[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...