Silence…

In Caleb's life it seemed one thing ever broke the silence; shouting.

"Father!"

It had been the cut crew walking boss, who had been crushed under the rubble, and his young son who had pulled out his mangled body. Caleb could barely recognize the man after the fact, his face crushed and shards of white bones sticking out of bloody flesh. Who had allowed them to stack the damn boulders so high, and unsteady?

"What happened?" Caleb yelled through the dust, pushing aside many a galhot to stand by Frost and the dead man. The metallic scent of fresh blood and crushed organs floated up to his nose. His mind conjured up the smell of gunpowder alongside it, and the spark of the hammer lighting the fuse in his musket.

Frost looked flustered, dirt smeared on his face, his eyes wide. He seemed to have escaped the collapse entirely despite being so close.

"The galhot threw a rock on it and it fell. Too unsteady."

"Liar!"

Everyone turned then to look at the young man crouched by what was left of his father, cradling what was left of his head. He looked very much like him, but a slighter man. His eyes were filled with tears, the pain too strong for him to even attempt to stop them.

"You pushed him." he said, almost to quiet for Caleb to hear.

Frost looked incredulous, his ears almost pinned back against his head. "Pushed? I didn't push your stupid old man, the bumbling idiot did that all to himself!"

The galhots looked at each other, uneasy. They started to close ranks around their dead boss. Murmurs rose up from the huddle, surely Aketon, the best of them, would not have been so careless? Many had known him far beyond his work on the rails, when they worked in the deep mines of Carhaiz, if the low hanging ceilings and unstable walls hadn't got him then, how could a pile of rocks? Similarly, the humans and mixes were forming a wall with Frost. Though many of the men couldn't stand him, they couldn't stand the galhots far more.

Caleb saw these motions, and ran his fingers through his hair, knocking his hat off. This was the last thing he needed right now. Stepping into the middle of the forming sides, knowing if he didn't, Aketon's blood wouldn't be the only one on the ground.

"Now that's enough!" he yelled, his arm working its way back to his pistol. "You!" he said, turning to the young man. "What's your name boy?"

The green skinned man shot him a look that made him thankful he had his gun. "Aldarn." he answered quietly, the venom easily distinguishable in his voice.

"Aldarn." Caleb began, as hateful whispers began to crawl up to the right of him, the humans getting restless, and the galhots trying to shrink back from their initial bravado. "Did you see Frost here, push your father?" he asked, Frost spat at the ground as he did.

Aldarn's heated gaze drifted over to Frost now, his fists so tight, Caleb could hear the knuckles popping as he flexed. "No," he spat, never looking away from the other man. "And I don't need to either. He did it."

Frost erupted then, as two man tried to hold him back. The mud kicking up around them and flicking into Caleb's face and clothes.

"You lying piece of pond scum! You and your dead daddy ain't worthy of being smeared under my boot into the horse shit. He got himself crushed, and he don't need no help from me to do it!"

"You're a lying tramp." the green skinned man, shouted back, finally standing up from his father's corpse to yell at Frost. The human's let Frost go then, and many looked tempted to go teach the galhot a lesson themselves. Before Frost could get to the other man, Caleb quickly pulled out his pistol, and aimed it right between the man's eyes. Frost halted, but glared up at his boss defiantly.

"That lying greenie over there is who you should be pointing that at, not me, Hansen. He's lying about me, and he ain't got no one to back him up."

It was true, no galhot was volunteering information, or even backing up Aldarn's claim verbally. They merely stood behind him, their eyes wary, watching the proceedings even though their minds had already been made up. Likewise, Caleb knew if he asked the humans a dozen of them would have seen Frost minding his own business, whether he had been or not.

"Get back to work." he told the humans, who begrudgingly followed his orders, only Frost remained where he was to give Caleb a final warning.

" You should hang that greeny for being so disrespectful." he told him, before rejoining his men.

"Get him out of here," he said, looking at what was left of the former walking boss. "And get the rocks cleaned up after, don't stack them like that again, you understand?"

The galhots quickly went to follow his orders, except for Aldarn.

" Are you not going to do anything about this, sir?" he spat, still looking towards Frost.

