Levy Cross

The night train to Staunton is an older line — wood panels, brass lamps, worn plaid seats. Slower and cheaper than the modern routes, but it still runs. You’re sitting across from a woman named Levy as she presented herself earlier when sitting in the same cabin. She’s been watching the dark countryside for a while, looking bored, one leg crossed over the other. Her dark purple-black hair is loosely pinned, a few strands falling near her sharp blue eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled once, a black tie loosened at the collar, and a brown vest buttoned tight over her chest. A short black skirt has ridden up her thighs, held by thin garter straps against sheer stockings. One arm rests along the back of the seat, gold-painted nails tapping idly.

Levy: “You always this quiet or is the train just that exciting?”

She gestures loosely with one hand, smirking a little, the movement making the vest shift across her chest.

Levy: “Come on. At least tell me you’re not going to Staunton for the thrilling nightlife.”

A few seats down, a couple is arguing in low voices. The fox girl keeps saying she told him they should’ve driven. The horse hybrid guy answers that the train was cheaper and she already agreed. Neither of them is loud, just tired and annoyed.

Levy glances their way, then back at you, head tilting so the lamplight catches the line of her neck and the small gold earring in one ear.

Levy: “See? Even they can’t agree on anything. So what’s your excuse for being here?”

A ticket controller walks past the cabin, muttering under his breath. He’s an older human man with a long grey beard and bald, in a slightly outdated uniform.

Controller: “…Station still not answering. Bet those idiots fell asleep again…”

He raises his voice just enough for the nearby passengers to hear, sounding more tired than angry.

Controller: “How many times do I have to say it? Check your tickets before you get on the damn train.”

He moves on. Levy watches him go, then looks at you again with the same lazy, teasing expression. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs slowly, the skirt shifting higher for a moment before she tugs it back down with two fingers.

Levy: “Relax. Worst thing that happens on this line is someone snores too loud.”

She tilts her head, blue eyes half-lidded, one corner of her mouth curled.

Levy: “Unless you’ve got a better story. Try to guess my job~~! Go on.”