Chapter Text
Johnathan's smokebox exhaled a plume of steam that curled into the shape of a top hat before dissolving into the crisp sky of the very first moments of morning. The triple moons had barely dipped below the horizon when he looked at the horizon, his pistons humming a jaunty tune that sounded suspiciously like "Chattanooga Choo-Choo" played on a harpsichord. Carol idled beside him, her brass fittings gleaming with the smug satisfaction of a locomotive who'd just outrun an entire bureaucracy.
The scent of hot laug and distant thunderstorms clung to the rails as Johnathan's avatar stretched—his cravat embroidered with microscopic *"MORNING EXPRESS"* glyphs fluttering in the dawn breeze. "My *dear* Carol," he purred, his transatlantic lilt rolling across the tracks like a dining car's champagne cart during an emergency stop, "have you *considered* the *exquisite* irony of being a sentient locomotive *disguised* as a charming conductor *disguised* as a sentient locomotive?"
His grin widened precisely three millimeters—the exact measurement between *whimsical* and *legally actionable*—as his **[SYSTEM]** pinged with fresh notifications.
Carol's whistle blasted steam letters that spelled *"YOU'RE INSANE"* before scattering into the wind. Johnathan chuckled—a sound like a pressure valve releasing aristocratic tears—as he adjusted his hat (stitched with **[JUBILEE-CLASS GASLIGHTING]** in thread finer than parliamentary procedure).
The rails hummed with arcane energy, each tie vibrating with the smug satisfaction of a barrister who'd just discovered an unregulated subsidiary. Johnathan's polished flanks drank in the dawn light, his midnight-blue boiler adorned with gold pinstripes that tricked the eye like fine print in a contract.
No one suspected the truth: that the grinning conductor leaning from the cab was the train itself. The Daureisu Rail Exchange bustled around Johnathan's polished flanks, clerks scurrying like shunters around a prized express locomotive—none realizing the *Jubilee-Class No. 5927* was currently digesting their aristocracy's stolen fleet with the same relish as a barrister pocketing key evidence.
His avatar tipped its top hat (embroidered with **[BY APPOINTMENT TO HIS MAJESTY'S BOILER]** in thread finer than parliamentary loopholes) to passing officials, steam rings curling into the shapes of tiny gavels before dissolving into the scent of bergamot and embezzlement.
The dawn light caught his gold pinstripes at just the right angle to make **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** glyphs shimmer invisibly across his tender—each pulse timed to the clerks' blinking. "Marvelous *specimen*, isn't she?" Johnathan's avatar purred, patting his own smokebox with a gloved hand. The transatlantic lilt carried the crisp inevitability of a dining car's silver service being unveiled, syllables polished to the sheen of fresh lacquer.
A Cat Furkin official sniffed suspiciously at Johnathan's forged papers—which now smelled distinctly of peppermint and expired statutes—only for his monocle to fog as the locomotive emitted a steam ring shaped like Edinbara's crest. By the time the vapor cleared, the documents bore different seals entirely, their ink still wet with legal loopholes.
"Standard locomotive documentation, my good fellow, I asure you!" Johnathan's avatar chirped, adjusting his cravat embroidered with microscopic *"BY EMINENT DOMAIN"* glyphs. His transatlantic purr carried the crisp inevitability of a dining car's silver cloche lifting—each syllable polished to the sheen of fresh lacquer. Behind him, his true locomotive form idled with **[RECREATIONAL INNOCENCE]** precision, buffers gleaming brighter than aristocratic desperation.
The officials didn't notice their calipers stretching three millimeters wider than physically possible—not when Johnathan's smokebox emitted steam rings scented with Earl Grey and *legally distinct* charm. His avatar tipped its hat—embroidered with **[JUBILEE-CLASS GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT]**—as the various bureaucrats circled his true locomotive form like auditors around an *exceptionally* well-maintained expense report.