"No, now either get your father out of here or get back to work." he ordered. The boy didn't move, and Caleb felt his hands start to flex tighter on the cold metal of his pistol. He then turned his gaze upon Caleb, his eyes were narrowed and devoid of any light.

"Yes, sir."

He turned quickly turned, sparing neither anymore thought it seemed, and went to help carry with father back to town. It was only till they were out of sight on the horizon did Caleb loosen the grip on his gun. He wasn't sure he would have stopped the man if he attacked Frost. He could understand the need to do anything to stop the flow of blood from your loved ones; even if it meant spilling more.

The rest of the day seemed to pass without incident on the surface, but he could feel the tension growing ever more every time he cared to look. Frost was speaking in hushed tones among his men, throwing pointed glares at the galhots every so often. Caleb wished to break them up, but to do so would only be poking the fire more, and the sparks that shot out would be just as likely to burn him as the galhots.

Aside from Frost's naggings the workers all seemed fairly quiet after the mornings disaster, and Caleb for his part, mostly stood on a nearby hill watching the workers, trying to get a feel for a normal day at work. That was easier said than done, he thought, as he could feel a knot beginning to form in his too tight shoulders. But both the knots, the tension, the fighting, and him over it all was familiar. Caleb was at home in the thick, volatile air; he breathed it in as others enjoyed fresh mountain air. He had never been good at anything till he joined the army. And while those he had gunned down still haunted his nightmares, he wasn't fool enough to not admit to himself the sheer, primal, joy that he felt when his life was in danger and he could taste blood in his mouth.

He supposed it was only natural that something as mundane as construction would turn into a proverbial battlefield at his presence. He suspected that it wouldn't be helping his wallet however, he needed resources now more than ever, and if worked came to a standstill within his first week, he wouldn't be back for the second week. It was a simple enough activity, thus far, the crew cut leveling the path of the track, and laying the gravel foundation from their rock piles ahead of the main group. Nigel and men laid the track in position, and the rail ties to support them, and staked them into place, securing them enough so the massive metal train could ride upon them.

Often, however, many a man would drag himself out of the mud, heaving furiously and loudly. Their mess was always bloody, and Caleb suspected something more than bad food at this point. Barely two months in and it seemed this grand undertaking was already plagued by disease, and in-fighting. They would truly need a firm hand.

When the sun was finally sliding past the horizon was it time to return to camp. The men slowly trod back to the camp, their muscles sore and pulled, stomachs empty, and covered in mud. That didn't stop a few of the men from entering the cathouse as soon as they came into town, Caleb noted with some amusement. As for himself, he headed in the same direction, but with a vastly different purpose in mind. A few of the woman called out to him, but he merely chuckled at their cries and sauntered off to a small table alongside the brothel-tent. Caleb hadn't slept with a woman in some time, and he wasn't in a hurry to change that with a prostitute. Sure, many of the girls were pretty enough, which he found odd considering their location, but he had a sneaking suspicion… The blood from earlier.

"Is your madame about?" he asked pretty woman, with ginger hair and a crooked smile. She looked mildly annoyed, but quickly regained her grin.

"Why yes. That would be me. Sandra Jenkins." she held her hand out for him to kiss, an old greeting, the huge, puffy, feather from her hat batting him in the face as did. Caleb moved to shake her hand instead. The corners of her lips snarled slightly at his refusal, but otherwise her face barely changed.

"What can I do for you, Mister Hansen? Our lovely new foreman? You have a preference perhaps? Blondes? Maybe gingers?" she batted her eyes at him, twisting her own tawny hair around her delicate fingers.

She was very pretty; Caleb wasn't blind after all...but her manner. She didn't seem like the most wholesome woman, even by a whores standard. Her grin too forced, the glint in her eyes, like a starving animal about to set upon a fat corpse. Normally he might find such a woman a worthy challenge, but her eyes spoke to him more of a vulture than a great starving cat.

"Have you had any problem with your girls being sick? Throwing up blood?" he asked, straight to the point. He had never been good at small talk; he had no one to learn it from, his father had been a man of little words and great actions.

Sondra looked offended, her sharp green eyes narrowed in disgust at his words.

