Tristan was out of breath and his side was hurting, but he continued running. His suitcase kept slamming into his leg every few steps, and now and again, a corner dug into his flesh, causing a sharp pain. And still he kept running. He had to catch that last train! 

He had arranged to spend the night at an old friend's place. He had not seen Tobias for ages, and being able to make that detour had been half the reason he had agreed to make the trip all the way to Whitby to interview some ruffian, who had clearly not been worth the time. After seeing the criminal, he had gone to do some shopping, eat a meal, and pick up his suitcase. There had been plenty of time before his train would depart. Alas, he had gone to the wrong station, and when he had realized that, and had headed to the main station, he had gotten lost, and now he was late. 

It was already dark as he ran along the largely deserted docks, the station coming into view ahead of him. The front of the building was lighted, and there was light coming from within. But the sight hardly comforted him, for he could see on the large clock on the front, that he only had a minute left.

He did not know where he managed to find the energy or oxygen, but he managed one last sprint, through the large open doors, through the station hall, and...

The suitcase bumped into his leg again with such force that the fasteners sprang open, and papers, clothes, and smaller personal items such as a flattened leather briefcase, a railway paperback version of A Study in Scarlet, two parcels wrapped in brown paper, and some money, scattered across the floor. Tristan cursed, stopped running, and stared at the mess. There was a high whistle coming from the platform and the noise of a steamtrain being set in motion. He wasn't going to cry.

[CW: Racism]

Spending week, months on end with the same crew, the same faces, Vigdis found that she loved busy places. When on land, she loved the harbour, the fair, and the rail station. Trains in themselves were fascinating. If she could read, she would devour as much information on them as she could. Instead, she’d find herself wandering the station, watching the people. The people that used the trains were different than those that traveled by ship. The hellos and goodbyes were different. Shorter as it was easier to come back to or leave from again. More people traveled alone than in groups. They dressed differently as well. More like they would in everyday matters. Unlike when people went sailing on a voyage. Vigga found she could learn more about human nature and its proclivities by sitting and watching at the rail station.

Not only that. There were other reasons Vigga liked the rail station. She watched the scene unfold right in front of her big doe eyes. A dark skinned man was running as fast as he could to the train. Having been sitting on a bench, chewing on some bread, Vigga smirked. He was so close to making it. She watched as his suitcase bounced off his leg here and there. Those things weren’t meant to take that kind of beating. Even brand new, unless you strapped a belt or two around them, they were bound to burst. Which was what she was hoping for most. As soon as the case popped open and it’s contents burst outward, Vigga was on her feet. Her long dark coat trailed after her as she swiftly moved toward Tristan.

“Blimey, let me help,” Vigga didn’t bother trying to use a proper English accent. She didn’t quite look the part today. Dark, wide brimmed hat went with the coat. She wore a woman’s blouse of the simplest cut and trousers that were a tad too baggy for her. The scuffed boots could have fit a large boy or a small man. They worked well enough for her. While she didn’t look like a vagabond, she certainly didn’t look like gentry.

These scenarios were one of her favorites. She could play that she was helping and starting pick up odd items here and there to put back in the case for Tristan. The key was distraction though. The man was already frantic, out of breath, from his sprint. That tended to make people less keen on their surroundings and miss the small details. Vigga picked up the book, A Study in Scarlet, and held it up to him.

“Are ye readin’ this?” Her dark eyes were on him. “Ye can read?” She found herself envious. She had no idea what the letters meant when put together like they were on the cover. “What book is this?”

While she pulled his attention to the book, she slipped a pound or two up her sleeve...

Tristan just stared at his items, until he heard a woman's voice and saw a man - no a woman - picking up his things. It took a moment before he crouched down and started picking things up as well. His heart was still racing, he was out of breath, and though he was not a terribly emotional man, he was near tears. Was it still worth the time to drop by quickly tomorrow? He had been looking forward so much to spending the night at Tobias' and catching up with his old friend.

It was so upsetting that he hardly heard the woman's question, and didn't pay attention to her thieving. That was unlike Tristan. He passed trough big cities often enough to know what a thieves den stations were. He would not trust anyone here to handle his things. Normally.

"What?" he asked, confused even further by the question. He frowned and looked at the book. "Oh... yeah, I do... It's a detective," he said passively. "Err... I'm sorry." He shook his head trying to come back to his senses. "Thank you, miss." He looked at her. She didn't exactly look like a lady. His eyes flashed back down to the floor and the scattered money and he began to pick it up, counting mentally.

“A detective,” Vigga parroted. The book in her hand didn’t get much further than that. In fact, she stared at it’s cover while her other hand haphazardly helped place more of his belongings in his trunk. She wasn’t really looking at where she was aiming. It wasn’t too much longer before she stopped helping altogether and sat down with her legs crossed and opened the book on her lap.

