Page 65 of Stealing Tink

Their job is to make their way to the train engine, overpower the conductor, and pull the brakes, causing the trains to cross the overpass at the same time and allowing the Nomad and the faerie enough time to jump from the passenger train to the freight train below.

Acel was assigned to this task due to his skill in bashing in skulls discreetly. Lars does not like Acel, but even Lars can admit, this is a skill he personally does not possess, nor does he care to acquire it. Lars had not been keen to be paired off with the bodyguard (Lars finds bodyguards, as a general rule, to be mindless and easily offended when corrected, which they often need to be).

But the Nomad had promised Lars that he could be the one to pull the train’s brakes.

Lars is not typically a man to be bought, but the Nomad has a predilection for knowing his asking price.

Even Lars has to admit, when the door to the railcar bursts open and in spills a host of guards wearing the Company insignia, it is a good thing Acel is here.

Lars perches on his tiptoes and steps to the side. He has no skills of use in this situation, and even if he did, it is not his assigned role, and Lars does not value altruism.

He watches as Acel does his various bashing, slamming, and choking. He expects to be bored, but his recent scuffle with Acel in the breakfast car has him feeling self-conscious. If anyone was watching carefully, they would see that Lars was letting Acel carry that part of the scene. He does not consider Acel to be a talented actor, and the fact that Acel is better than him with respect to any aspect of performance is humiliating.

So he studies Acel. Even Lars has to admit there is a lithe grace about Acel’s movements that makes even the bashing pleasant to watch. Almost as if it were choreographed.

He regrets that he brought nothing with which to take notes. He should have swiped the faerie’s notepad when she wasn’t looking. It’s not as if it will serve her much use when she and the Nomad are soaring through the air from train to train.

Once the Company guards have been thoroughly dispatched, Acel glares up at Lars, heaving. “Thanks for the help.”

“I would have gotten in your way,” says Lars.

Acel does not disagree. How could he? Lars is not wrong.

Lars hops down from the crate upon which he has been perched, cross-legged, and follows Acel into the next railcar. No sooner have they stepped into the car than they hear voices on the other side of the door.

Before Lars can protest, Acel shoves him into a crate.

It is cramped inside the crate, and it smells faintly of body odor. Lars finds this curious, but in a way he does not wish to explore further.

Acel must have found his own crate, because the guards carry on their conversation as if there are not two train bandits aboard.

“Always thought these insignias were too feminine,” says a guard with a voice Lars finds grating. “Don’t love going around with a butterfly on my chest.”

Lars cannot help himself. Nor should he. “Actually, the insignia is of a set of faerie wings, which are more similar in composition to dragonfly wings, even if the shape is more akin to a butterfly’s. If we’re being technical, that is.” Which Lars is.

Footsteps halt. A moment later, and Lars is being pulled out of the crate by his collar.

The Company guard’s breath is horrid. Lars tells him as much. As a courtesy, really.

This earns Lars a kick to his nether regions.

Lars is not used to receiving kicks to his unmentionables. Punches to the jaw, sure. Slaps to the cheek, often.

Lars is not a fan.

He shrieks and, finding the sound of his own voice quite grating, sinks his teeth into the Company guard’s neck. This serves to both silence his own screams and incite the guard’s.

Apparently, the guard is not used to being bitten, because he releases his grip on Lars. Lars turns to stare at the nearest crate. Waits.

Acel appears, rolling his eyes, and punches the Company guard in the jaw. Lars thinks the guard has gotten off too easy, but he is too busy screaming, the shriek slinking up his throat at the pain in his groin, to say as much.

Acel turns to face the second guard.

By the time Lars and Acel make it to the engine, Acel is drenched in sweat.

Lars is not, which Acel seems to resent, judging by at least one embittered comment.

Lars thinks Acel should just be grateful. No one kicked him in the groin, after all.