As the train broke out in song, Pistol calmly made his way back to the bar. His gesture of awakening seemed to have lit more than just lanterns as in the midst of song the tiny elemental fire spirits known to most as Fire Musca -or to some as light bugs- squeezed out from their tiny homes at the base of the many lamps hung high on the walls and ceilings. The Fire Musca lit up virtually every crevice on the train like colorful tiny floating specks while patrons hollered at Sarah for a drink after drink.

Morale was higher and louder than ever before. Stories of deep dark mines riddled with monstrous creatures and Golem’s soon became the centerpiece of conversation on the Whisky Sunday. What was once a train full of acquaintances soon became a train full of Yardrats and survivors. Even Pistol engaged in a story or two between pouring drinks. Mugs endlessly sloshed with drink as the smell of crackling fire, puffed nicotine, sweat, and charcoaled meats wafted through the train faster than any average single waiter could keep up.

“You have my errand girl running circles of sweat with your particulars.” Observed Pistol, washing mugs within a bucket of hot water sitting just below his waist.

“Surprised she ain’t leaving you yet. You got the mannerisms of a rickety chair and the tact of a gargoyle.” Laughed Nick, leaning atop the bar.

“She can take care of this cart all by herself. I ain’t worried for her. I’m worried for whoever thinks too much of themselves when she’s around. She don’t look it but-” Explained Pistol.

“Anyone who can carry two trays of sloshing drink in one hand is more than most can handle. Perhaps it’s time you introduce me to the young lady?” Chuckled Nick.

“You can do it yourself.” Insisted Pistol, looking past Nick’s shoulder.

“Helloooo!” Sprung a gentle voice in sing-song.

Behind Nick stood Pistol’s only errand girl Sarah. Her long orange hair sported fiery red tips making it easy for Pistol to make her out from the crowd -aside from her stylish loose-fitting overalls ofcourse. Pistol always knew when Sarah was annoyed because her freckles wrapped tightly around her tiny nose and tonight was no different. He could only watch in anticipation as she walked over towards him with unwaivering eye contact.

“Who broke what?” Wondered Pistol aloud.

Sarah took off her orange fingerless gloves, and leaned her elbow onto the bar with an unusual grimace that had even Pistol unnerved.

“No-one did nuffin yet. It’s just getting a little stuffy in here and these people need more than just drinks right now. I smell his food but have you seen Grissm’!?...” Huffed Sarah.

Sarah’s red-tipped orange boots stamped the ground with an audible thud every other word while her pale cheeks turned to the color of her hair.

“New Dwarden isn’t known for being spacious.” Retorted Pistol, cleaning and shining a handful of rather smaller glasses, no bigger than to hold a couple of gulps.

“Neither will Whiskey if you let her hold one even more person in this car.” Sarah retaliated with surprising speed.

“Grissm’ will be here. The kitchen’s curtain will open soon. I’m certain”. Assured Pistol with a smile.

“I know. I just wish Grissm’ wouldn’t act like such a ghost. That curtain opens whenever he feels like it.” Sighed Sarah.

Sarah leaned into Pistol’s ear with darting eyes. Pistol instinctively leaned his head in return and listened to Sarah’s sharpened whispers.

“It’s just…, I can’t even tell if he’s on this train right now or not. You know! He just kinda disappears! Those meats are probably just being portaled here or something. He’s not the kind of spirit you can just call when you need help. How do you even know he’s in this world? Do you have a whistle or something for him?Ho-” Worried Sarah.

“Slow down. Too many questions on things you and I can’t possibly understand. Give him time. We’ll see his curtain open up soon.” Replied Pistol sternly.

“How much?” Wondered Sarah with an immediate frown.

“How much time did I give you?” Mocked Pistol.

Sarah took a deep breath and cracked a cheeky smile toward Pistol. She took a moment to sit next to Nick and pat her overalls of any bits of food.

“This is an unusual crowd for us. I’m certain Grissm’ is just performing some extra prep work in storage and maybe even creating a new plate. Sooner or later these people will be scooting to their booths one-by-one after whatever he serves them.” Insisted Pistol with a reluctant grin.

“You mean I serve them? I pick em’ up from behind that curtain.” Sighed Sarah yet again.

“You know you can admit when you need some help, Sarah. 24 years young and one can still fall victim to being tired.” Suggested Pistol, reaching his arm onto Sarah’s shoulder.

“And miss all this attention. I don’t know. This is enough to at least last me the year.”Mumbled Sarah cheekily.

As if recharged, Sarah stood just below Pistol’s hunkered chin. Her bright orange eyes glimmered under the large oil lamp that hung just above the center of the bar. Her eyes always seemed to meet the smoking white tip of Pistol’s long scraggly beard. Still, Sarah was tall enough to stare daggers upwards into Pistol’s dark sunken brown eyes when the situation arose. Her slender figure and loose-fitting uniform had proven not to hinder her ability to strike down anybody who dared tread down a deviant path as some passengers -according to a very vocalized “hit list”- in the past have noted.

“Speaking of attention; Do you always carry that creature in your front pocket when you work?” Asked Pistol gazing at a large moving lump in the front pocket of her overalls.

Sarah chuckled nervously and walked towards the seemingly endless barking orders with even more trays of drink than before. She only glanced back to snicker at Pistol’s signature scowl of disapproval.

“You’ve got a lot of faith in that cook of yours Pistol.” Admitted Nick.

“As much as you do the Yardrats.” Added Pistol.

“She’s about half your age. Is that what you're into lately?” Pestered Nick.

“Careful, I’ve got your tab in my hands right now. That ray of sunshine is too good for anybody on this train.” Retaliated Pistol just as quick.

Between the many pockets of -admittedly one-sided- laughter, Nick had noticed the many scars on Pistol’s face- something of commonality among miners. However, his scars appeared more numerous than in his times in the mines. Nick didn’t think too much of it and chalked it up to a memory issue. He simply peered into his reflection on an empty glass nearby, rubbing his finger over the left side of his face and reflecting on an old zig-zag wound peeking just under his jaw.