A/N: Prompt: scandal
Genre: historical AU
Word count: between 300 to 400 words
Title: Wanted
Summary: A fast hand with a gun, a loose sense of morals, and a wink that's just a little too familiar.
Chapter 1: The Prequel
(This portion didn't get submitted, I just liked it too much to try and cut it down, so I wrote the second part of this for the actual challenge.)
The portly gentleman with the tobacco-stained mustache sitting on the train next to him cleared his throat, then did it again, pointedly. Arthur looked up from his book, irritated, to see him glaring at the man seated across from them.
The man smiled a bland, patronizing smile back, and the walrus next to him frowned and ruffled his newspaper, lifting it higher to block out whatever sight the man provided that didn't appeal. Not that Arthur could figure out what that would have been. The train was crowded, packed with passengers traveling across the flat of the American west, the rails so new they practically smelled like fresh paint. Arthur had gotten on the train early, and the seat in front of him remained unclaimed until seconds before the train started from the station. The man was unremarkable, even though he was handsome, his nondescript brown suit and combed hair doing their best to detract from his aquiline nose and, good lord, sinful looking lips.
Arthur blinked and flushed when he realized the wayward track of his thoughts and saw he was staring at the same time the other man did. His lips quirked and he winked at Arthur. Arthur's face flamed and he immediately slammed his eyes back to his book and refused to look up again.
He'd read the same paragraph three times before the walrus next to him blustered and stiffened, and Arthur looked up reluctantly. The man across from him was staring at Arthur, openly, hungrily, and Arthur felt the heavy gaze zing down his limbs. They locked eyes and Arthur vaguely registered the walrus rustling his newspaper and clearing his throat again before the man looked at over at him and made a kissing motion.
The walrus sucked in an indignant breath, folded up his paper and stood, excusing himself as he went to, presumably, find somewhere else to sit.
The man looked pleased. "Mr. Charles Eames, at your service," he said once they were alone. "You can call me Eames." He extended his hand.
His British accent threw him for a moment and Arthur hesitated but shook it. "Arthur Levine," he offered, the brisk handshake continuing far longer than propriety insisted.
"And where are you headed this fine morning, Arthur?" he said with too much familiarity when he finally dropped Arthur's hand. Arthur decided he didn't mind if Eames was going to roll his name around him his mouth like that. He raised an eyebrow.
"The same place as everyone else on this train," he said, "obviously."
"Ah, yes, but to what end, my good man?"
His crooked smile was uncomfortably charming and Arthur didn't see the harm in telling the truth. "I'm to be the manager of the new bank."
Eames' eyebrows climbed. "You don't say! A smashing waistcoat like that on a bank manager? Hard to imagine."
Arthur preened a bit under his impressed stare and ran a hand down the brocade, self-conscious.
"And you, Mr. Eames?" he said, deflecting.
"Oh, I'm a collector," Eames said.
Arthur cocked his head. "A collector? Of what?"
"Pocket watches, billfolds, ladies jewelry. I collect all sorts."
Arthur blinked his confusion as Eames withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it over the lower half of his face and stood. He pulled a gun from his waistband and walked the few steps to where the conductor was drowsing at the back of the carriage to wave it lazily under his nose.
"Stop the train," Eames said in a gruff American accent. "Don't make me shoot you and do it myself."
The man nodded and turned to pull the cord and send the signal to the engine room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention!" Eames called as the train slowed. Several other handkerchiefed men stood, also brandishing guns. "Put your valuables in the bags that are being passed around and no one gets hurt."
The men distributed the bags, shouting demands as people cowered. Eames oversaw them, and when the bag reached Arthur, Eames leaned down to whisper, "And don't forget that lovely watch fob, darling." His switch in accents was jarring.
Arthur glared and dropped it in the bag. "You're despicable," he hissed.
Eames just winked. "Oh, you have no idea. But you're going to be the new bank manager, yes? So I'll probably see you soon, Arthur."
He straightened and addressed the carriage again, his voice once again growly and unrecognizable. "Thank you for your cooperation. Have a lovely afternoon."
He and the other men exited the train and Arthur looked out the grimy window to see a waiting group of horses, saddled and ready for the escaping bandits. Eames mounted easily, swinging his leg over and turning the stallion to face the train. He made a motion like he was blowing a kiss, and then turned and raced with his crew across the plains.