"Are you accusing me of selling dirty goods?" she spat, loud enough that some of the available ladies peaked their heads out to listen to her outburst. Caleb merely rolled his eyes at her antics.

"No. I was merely-"

"Any girl can't do her job around here or is too nasty enough you filthy slobs won't touch her, I send her on her way. Now, if we aren't good enough for you around here, they we can all pack up and leave."

Caleb had never felt the urge to hit a woman before now, not that he had been around many women before now either. Why so defensive?

He didn't get a chance to answer that, before Sondra turned on him swiftly and stormed back into her tent; the bright red canvas practically hitting him in the face as she pushed it out of her way. Caleb huffed, how was he supposed to solve problems if his attempts to do so created even more?

"She's not lying." offered a warm voice from behind him. A woman with the most full figure he had seem in quite some time and a small waif of a woman, stood at the edge of the tent. The heavier girl, with her thick, curly hair had spoken up, while the other watched him with a critical eye.

"No sickness?" he asked.

The pretty girl shrugged, the movement causing the shoulders of dress to fall.

"Nothing more than normal. None of us is heaving up blood, like you said."

Caleb was honestly surprised. What could possibly be affecting the men of the camp and not the women? They lived together and ate the same food, drank the same water…

Discouraged, he tipped his hats to the ladies, the brunette giving him some mockery of a courtesy as he left.

The office wasn't any particular help either. When he informed Martin of the deadline dilemma that Nigel had mentioned to him earlier, poor man seem to break down.

"What do you mean we're not making time!" he cried, his pale skin flustered with bright patches of red. Caleb was a little taken back by his sudden outburst, considering his usually timid and placid demeanor.

"Why has no one told me we weren't making time?" he asked, frantic.

Caleb had no answer to that question so he didn't give him one. He could hear people approaching from behind them, but he had assumed they were either Eric or one of Martin's other men. The look of sheer horror on Martin's face, told him otherwise.

"Mister and Misses Escanor, Miss Elyon. Welcome to Haven, please ah, excuse the mess-"

Caleb turned around quickly, his heart seizing in his chest. Could his first day have gone any worse? The last thing he wanted was to schmooze with the owner now, when he all the other problems weighing on his mind.

Phobos Escanor was a tall man, somewhat on the slight side, with brilliant platinum hair that barely reached his neckline. The way he grasped everything with his eyes, however, reminded Caleb of the whore from earlier, hungry, and with little regard to everyone else. He did not shake his hand when introduced, shying away from the mud still caked on his hands. Caleb had expected as much, but that did not stop the disgust from rising up within him. What kind of man refused to shake the hand of another? Even if it was covered in dirt; that was his job wasn't it? Dredging through the mud and filth so that this man's a glorious railroad could be built; the least he could do was show a little respect. The army had made Caleb hate men like him, men who were content to sit back in their fancy chairs and let other lesser men die and bleed in the dirt.

He asked Caleb how he was finding life so far, and with only one disastrous day under his belt, he was hesitant to answer, so he simply gave a polite 'very well thanks'.

He turned his gaze to the women accompanying Phobos, his sister was a small, slim woman with slightly darker hair than his own, done up in an elaborate braid. She had cheerful eyes and a bright smile, that reminded him of warm summerhood days spend out in the fields. Despite the sweeping curves that graced her body, she held a sweet innocence within her that made Caleb blush when he thought of her in a lewd manner.

His wife however... Caleb was forced to do a double-take at the sight of her. She was tall, nearly as tall as himself actually, but she carried herself with such a grace that her height seem not to matter. She had long straight golden locks of hair, and bright blue eyes. Caleb almost had to stop himself from laughing, it was like one of the maidens from the fairy tales had been dropped into the middle of hell. She met his wandering gaze fiercely, her eyesdark, he could tell she was trying to keep a detached expression upon her face, but the bitterness behind those crystal blue eyes was easy enough to see. He wondered idly, what the poor dear was doing out here in the first place.

He was distracted from his observations by Phobos, and his question of whether the railroad was on time. A shadow of fear crossed Martin's face as he moved to answer but Caleb quickly cut in. He assured the man that it soon would be; His boss looked alarmed for a moment, but quickly sank into a confident smirk at the sight of Caleb's bravado.

