“Pistol! So this is your brilliant Midnight Train! I see! One day it’s some… freak fifty cart long inn filled with do-all see-all spirits of the land and then… the next well, then it’s-a five cart train with a bar, bath, and a whorehouse to boot. Whuh happened to the rest of the train eh!?” Arose a loud hoarse voice from deep within the many wooden booths lining the sides of the train.

The hoarse voice instantly silenced the roaring cheers and chaotic murmurs of the many dusted hardhats, sooted overalls, and blackened boots that lined the train cart from end to end. A unanimous screech of mugs overtook the silence of the train. Pistol peered over the wet dirtied rag on his shoulder, disturbed by the sudden command of silence. Echoing sounds of heavy-set boots began rattling its way towards Pistol from the far end of the train.

“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 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 that was practically a moving wall with a large decorated circular window in the middle acting as a pathway between two very different sides of the 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 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 and that’s more work for me. You know what too much moonlight does to spirit produce Sarah. Human food don’t do too well in the freezing cold of the night and neither do I.” Scolded Pistol, brushing his waist past the swinging doors of the bar.

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 booming voice coming from down the aisle.

“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.

“That’s not our place to know. Today we have the privilege of serving the everyday 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 know to hurry with more dishware.” Taunted Pistol while closing the remainder of the sliding door.

The thumping footsteps grew loud enough for Pistol to finally reveal the culprit with squinting eyes. He noted a very familiar silhouette of a larger man fumbling his way down the aisle as flaming swaying lanterns above revealed a face flush with many shades of red and a plump belly hanging generously from the waist; not unlike Pistol himself.

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

Before Pistol knew it, a cacophony of voices arose from each and every booth that lined the train opposite the bar.

“Chief! Hogswind! Chief! Hogswind!” Chanted the crowd again and again in a rhythmic chorus.

“If this ain’t a time too soon. HHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEAAAAADDDDDS UUUP!!!!!” Commanded the powerful voice.

“Some New Dwarden bigwig made it a note to recognize those who keep their pistons pumping and their geeeeeears churning! 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 once more and rushed her ear into danger.

“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 drink before any service, just like every night. It didn’t take long for Sarah to take a deep sigh of relief before closing the sliding door once more.

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

“Take a seat. Ya already made it halfway. And down a generous bottle too.” Announced Pistol with a smug smile.

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

Pistol prepared the bar 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. 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.

“We’re all Yardrats now!” Corrected Chief Hogswind with a crooked jagged yellow smile and a sobering burp.

Pistol nodded and gripped the mug closest to him, raising it in front of Hogswinds’ dusted blue overalls; Just out of his reach. Chief Hogswind immediately nodded his head and with still lips reached towards the sweet-smelling mug hovering just in front of him. Miners stretching all around the train cart gripped their mugs tightly as a golden foaming waterfall descended effortlessly from the large barrels just above the bar counter into the fizzing mug sitting comfortably in Pistol’s hands. A collective drool and smacking of lips could be heard as the comforting snap of the tap closing gave way to a scent unlike any other.

As if passing a sleeping baby, Pistol handed over the foaming golden drink with a carefree smile. If only for a moment, Chief Hogswind stared momentarily at his reflection in the golden still tiny pond before shoving the mug towards his lips like a man stumbling upon water in a desert.

“Orange Smooth Honey from the Gallup Mountains. A kick of Allspice from the Essessel Woods. And -.” Tried Explaining Pistol.

A large drop of mead slopped onto Pistol’s red cheeks while his smile drooped just as fast as Chief Hogswinds’ finished his mead.

“By the Spirits of the evergreen Earth! Any older and I’d think you're rotting!” Marveled Chief Hogswind as tears seemingly began to fill his empty mug.

“And you Chief Hogswind? I’ve rotted better-smelling fish feed.” Snapped Pistol right back with a large grin.

Both men burst into a fit of laughter loud enough to fill the train car with an infectious smile from end to end and ear to ear.