First came a huge screech and scrape of a rickey wooden stool on the far side of the train cart. Then came the large thumps and thuds of heavy-set leather boots creaking atop the wooden floorboards below. And then finally, a predatory howl unlike any other; easily drowning the ticking of the train tracks below.

“Pistol!!!!” Roared the gruff and coarse voice.

Pistol peered over the wet dirtied rag on his shoulder and thought, “It has been a long time. Maybe not long enough.” Pistol smiled for a moment and continued cleaning his workspace. Glasses and mugs of all kinds rattled alongside each new step the voice took towards the bar.

“Pistol! So this is your brilliant Midnight Train! Somthin’ to see fo’ sure! One day it’s some… freak fifty cart long inn filled with do-all-see-all monsters of the land and then… well, and then it’s-a five cart train with a bar, bath, and a whorehouse to boot. Whuh happen’ to the rest of the train eh!? Dump trash off into some mountain like the rest of 'em?” Boomed the voice from deep within the many wooden booths lining the sides of the train.

What was once a train cart filled with many roaring cheers, chaotic murmurs, and bellowed laughter, became silent and submissive. Dusted hardhats of all kinds, sooted brown overalls, and blackened muddied boots lined the train cart from end to end in silence eagerly awaiting for the booming voice to arrive at its nearing destination.

“Pistol!?” Whispered another -far more gentle- voice from his immediate left side.

Pistol simply ignored the voice floating into his left ear and continued to clean the last of his famous barrel-shaped mugs. He focused firmly on the shining bronze dishware and the footsteps growing louder on his right.

“Pistol!?” Arose the gentle voice once again, finally piercing Pistol’s attention.

Pistol turned his head to his left and peered into the crack of a sliding wooden door revealing a pair of glowing orange pupils.

“Do we have a whorehouse!?” Asked the voice.

“No.” Corrected Pistol sternly.

“You mean not today.” Receded the now cheeky voice into the darkness of the doorway.

To Pistol’s left was a large sliding door with an intricately designed circular window at its top. The door was practically a moving wall that acted as a pathway between two very different sides of a large train cart. One side housed a fantastical waist-high bar reaching halfway into the train cart while the other side of the door led to a dark storage room of sorts with enough variety of food to compete with any local market.

“Are you going to close that door anytime tonight? Fruit's gonna rot right outta their baskets!” Asked Pistol to no response.

“Sarah, you very well know what too much moonlight does to spirit produce. Human food ain’t doin’ too much better in the freezing cold of the night and neither do I.” Scolded Pistol, brushing his waist past the swinging doors of the bar.

“I got no time for this.”, mumbled Pistol. Pistol grabbed onto his brown overalls as if he was lifting them up from their buttons and made his way to the sliding door just a few steps away.

“What’s this about Sarah? Once is usually enough for you.” Huffed Pistol, leaning onto the doorway, careful not to look away from the bar for too long.

“I’ll close this as soon as you tell me what’s up with thunder boots back there. Did the train have enough of snobby royalty or doomsday spirits? Normal people don’t get on this train anymore…” Observed Sarah, closing the sliding door at a creeping pace.

“You dang well know that is not our place to decide. Today we have the privilege of serving the everyday working man. Not a better time than now for your best behavior Sarah.” Directed Pistol, his gaze wandering atop the many passengers' heads.

“Oh? This is serious then! Hmmmmmmm….?” Sing-songed Sarah from the darkness of the storage room.

“Then ya should know to hurry with more dishware little one.” Taunted Pistol with a light smile while closing the remainder of the sliding door.

Finally, the thudding footsteps inched close enough for Pistol to ready his pouring spouts for service. Pistol turned his head and squinted his eyes toward the left side of the train, looking deeply into the aisle, trying to piece together a very familiar silhouette. The train was lit for a nighttime ambience -not yet ready for bar service- and as such had a warm orange ambience to it made possible by many beautiful flamming swaying lanterns hovering just above the aisles stretching the train. Still, Pistol caught glimpses of a larger man fumbling his way down the aisle with a face flush with many shades of red and a plump belly hanging generously from his waist; not unlike Pistol himself.

“Miner Company #32! Settle and beg me an ear!” Grumbled the man aloud.

Before Pistol knew it, the train erupted into drills. Like a maestro conducting his band, the seemingly drunken man snapped into a commanding posture and demanded the train’s complete and utter attention.

“Chief! Hogswind! Chief! Hogswind! Chief Hogswind!” Chanted the crowd again and again in a rhythmic chorus. Voices arose from each and every booth that lined the train.

“If this ain’t a time too soon. HHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEAAAAADDDDDS UUUP!!!!!” Commanded Chief Hogswind.

“Sir, MY HEART IS FOR SIR.” Chanted one side of the train in a resounding cheer.

“Sir, MY ARMS IS FOR SIR.” Chanted the other side of the train with equal if not a more competitive enthusiasm.

“Some New Dwarden bigwig made it a note to recognize those who keep their pistons pumping and their geeeeeears churning! I may be in charge of the new saps that walk New Dwarden's mines but that don’t mean we can kick our fair share of arse. Might I add, considering our... less than desirable circumstances and today’s arduous haul, we very much earned it! Tonight we drink to feast and feast to drink on the finest train in the East!” Roared the Chief’s voice with thundering pride.

The train car erupted with even louder cheers. So loud in fact, Sarah popped open the sliding door as if the train cart was on fire.

“Who are these people…” Mumbled Sarah.

One glance at Pistol, however, and Sarah blushed a special kind of embarrassment. Pistol -as always- began pouring himself one stiff drink before any service. “Just like every normal night”, thought Sarah with an audible sigh. It wasn’t long before Sarah began retreating towards the sliding door once more only turning her head once towards the crowd in a confused daze of approval.

“Nicholaus Hogswind! Always gotta make a damn entrance. Drunk too.” Mocked Pistol under his long scraggly beard.

“Take a damn seat. Ya already made it over halfway and I’m not talking about the aisle. I didn’t know they made bottles so easily attached to a belt.” Announced Pistol with a smug smile.

Hogswind looked at Pistol with deadly neutrality. Not a muscle would have been moved if it didn’t have to be used to pull up a rickety barstool toward a counter-top.

Pistol prepared the train car with enough empty mugs, glasses, and pitchers, to cover it completely; Each piece of dishware specifically designed to accompany the train cart’s firelit riverboat design but more importantly, to fit the many compartments that corner of the train car had to offer. Men of all rank and stature held their breath while Chief Hogswind took his time to seat himself comfortably across Pistol. Of course, just as Hogswind shimmied his way into a comfortable position, so did Pistol finish polishing the wooden bar top with the usual set of rags perched comfortably over his shoulder.

“It’s been a damn long time Chief.” Praised Pistol, perched over a small sink and onto his bar.