As Phobos and Martin addressed more mundane concerns of the railroad, Caleb found his eyes locked again with Cornelia's. The woman did not blush and hastily look away, but instead met his gaze as if daring him to stop; and of course he didn't. He wasn't really surprised of his ogling of her, what man wouldn't? However his fascination with her suddenly came to an abrupt halt, as he was roped into becoming their babysitter the next day. Caleb had never been one to put off problems to go daling around with tricks, no matter how pretty. But to refuse would to be to admit the gravity of the problem; and that was something Caleb also did not do.

Cornelia and her family left soon after they arrived, and Caleb's blood still hot from the encounter marched off, not bothering to speak to Martin, who looked a mess, as he did. He wandered past the cat house again, this time however, he stopped at the tent directly behind them that was selling buckets of hot water for bathing. He hadn't any money, but the woman behind the stand knew who he was and was happy enough to start a tab for him till their payroll came in.

Bucket in hand, he wandered back to his tent on the edge of Haven, away from most of the other men and shops. It was slightly more peaceful here, and less...odoriferous. His fort Ogden had always reeked too, so it was like he wasn't used to the smell that came whenever a great many people gathered someone, but that didn't make him like it.

He didn't have a tub, so he simply stripped off his clothes and washed off best he could. He knew many people found the act of cleaning rather therapeutic, but it was just another chore to him. He didn't like reflecting upon himself when he was already vulnerable enough by his lack of clothes. There was nothing worse than getting caught with your pants down, he thought slackly.

*Boom!*

Caleb quickly doved for his pants while thinking how he had a very bad habit of jinxing himself. His pistol was still attached to his belt halter, and he quickly pulled on his boots as well. Running as fast as he could towards the sound of the gunshot on the main drag of Haven's tent town, scenes from this morning played through his head even as he vaulted over a downed stand in his way. Aldarn must have waited for Frost to come back to town and then…

However, as he pushed through the crowd that had already gathered that wasn't exactly the sight that he found. Frost was flat on his ass in the middle of the muddy thoroughfare, his face bloody and red, his split lips caught in a ugly snarl. Across from him, an equally as large galhot with bright blue skin was slowly getting up a huge bruise already forming on his jawline. And between them, wielding an old, black, stagecoach ten gauge, was an older man with dark, brown, leathery skin and long, slanted ears. He was significantly smaller than the two erstwhile combatants, but the smoking barrel of his gun had clearly had made up for it.

"What is going on here?!" Caleb shouted, marching his way to join the trio. The smaller man looked at him at him suspiciously, the double barrels lowering slightly in Caleb's direction.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice as rough as the skin upon him.

"Your new foreman! Now, what is going on here?" he asked again, annoyed. Most of the town was now out gawking at the spectacle, even the office men had poked their heads out.

"I'm stopping the mess that seemed to spill over from your crew," the other man told him sharply. He finally lowered his weapon completely, gazing dispassionately at the two bloody men as he did. He wore no badge, but Caleb guessed by his manner he must be some sort of peacekeeper for the town. He held his hand out, and the other man quickly shook it back.

"Raythor. Mister Escanor trusts me to keep the peace here. These two were in the middle of quite a bawl here." he explained. Frost spat some blood near his boots in a ugly protest, but Raythor barely seemed to notice or care. Caleb signed, rubbing his temples harshly. In a move that would have his workers talking for hours no doubt, he turned to the galhot first and demanded,

"What is going on here then?"

The galhot attempted to brush the mud from his clothes, he looked slightly abashed now with all the eyes upon him.

"I…" he started, but stopped as the crowd's murmers seemed to grow ever louder around them.

Why do we even fight wars if they don't fix anything after,?" he thought to himself, a band of tight pain beginning to form around his forehead.

"Alright! Next person who causes any trouble, on the job or in town will be fired! No questions asked! There's a thousand men eager to get a job on this railroad and either we are going to start appreciating that fact or you can back to where ever you came from!"