These papers with the ink and the words fascinated Vigdis. Being raised by pirates, she didn’t exactly have the greatest education. Swimming, climbing, lock picking, sword fighting… sure. Reading and writing… nope. Those hadn’t been on the lesson plan for her. “There ain’t any pictures.” Hands that were used to hard labor ran over the pages as if she were trying to absorb the words on the pages. “What does the detective do?”

Big dark eyes looked up at Tristan with an almost child-like curiosity and a soft smile on her lips. Sitting on the platform, with the exploded suitcase strewn about, was definitely not the place or time to be asking questions about books. Vigdis didn’t seem to care. The item she tried to distract him with ended up distracting her from what she originally set out to do.

Tristan was gathering his coins, counting mentally. He hadn't been sure how much small change he had carried exactly, but he certainly realized that a full two pounds were missing. He knew he should have brought his change to the post office. Had this woman just stolen from him?! He looked up at the woman he suspected to be a thief, only to find her skimming through the book as if it was the first time she ever saw one. "Well, no. It's not a children's book..." he said awkwardly. This whole situation was still confusing and disorienting to him.

He was sweating, despite the cold, and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forehead. He ignored her other question, and instead rummaged through his things in his suitcase, but the coins did not seem to be there. "Can I have my things back, please..." he said, looking back up at her with a frown. He left it to her interpretation whether that meant the book or the book and the money.

“Not all books with pictures are for children,” Vigga replied to his comment nonchalantly. She recalled sneaking into the Captain’s quarters and raiding his library. There were medical books in there with pictures, among other things. “Is this about a real life detective? Is that why there are no pictures?”

Being ignored wasn’t new to Vigdis. In a way, she counted on it. Meant they were focused on something else. She could chatter on and on and they’d learn to ignore her presence entirely. When he asked for his things back, her head tilted to the side, much like a perplexed puppy. “Is a book considered things? Because of all the pages? Like pants aren’t pant. What is a pant?” Closing the book, she stood up and looked at it almost mournfully. She was awfully curious about its contents but this man didn’t seem to care to offer up any more details. The people here in Whitby weren’t very nice.

Offering the book to him, she casually slipped her other hand in her jacket pocket. The sound of metal jangled, the metallic contents of her pocket being joined by two more coins… or simply by her rustling them, fidgeting.

"Wh-what?" said Tristan, utterly at a loss as to what was going on now. Her words made no sense to him. The questions were like questions that maybe a four year old would ask. He had just come from evaluating a criminal who, though not insane, certainly had issues. Had he just run into another one?

He took the book. "Yes, it means the book. And the money." He could hear the coins in her pocket, though he could not prove they were his of course.

Of course Vigdis had issues. Being raised by pirates tended to lend some. And a slew more were about to come when she realized she’d been maroon by the same people that raised her. Until then, she lived in blissful ignorance. The majority of people Vigga interacted with were of similar minds. In fact, she was just thinking that the people of this town were abysmally boring. No one wanted to play games or answer questions. She had so many questions.

The look of child like innocence fell from her face when he demanded the money. “Money?” she asked in reply. Deft fingers sought a specific coin in her pocket. It’s size, weight, and feel was different from all the others. She could take his comment one of two ways. Either he was accusing her of stealing money or he was one doing the stealing. “Why would ye want me money?” Dark eyes narrowing, she took a slow and careful step backwards. Her free hand moved up, palm out, asking him to wait or stop. “Ye have loads more than meself. No need to steal mine.”

Tristan rose, sighed, and tossed the book down into his opened suitcase. Did he really have to deal with this now? But yes, he did. If it had been a few pennies, he would have let it go easily. He was tired and frustrated enough. But he wasn't going to be robbed of two full pounds. "Come now," he said, in the friendliest tone he could manage given the circumstances. "I counted the money, and there's two pound missing. You don't want the police involved, do you?" He had spent enough time in big cities to know that was often an efficient way to make a homeless person give you your stuff back.

"Ye are the oddest thief I ev' met," Vigdis laughed.  The sound was genuine, bubbly straight from her belly.  "A rather curious person, I must say and I've met some strange ones.  What's yer name?"  The threat of police didn't make her sweat at all.  Vigga literally spent her entire life running away from the police.  Granted, it would be easier if he didn't call them but either way, she wasn't worried about.  "If ye aren't a thief, ye shouldn't go 'round accusin' people who try to help ye.  Yer things sprung everywhere… why assume I took 'em when they prolly rolled off onto the tracks."  While lacking in proper education, and sometimes seeming a dullard with her endless questions, Vigdis could be rather clever.  "C'mon," she pulled her empty hand out of her pocket and motioned for him to follow.  "I bet we might find more than a couple pound down there."  She started to move toward them, her arm held out for him to join her.  "Monies aren't the best lost things to find on the tracks though.  It's the dropped photographs and the love letters, not that I can read those on me own yet."