waited for another moment, his gaze sweeping around to the other monsters and humans gathered nearby, waiting for the train. The whole affair had caught a few of their attention, and he quietly hoped one of them would have the kindness in their heart to step forward and offer their seat to her - and none of them did. This puzzled Grillby at first, until he saw the two gentlemen in suits standing at the far end of the platform.
Pinkertons.
But of course. No one would risk moving and getting their attention, not with how nasty their reputation was. Already the two gentlemen were eyeing Grillby and Armani suspiciously, as if waiting for a reason to intervene and assert themselves. Grillby heaved a soft breath of smoke. This situation couldn't get much more difficult, could it? Perhaps it was the atmosphere of Calamity following him, but it seemed things could never be easy on any given day.
He could be thankful for one thing though.
For not the first time in his life, Grillby was glad he wasn't a coal miner.
Quietly he dug through his pocket and offered his ticket to Miss Armani, flickering a wane smile, "Here."
She looked up at him for a moment, looking very much torn between her personal pride and her desperation to get home. Cautiously, her voice watery, she asked, "Are you sure, sir?"
"Certainly," this time he managed a smile that was more genuine, "I'm in no great hurry. I can wait for the morning train, it's no trouble."
Miss Armani took the ticket from him and for a moment only seemed able to blink at it in disbelief. Then hurriedly she dropped it into the bag she carried and rummaged around for her pocketbook.
"Please, don't worry about it," Grillby insisted, stopping her before she could go any further, "Really. Just tell your husband to get well soon for me."
Miss Armani blinked at him for a moment longer, and a relieved smile decorated her face. Then instantly she said, "You have a girl? Sweetheart? Daughter?"
"I have a daughter yes."
"You ever need a pretty dress for her, you come see me. You know of the Appletree Mine?"
Grillby nodded quietly.
"Anytime you need a dress for her, come see me. I will make it. Please," she insisted, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, "I insist."
Grillby smiled, "I would be honored."
Relieved that she had a way of paying him back, Miss Armani bounded towards the platform and disappeared into the small crowd of people. In the distance, Grillby heard the train horn sound, followed by the deeper rumble of approaching thunder. He heaved another long sigh of smoke, running a hand through the flame of his head before resting it on the back of his neck, thinking.
"You know of anyone in town that will put up a monster for the night?" Grillby asked, flashing the ticket master a forlorn, sideways glance.
The man's eyes darted to the Pinkertons still standing in the corner before he answered cautiously, "Not safely, sir."
"That's what I figured."
"You know, she probably swindled you."
Grillby frowned, "What makes you so sure?"
The ticket master shrugged, "Seemed like a pretty convenient sob story is all."
"Well, if she was lying, then that's between her and her Maker I suppose," Grillby hummed, "Anyway… wish me luck."
The ticket master tipped his hat to him and Grillby walked away just as briskly as he'd come. He stepped off the platform and setting his feet by the railroad tracks and his eyes on the darkening sky, he started walking.
It was going to be a long night.
Author's Notes:
I... have a buffer for this story ? For no determinate reason ? I'll try not to post the chapters all at once.
I'm trying to think, and I think I don't have any trivia for this chapter that isn't explained naturally through the course of the plot.
Armani Russo is Italian, if anyone was interested. Italian and Irish, I think, where the people most often shipped in from overseas for mining, if they weren't simply shipped in from factories or mines up north. About the time this takes place there was an economic scare going on [ 1890s I think ] so there were a lot of people looking for work.