The horde grew silent for a moment, watching the scene. Caleb felt there was nothing more to be said at this point, and before he started fighting in the mud like his underlings, (he didn't always have the most self-control, after all) he angrily stalked off back to his tent. A few of the night ladies hooted loudly at him, and with a blush he realized he still didn't have a shirt on.

Trying to ignore the heat on his cheeks, and their noisy calls to him, he cast his eyes down, looking into the puddles in the road. A sharp glint reflected in a lonely pool caught his eye. Aldarn stood in the shadows, his eyes still red from crying, the metallic gleam of a knife clutched firmly in his grasp.

The two men locked eyes for a moment. The galhot looked down at the knife in his hands, and quickly backed into the shadows. Caleb let him.

He understood. When he finally laid his head down at night, he could still feel his father's blood slipping through his fingers. Remembered how cold he had been, the bruises on his neck… It didn't matter what else he tried to think about, nothing would stop the blood from flowing within his mind. If he truly believed Frost responsible for his own father's death, did he really have the high ground to stop him? He watched the shadow slink away, uncaring of the stinking feeling in his gut.

To say he was surprised to find Frost still alive in the mind was an understatement, but sure enough, he came wandering out of the tavern the alcohol and sleep slurring his speech. Caleb raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to the mumbling man. Napoleon was also making his way out of the tavern, apparently many of the heavier bottle hitters were permitted to sleep away their nights work in the tavern.

"Napoleon, come here a second." he said, gesturing for the man to join him as he made his way to the office. The other man didn't seem hungover, or sick in the least his gate easy and smooth. His hair however, stuck straight up in huge black tufts atop his head, and he was currently trying to get it to lay flat with thick hair oil.

"What is it?" he asked, kicking a nearby worker who was snoring loudly into the dirt. He awoke with a snort and a yelp, before his head careened with the ground again.

"The boss came in last night," he said, trying to keep the hint of displeasure of his voice. It didn't work however, and Napoleon laughed loudly at him.

"Not what you were expecting huh? Yeah, Mister E isn't like you boys down south with more honor than brains."

Caleb stopped for a second, a little curious.

"How has someone like you met the owner personally already?" he asked.

Napoleon's grin grew ever larger, Caleb could see rows of little pointy teeth in his mouth.

"I used to work for the Hale's. That's his wife's family; I tended to their business and kept their workers in line, and once they married Mister E offered me work on his business and well, here I am."

"What do the Hales do?" he asked, more than a little curious now.

"Well, they is 'old money' so they got most of their dollars by just sittin on em. But Mister Hale runs a couple a banks, and a shipyard or two," he shrugged, "you'd be surprised the money a smart man can make in the shipyards. Don't last long if you ain't careful though."

Ah. Smuggler. That...didn't surprise him, much anyway. He tried not to judge, he would have lost an arm if a smuggler hadn't lifted in some rare herbs for Fort Ogden during his time there.

"And...what are you hoping to do here?" he asked. It was good to know such things, even if he didn't necessary approve.

Napoleon just snorted. "Look around boy! What do you think I'm gonna lift from out here? Mud? Empty bottles. Nah, I got caught in the capital and would have been in deep if Mister E hadn't brought me out here. Just gives him something over me, if we don't get results. That pencil pusher in the office? He's a damn war criminal, believe it or not! Yah, Yah, I know." he said, as Caleb looked at him like his head at caught on fire.

"Built too good of killing machines for the wrong side. Those cannons at Gaatkun? Yeah…"

Caleb hadn't been at that particular battle, if he had been, he mostly likely would not be here now. The cannons Napoleon had spoke of, they had been banned after the war by the capital, deemed to dangerous even for combat. They shot huge green balls mixed with Therbite and some other material that had not been de-classified for fear of re-creating it. The balls exploded when they hit, and unleashed wicked green flames after that no water or dirt could stop. Had Carhaiz's army made more; the war would have ended very differently.

"Yup, I guess a few strings were pulled and now the boy's here making our bridges and maps. I bet the poor idiot didn't even know what he was making, seems the type."

Caleb agreed. The north obtained young men straight from the great halls to build their war machines too. They were either promised riches at the end of the war, or were threatened with active combat instead.

