The Whisky Sunday swayed gently back and forth alongside the chilling summer night winds of the expansive White Mouth desert. Specks of brilliant moonlit sand would sometimes ride gusts of wind and make their way onto the train’s sides giving the Whisky Sunday a brilliant sparkle in the night; “There is nothing like it. What this train does for the dark of the night. Nothin’.”, admired Pistol. Moonlight splashed the train generously as the hanging lanterns above dimmed until only a soft flame atop the bar was shining.

“Please. The reason you are here.” Asked Pistol, his eyes gleaming with sincerity.

“I did not arrive to rile you and your kind. At least not initially. You -as you put it- have been fated to be in this trap. A trap set up by the generous royals themselves. Four kids actually. Two of them…let’s say more dead than alive, one a little younger than yours and the other just shy of late adolescence.” Explained Surnan, tucking his wide smile into his plump wet lips.

“Dead?” Interrupted Pistol.

“Mostly. They are like betting tokens floating in a void. The outcome of our conversation and every second after that can very easily influence their fate.

“That’s-” Tried speaking Pistol.

“And before you start saying spewing some morale jargon, I do not make tokens. I balance value. Value is given by humans and spirits alike. Prices are generally made with the heart. Some humans would give up an arm for seconds more with a loved one.”

Pistol brushed his hands together, clearing himself of any residual dirt or grim from working behind the bar. He looked into Surnan’s blank black-eyed stare and began to feel his arms shaking, then a scowl grew until finally the copper mug he had been fiddling with wrinkled like a piece of paper.

“That’s how you got on this train!? You backed children in the corner unti-” Protested Pistol.

Pistol’s stool snapped from right under him leaving behind a warped wooden mess. Lanterns on the train flared into a fiery display while Pistol stood erect over his bar. Before even Pistol had noticed, he was already close enough to grab Surnan just around the collar of its raincoat before being stopped by a sudden crashing sound.

“Good I was getting tired of sitting.” Replied Surnan.

The stool under surnan suddenly collapsed as if it had been rotted by vegetation and water for years and the part of the bar he had been leaning on suddenly collapsed into wet rotted wood.

“Listen one time more Conductor. I am a conduit. A Drauger. As you do your job, I am bound to the tracks of mine. Value is not my determination. The children conceived the price to be appropriate for their three tickets to the Pistol Sunday. Not to mention, their escape from the center of their city.” Corrected Surnan, his pearly empty gaze traveling up and down Pistol.

“Where are they!? What is it they think I can do that’s worth the price of two lives and a promise to murder?” Grunted Pistol.

“Yes!!! This is it! You should ask them yourself! I have completed my end of the trade.” Added Surnan.

Rows of greenery and spouts of water began to sprout around the train cart as if it was truly transforming to become a bayou of Pistol’s own design. Just as a manipulating silence was settling in, Surnan’s raincoat burst open with enough force to blow Pistol onto the ground with a generous thud. Pistol looked up at Surnan immediately after falling back, grasping onto his forearm, ready to do whatever was necessary to Surnan before being caught off-guard by Surnan’s huge throat poach seemingly grown from nowhere. The poach was pulsating and even glowed a bit. Like a giant fleshy gumball, it expanded and contracted with violent accord.

“You consent? Are we at a deal!?” Croaked Surnan loudly.

“Yes! Give me the damn kids now!” Commanded Pistol, his voice somehow echoing around the train as if he had yelled in a cavern.

Pistol watched as the Whisky Sunday become increasingly enveloped in vines, tall grass, and water, as a glowing pool of ethereal water emerged from below Surnan. Surnan’s throat sac had swollen to such a degree that his head appeared to veer far behind him. Thick iridescent bubbles rose quickly from the pond below Surnan as once again his throat croaked inwards and grew larger in size with every croak.

“Just get out of my damn train…” Muttered Pistol, shaking himself upwards on one knee.

Pistol rose to one knee rather quickly before being pushed back down onto the ground by Surnan’s throat contractions again. Waves of glass and wood from around the entire train cart swirled from end to end. Pistol fixated his gaze onto Surnan the best he could, however, pockets of glass and shrapnels of wood made his eyes easy targets. He could feel his arms being and overalls being cut up by the debris in the air.

And then, as if a tornado had simply stopped spinning, everything fell to the ground with a loud splash of crashes and a rain of pounding thuds. Pistol opened his eyes to two reveal two bodies laying atop a patch of tall grass sitting comfortably in the center of the train aisle. Both of the individuals were cradled between the thick blades of dew-tipped grass and snoring loudly. Pistol jumped right back onto his feet, his heart ticking fiercely, looking for any sign of Surnan. To Pistol’s dismay, the only sign of Surnan’s presence was the mess he had left behind; “no water spouts, no greenery, just a damn mess, and two kids.” Grumbled Pistol.

Before Pistol could catch his breath, Nick slammed open the sliding door with Sarah peeking just below his armpit before slamming it just as hard behind him.

“Pistol we tried coming in! We couldn't! First, there was this freak vine covering the door, then another weird monster thing blocking it, and then the door was blocked by this huge wall of water and then-” Ranted Sarah hysterically, before being cut off by Nick.

“Whuh happened in here Pistol? To you? Did-” Tried asking Nick.

“Of brass and balls! Those two are royalty!?” Exclaimed Nick.