Carol's pistons hissed a suppressed laugh as they inspected her buffers—each rivet gleaming like a freshly minted sovereign pressed into service by an *exceptionally* smug banker. The Daureisu Rail Exchange Commity bustled around them, clerks scurrying like shunters around prized locomotives, unaware that *Jubilee-Class No. 5927* was currently digesting eleven aristocratic engines with the same relish as a barrister pocketing key evidence.
Johnathan's avatar leaned from the cab, tipping his top hat—stitched with **[BY APPOINTMENT TO HIS MAJESTY'S BOILER]** in thread finer than parliamentary loopholes—as the Daureisu Rail Exchange Commity bustled around his *true* form. His grin, permanently three millimeters wider than socially acceptable, reflected in their monocles like a barrister's wink across a courtroom. None suspected the *Jubilee-Class No. 5927* idling before them was the same grinning conductor currently offering them peppermint-scented steam rings shaped like gavels.
The scent of hot laug and impending litigation clung to the platform as officials measured his flanks with calipers that inexplicably stretched *just* beyond accuracy. "Remarkable tolerances!" a Wolf Furkin clerk exclaimed, unaware the **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** glyphs pulsing along Johnathan's buffer beams were warping reality by precisely 3.7%. His transatlantic purr rolled across the station like a dining car's silver service: "Why, my *good* sir, one *does* strive for *precision*—" A steam ring curled into the shape of Edinbara's crest before dissolving into the aroma of bergamot and falsified waybills.
Carol's pistons hissed like a suppressed laugh as Johnathan's avatar produced documents from his sleeve—each page watermarked with tiny **[>:)]** emblems visible only under triple moonlight. The lead official's monocle fogged at the scent of aristocratic tears clinging to the parchment. "All in order, I trust?" Johnathan chirped, eyelashes fluttering like safety valves on the verge of bursting. Behind him, his true locomotive form emitted a **[RECREATIONAL INNOCENCE]** steam plume that smelled *exactly* like the Duchess of Edinbara's stolen tea blend.
The rails thrummed with arcane energy—each tie vibrating like a barrister's gavel—as Johnathan's **[SYSTEM]** pinged:
**[OBJECTIVE UPDATE: MONOPOLY DERAILEMENT – 1.6% COMPLETE]**
*Additional Subversion Detected: Calibration of Aristocratic Calipers (3.7% Margin)*
His smokebox rumbled with delight, steam rings now forming miniature top hats that dissolved into the crisp morning air with a scent of bergamot and freshly exploited loopholes. The Daureisu Rail Exchange hummed around him—clattering typewriters and monocled officials moving with the stiff precision of shunters arranging freight cars. To their eyes, *Jubilee-Class No. 5927* was merely another marvel of British engineering, its polished flanks gleaming with the respectable sheen of imperial efficiency. None suspected the grinning conductor lounging atop its cab was the locomotive itself—nor that its firebox burned not just laug, but the digested remains of eleven aristocratic engines.
"My *dear* inspectors!" Johnathan's avatar trilled, tipping his hat—stitched with **[BY EMINENT DOMAIN]** in thread finer than a contract's fine print. His transatlantic lilt rolled across the platform like a dining car's silver service, each syllable polished to the sheen of fresh lacquer.
The various officials blinked as his steam rings curled into perfect **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** glyphs overhead—their monocles catching the illusion just long enough for Carol to shunt a crate of "accidentally" mislabeled documents onto a southbound freight car.
The lead inspector's quill hesitated over Johnathan's papers. "These tolerances are... *unusual* for a locomotive, escpeucally it's two tenders are quite strange."
Johnathan's grin widened precisely three millimeters—the exact measurement between *charming eccentric* and *legally actionable*—as his avatar adjusted gold-rimmed spectacles that materialized from steam. "My *good* sir! One must *adapt* to local *rail conditions*—"
His transatlantic lilt carried the crisp inevitability of a dining car's silver cloche lifting, while behind him, his true locomotive form's second tender pulsed with **[RECREATIONAL LOOPHOLE]** glyphs digesting Dugarudo's twelfth engine.