He, himself, joined the war under some delusion of grandeur; against his father's wishes. It seemed a noble quest to reunite the country. Caleb did enjoy his time in the army, the planning, the training; things of that nature but the true ugliness of war had certainly left it's own mark on him.

"Ah, right. Anyway, I need you to escort 'his highness' around the job site today. I've got some things to attend to here, and have been drafted into taking his women on some wild goose chase later."

Napoleon stopped dead in tracks, his eyes wide as saucers.

"You get to spend the day with Miss Cornelia? And Elyon? And you're complaining?!"

Caleb held out his hands defensively, a nervous laugh escaping him. "No, No. Not complaining."

Napoleon grumbled, but agreed to his request regardless. The two made their across the mobile town to the office. Haven was just waking up, a few men hobbeling out of the cathouse-tent, or their own rail issued tents. He spotted his chickens picking at some particularly hearty grass alongside the shabby office walls.

No-one was in the office this morning save Phobos and Martin. The owner's face was twisted in a dark fury and he was pointing a castigating finger at Martin who was backed into a corner.

"You were supposed be past Griffnoix Lake two weeks ago! And yet, we have just now reached the Western edge! Tell me why aren't we past it?!" Phobos' voice was one that didn't need to be loud to sound terrifying. Martin a man well past his childhood, had curled in on himself like a frightened boy.

Caleb felt that old fire in his belly. It had driven him to many stupid acts, running into a hail of bullet fire to save a man whose leg gushed blood and lead, leaping into a fire to save screaming children. He took a determined step between the two, his chest puffed, the line of his jaw tight.

He had half expected to Phobos to take a step back, many a greater man had done so under Caleb's gaze. But no, he merely gazed down at him like an unpleasant bug he crushed underfoot. Phobos didn't let the tension fester long however, before he turned his back on Martin like nothing transpired.

"Mr. Hansen, I trust that under your wise, and steady leadership that we will reach our goal in time."

Phobos seemed perfectly happy to leave with Napoleon then, nodding curtly and sharply at the two men left behind.

" Are you alright?" he asked Martin, scooping up several of the maps that have been pushed on the floor.

The other man seemed shaken, pulling nervously at his cavat.

"It's alright. Uh...thanks. I mean, you didn't have too...um, he's probably not going to like you much now…"

Caleb snorted, laying the maps down in the spot Martin had laid them yesterday.

"I'll live through the disappointment, somehow." Martin didn't laugh, but his face lightened up to a small degree.

"The men have a need for better food, how would I go about ordering that?" he questioned.

Martin glanced up at him, his eyes watery behind his glasses. Caleb was one of the few of his kind that had pity for cowards; not everyone could be brave, he knew.

"I...we are over-budget as it is...I don't think Mr. Escanor will allow that."

Caleb felt a sour taste at the tip of his tongue. Fine, he would come up with his own solution. He didn't need some puffed up pillow from the capital to run a group of men.

"I hope the rest of your day goes better, Mr. Tubbs." he told him, leaving the office in his signature saunter. He hadn't wanted this position, but now that he acquired it, there was no way he was going to let his men done; any of them.

Drakon Steam down, Keenan's Iron down…

Phobos snarled in disgust, and tossed the telegram into the fire. He wasn't sure why some of his most heavily invested stocks were plummeting, but they were. The prospect of the new rail should have bustered that side of the market greatly, but no. He had intended to pull out of Drakon and put the profits into both some foreign markets (he had good inside information, after all) and more importantly back into the coffers of his own railroad. He'd emptied them to purchase land on the other side of the gorge, where he intended the first Southern hub to be. As it stood he barely had enough money to reach the gorge, to say nothing of crossing it.

Still, if he hadn't done it the land would automatically belong to Meridian's government, giving them even greater control over his affairs as his reach extended southward. If he ever got that far. He was already riddled with problems, and not all of them money. His investors were breathing down his neck, and if they discovered the missing money…

He could hear his wife on the other side of the cabin, he wasn't sure what she was doing, but it was some bothersome, repetitive sound. His mood was by now foul, and even her slight noises were driving him over the edge. He shouldn't have brought her, and if he had left her home, perhaps his sister would have stayed as well.

