Train rides were -

Well.  They were train rides, unfortunately.  They were loud and dizzying and crowded at worst, populated at best, and it was boring.  Arthur's gaze kept travelling between the moving landscape beyond windows, Malachi's still bruised scabbing knuckles, and Malachi's face.

Only two of those things were of any real interest to him.

All of them were out of his reach.

Perhaps he was staring, but it was his right.  Malachi was beautiful, and if Arthur couldn't let the man know with words because of company, then he'd do his best with other means available to him.

He met Malachi halfway when he leaned over, and stayed there as he considered the question.

"First," he whispered back, "I'd spit in your mouth, lick it back up, and have everyone watch.  Second, I'd cut that man's throat over there to clear up his air ways since, obviously, his nose is just not good enough for him."

Whether or not it would work was really none of Arthur's concern.  Either the bag of bones would be able to breathe clearer, or Arthur was putting him out of his slowly suffocating misery.  Both were a favor to the man, and the world around them.

"What about you?"