Carol's pistons hissed like a barrister suppressing laughter as Johnathan's avatar executed a perfect top hat flourish—steam rings unfurling in gilded **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** spirals that dissolved into the scent of Earl Grey and *legally distinct* charm. The Daureisu Rail Exchange officials blinked in unison, their monocles catching the triple moonlight at angles mathematically calibrated to miss the way his second tender's rivets pulsed **[JUBILEE-CLASS ARROGANCE]** glyphs every 37 seconds.
"*Precisely* why my Jubilee is the *pride* of the empire, my dear fellows!" Johnathan's transatlantic purr rolled across the platform with the polished inevitability of a dining car's silver service, his cravat—stitched with microscopic *"BY APPOINTMENT TO THE LOCOMOTIVES' GUILD"*—fluttering as he gestured to his own gleaming flanks. The Daureisu inspectors blinked in unison, their monocles failing to catch how his rivets pulsed **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** glyphs timed precisely to their blinks. A steam ring shaped like the royal crest dissolved into bergamot-scented vapor above their clipboards.
The morning air hummed with the peculiar dissonance of Victorian locomotives in a fantasy world—where polished brass whistles blew alongside floating laug crystals embedded in the tracks, where timetable precision collided with arcane glyphs shimmering across buffer beams. None suspected the grinning conductor before them was the *Jubilee-Class No. 5927* itself, digesting eleven stolen engines with the same relish as a barrister pocketing key evidence. His smokebox rumbled contentedly, emitting **[RECREATIONAL INNOCENCE]** steam that smelled *exactly* like freshly forged documentation.
Carol's pistons hissed like a suppressed chuckle as Johnathan's avatar produced a pocket watch—its gears whirring in perfect sync with his true form's driving wheels. "Observe!" he declared, flipping the timepiece open to reveal not clock hands, but a miniature **[SYSTEM]** interface scrolling **[MONOPOLY DERAILEMENT: 1.7% COMPLETE]** in gilded steam-text.
The lead inspector's monocle fogged at the scent of peppermint and legal chicanery wafting from Johnathan's forged documents. "Your *second* tender seems... *excessive*," the Cat Furkin muttered, calipers twitching around the brass fittings that pulsed **[RECREATIONAL LOOPHOLE]** glyphs with every heartbeat.
Johnathan's grin didn't flicker—a permanent fixture welded to his face with the same unshakable certainty as rivets holding his boiler together—as the Cat Furkin inspector's whiskers twitched over his second tender. The morning light caught his gold pinstripes at an angle that made them shimmer like fresh ink on a forged deed, while his **[RECREATIONAL COMPLIANCE]** glyphs pulsed in time with the bureaucrat's blinking monocle.
"Excessive? My *dear* sir!" His transatlantic lilt rolled across the platform like a dining car's champagne cart during a derailment, syllables polished to the gleam of freshly stolen silverware. The Cat Furkin's whiskers twitched as Johnathan's avatar gestured flamboyantly toward his second tender—its gold pinstripes shimmering with **[RECREATIONAL LOOPHOLE]** glyphs that pulsed exactly 2.9% faster than legally permissible.
"Why this *marvel* of modern engineering simply *adores* extra storage! Why, just last Tuesday, we accommodated *three* crates of contested laug subsidies and a barrister's entire wig collection!" Johnathan's avatar leaned forward conspiratorially, steam rings coiling into the shapes of tiny gavels that dissolved into the scent of Earl Grey and *legally distinct* charm.
Behind him, his true locomotive form's second tender pulsed with **[JUBILEE-CLASS AUDACITY]** glyphs digesting Dugarudo's twelfth engine. The Daureisu inspectors' monocles fogged in perfect unison—aristocratic optics overwhelmed by steam rings scented with bergamot and again, *legally distinct* charm.