Friday, November 1st, 1935: Liverpool Street station, London

The group of them had received telegrams at their place of work, telling them to meet at the entrance to Platforms 16 & 17. Mrs. Taylor would have their third-class tickets ready for them.

The location was easy enough to find.

One of the major London stations owned by the London and North Eastern Railway, Liverpool Street was split into three sections separated by walls and an access road in one case.

Platforms 11 to 18 were home to the services for trains to Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk. It was 4pm and various trains of teak panelled carriages were being prepared for the evening rush hour, shunting locomotives billowing steam into the soot-tinged ceiling as they brought carriages down from the sidings.

The concourse wasn’t yet heaving with people – while some of the stockbrokers and other workers in the City would soon be heading for their trains out to the towns surrounding London, they hadn’t arrived yet.

A boy of 15 was standing, selling newspapers and yelling the headlines that were handily written on a board next to him.

"Evening Standard! Get your Evening Standards! Anti-British riots in Rome! Read all about it!"

There was a slight chill in the air – it was early November and wind was coming from a different direction than normal. Outside the station, rain clouds were beginning to form.

Taylor herself was standing at the entrance next to the boards that were updated to show the destination and time of the next trains. The metal gates were currently closed, a member of railway staff waiting for the signal to open them and admit passengers onto the platform for the 4.12pm to Romford, calling at Stratford, Ilford, Seven Kings, Goodmayes and Chadwell Heath for Becontree.

She was dressed in a black pin-striped suit with trousers underneath a blue double-breasted trench coat, her short black hair under a fedora of the later colour complete with black band. She had a red handbag in one hand and a cotton shopping bag in the other.

She didn’t say anything, just waited for the others to join her.

Andrei is dressed in a suit, but missing a tie which he finds too constricting.  He moves easily through the crowd despite the fact that many of them don't look down to notice him.  His height has always given him an advantage in stealth, although he wishes that someone would just move out of his damn way once in a while.

His black hair is combed well and slicked back in a style he'd gotten used to from the circus.  He's clean shaven as well, but his face has a dour look that speaks of too many performances of having to smile and grin whether he felt like it or not.

He steps out of the crowd in front of Georgia, bowing slightly.

"Mrs. Taylor," he says formally, "it is a pleasure to see you again."

Daniel stepped onto the platform and took a paper from the boy, handing him the money for it, along with a tip. He tucked the paper under his arm and headed up the platform. He pulled his coat around him at the feel of the chill air and frowned. The frown changed to a smile when he spotted Georgia waiting at the platform. Her companion looked familiar but Daniel couldn't quite place him.

"Hey, Mrs Taylor", he began. His voice was a weird mix of Welsh and Cockney. "Long time, no see. How are you?"

A young woman walked determinedly onto the platform, her coat buttoned against the November chill and a beret part covering her dark, bobbed hair. She was tall and willowy, and her clothes were plain yet well made and clearly expensive. Not normally someone seen travelling third class, but these days many people had to be frugal.

She noticed Georgia Taylor, together with some men she didn't recognise, and hurried over.

"It's good to see you again. I hope this proves as interesting as the last time."

She seemed calm, but her smile and her eyes betrayed her excitement. Then she remembered she hadn't introduced herself.

"Sorry," she said to the two men, "Charlotte Silk."

She held out a kid-gloved hand.

Dixon trots along toward the gates, his overcoat flapping and his tie flying back over his shoulder, tangled with his scarf. He sneers audibly at the Evening Standard boy hawking his fish-wrap broadsheet. In his right hand he carries a well-scuffed and bulging leather valise, the other occupied with a sausage roll that drips mustard over his fingers. Spotting Georgia, he pulls up at her and her group, panting and wheezing.

"Ah... Miss Taylor... is this.. our merry band... then?"

He sets his valise at his feet, takes a voracious bite of his sandwich, wipes his hand on his overcoat and extends it to Andrei, speaking around a mouthful of bread and mustard and sausage, "Saw you with Circus Gleich at Brighton a few seasons ago, Herr Ionescu. George Dixon, but they call me Dicksy, Daily Mirror.

"And this young woman, unless I miss my guess, is Miss Charlotte Silk," he says, swallowing, "I've admired your mother since before you were born--from afar, of course."

"And you--" he stops and peers quizzically into Daniel's face, extending his hand to the younger man, "I don't know you at all. Dixon's my name, reporting is my game, what?" He grins and tries to dislodge a bit of sausage from his canine tooth at the same time.

"So, what's the ruckus, Georgia old darling?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:48, Tue 02 Apr 2019.

Georgia reached into her handbag and hand each of them a small cardboard ticket for a single Third Class railway journey to Romford, stamped for that day's date.

"I'll tell you on the train? Don't want anyone overhearing out here. Just going to tell you that it involves overseas travel."

The gate to the train on Platform 16 was opened.

"Follow me, please."

The train sitting on the platform, once you walked past the tank engine that had pulled the carriages in from the sidings, was ten carriages long. Once you walked past the guard's van and the First Class section (there was no Second Class), most of the train was made up of Third Class Compartments, consisting of two red-upholstered benches each sitting five people, eight per carriage.

There was no ability to move between compartments unless you got out of the train.

"We'll be in the first carriage from the engine", Georgia said as they walked along, past someone who was loading newspapers into the guard's van, "Andrei, if you see someone try to get in that I don't want in, you have my permission to snarl at them."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:34, Wed 03 Apr 2019.

Andrei takes Charlotte's hand, bowing slightly and introducing himself.

Andrei smiles at Dixon's comment about the Circus, clearly enjoying being recognized.



Andrei nods and positions himself just inside the entrance to the car, but where he can hear and participate in the general conversation.

"I can snarl most convincingly, if needed," he agrees.

Dixon glances back at the First Class carriages as they approach third.

"But, ah, wouldn't our conversation be just as secure in First Class? And much more comfortable?"

He settles himself on the red-upholstered bench, his valise beside him. His sausage roll has disappeared by now and he pulls a handkerchief from his overcoat pocket, opening it to reveal a somewhat battered scone oozing clotted cream. He takes a bite.

Daniel took Charlotte's hand and gave it a firm but gentle shake. He met the excitement in her eyes with a fiendly style and an inquisitive but lively look. "I'm Daniel, he began. "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms Silk. Are you a close friend of Georgia's?"

He turned to Andrei "I've seen you sonewhere before, haven't I?", he asked as he shook the man's hand.

When the other gentleman arrived and mentioned Andrei's name Daniel's face showed an 'aha' moment. He was mildly taken aback when the guy waved a finger at him, but introduced himself with a smile and a hanshake all the same.

Daniel was used to travelling in third so when Georgia handed out tickets he made ni fuss. He took a seat on the train next to Charlotte. It was uncertain weather his choice of seating was by accident or on purpose.

As they were about to board, a voice boomed out behind them with a strong Scottish accent:

"Hold that train! You weren't thinking of going without me, were you, Georgia?"

A large, broad-shouldered man strode along the platform, a wide, toothy grin on his face.

Andrei pulls himself up to his full four foot height as Jock approaches the train car, preparing to repel this boarder.  At the mention of Georgia's name, Andrei looks over to her.

"Is he one of us?" he asks, not moving out of the way just yet.