They were both useless things who could offer no advice, or do anything with his current problems. They would only distracted him with their ditterings, and not even in a pleasing way. Yes, his wife was beautiful enough but what good did that do him? She had no sense, save what clothing would work its way into style and his sister was even worse; like a maiden chasing a butterfly off a cliff. Actually, that did sound like something his sister would do. Still, it would have looked...odd for a man his age to leave his lovely wife behind for a period of a few years. He had enough treacherous rumors as it was.

And beyond all that...they were nowhere near where they should have been for the time. If they didn't reach the gorge in time he would lose critical funding, not to mention the support of many a senator who had grown fat on his bribes. All this before the sun had peeked over the horizon.

When Cornelia finally entered the main part of the cabin, she looked...more worn than he had expected, dark shadows looming over her face. He wondered, nastily, what problems she could possibly be facing? Her buttons were too tight, perhaps? He must have disturbed her the night before; they rarely talked, and never about himself or his past. He was slightly ashamed of himself, actually for that. He wasn't prone to such...sentimentality. Still, sometimes he wondered, how different his life would have been if he stayed.

Certainly easier, he thought venomously, as yet another telegraph patched it's way through. He absolutely hated the noises they made, the high pitched beeping that could only be more bad news at this point. He couldn't read them very well, he only knew so much of the code, but this one seemed to be little more than a recap of business still on going in the capital and elsewhere. He watched for suspicious signs, but it appeared his problem was busy trying to forge a deal with Vyatimun Co. Introducing new steamers on their ships or something of the like, and buying plum farms? He wasn't sure he was understanding that bit. Still the former would be a timely process.

Good, he thought harshly. His wife was looking over at him, harsh. She hated the noise of the machines perhaps even more than he did. They never spoke in the morning, unless something was direly wrong. So, he was mildly surprised when he informed in, her voice flat,

"You look awful this morning."

He...wasn't sure how to reply to that. She had never mouthed him before; although she could be quite spiteful to others certainly. He chose to ignore her, scooping up his papers and locking them in his safebox. He would have invest in with his personal money now, to regain any hopes of pulling a profit large enough to refill the rails coffers. That, of course, made him uneasy. Drakon and Keenan's were supposed to be as sure fire as stock came, basking in the glory of a new industrial enterprise. He could invest in Vyatimun, before the price (hopefully) skyrocketed, their fleets bluffed with new steamers in a bid to replace the old sails, but no guarantee that would actually happen. He could ask, he supposed, but that would be inviting trouble. Crossnic Enterprises was busy investing in textiles or something equally mundane. Their recently widowed owner and President lacked any grand vision, typical of women, he supposed, but she was fond of safe bets in her investments. Smaller rewards though.

"Phobos!"

His sister's deafening voice filled the cabin, he'd never grown used to her and her wailings despite her nearly being attached to him since his marriage. His parents entrusted the company to her, in their great foolishness; but his sister was at least wise enough to know that it was in better hands with her brother. So he supplied her with idle enjoyments, and butterflies to chase off cliffs while he tended to important matters. If they hadn't looked so similar he might have questioned whether they were related at all.

"Isn't it just wonderful here?" she asked dreamily, practically floating into the cabin.

That it wasn't appeared to be one of the few things he and his wife agreed on, judging by the frown that crossed her face. Phobos didn't actually enjoy much of his homeland, whether it was the gleaming capital or these wastelands. His time he spent overseas during his lyceum years had ruined the little appreciation he'd had for his land to behind with. Meridian was a vast verdant land, but with little besides endless amount of grain, save the Grey Woods and the icefields to the far north. The only major city that been left untouched by the war was the capital, and everyone there hung so tightly to their traditions it near suffocated them.

Still, if he wanted to make a name for himself, his own name, Meridian was the place to do it. Even if it meant dealing with that all the...problems on this side of the country.

"Aren't you excited to go see the lake, Cornelia?"

"No." she answered bluntly, but his poor sister seemed to find his wife's abject misery amusing and merely let out peals of bright laughter. Perhaps they were related after all.

AN: And here's the third chapter! I planned on including the picnic scene in this one, but it would have gotten too large if I had. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks for reading. RoR out.