He was restless as he waited for the train to come to a complete stop and them all to be released from the self imposed imprisonment of a crowded train car of those who couldn't afford a private room in a car for the upper class. It felt like forever to him that he had to wait for the screeching of the locked wheels to cease and the hiss of steam that signaled the end of his journey from his family's home to Whitby.

And then the time came, and the man stepped out of the car among a crowd, his satchel over his shoulder by that point. He wove through the people teaming about the busy train station and moved to seat himself on a bench while he thought of which way to wander next. He would pull out a sandwich that he had packed, eating the cheese and bread without much ado.

While he sat there, he seemed to stare off, not really rushing to fill his stomach.

Why was he here? Why HERE?! It was crowded, loud, and filthy. He should have gone to the beach or take a hike. But he was supposed to meet people, right? He had dressed down in his nice but well worn clothing to look ... less rich? As his doctor had put it? He didn't think most of the people recognized him, so it was maybe working? He had been looking around, wondering if he should just get a cab home when he noticed someone who looked lost. He had a nice face. Perhaps he was a model? But Darius hadn't painted in a while. He felt this sorrow when he thought about putting paint to canvas and it tugged at his heart.

He wasn't meaning to stare, but had fallen deep in thought over the idea of asking. How awkward would it be to ask the man to his room to paint and then be unable to perform? He'd be furious with himself and it would make his situation worse. Before he realized it, he swore the man noticed. He immediately looked away to check his watch to see how long he'd been out. He certainly had walked long enough, as per doctor's orders.

Lysander did catch the man staring at him. He gave the side eye and did his best to keep himself quiet, then made a show of wrapping up the remainder of his food. His sandwich only had two or three bites, but how could he eat while being stared at? He then gazed fully upon the fellow, frowning for a moment. The stare, he finally noticed, was the same kind he would give when studying history. He put his food away, stood and shouldered his satchel. He may as well make use of the situation, he was a practical sort.

"Pardon me," he said, his voice still accented by his Greek. He was proud of his heritage so he never let the accent die. "I was hoping you could direct me toward the nearest and..." he thought, pausing to do mental math at how much money he had to spend, "Well, most respectable for being the least expensive sort of place, an Inn." He did not know that he was talking to someone from an affluent family, let alone an artist.

Darius was slightly startled when the man started to approach him. Was he mad at the staring? Did he know him? Or his family? Was he going to rob him? Maybe Darius should have rolled in the mud so he'd fit in better. He relaxed though when the man didn't bring out a weapon and simply asked him a question. There was an accent, it was too faint to pinpoint, not that he probably could anyway.

"Oh? Inn.. um.. sorry. I'm not sure what.. is... "He squinted a bit as he looked at the other man. Was he poor? Or Doctor Poor? "I .. haven't used any inns in town." Already he was hating talking. What an odd question. He looked around wishing he could find his sister or even that useless lawyer. Either probably had an answer. "Um.. I passed a few inns on the way here. Maybe one of them fits your expectations?" It was all he could offer, and he now wanted to go home more than ever.

"That will do just fine, sir," he said respectfully. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lysander Pappas, and I've come to Whitby out of curiosity." He snorted softly and said, "I suppose these places will have a newspaper for me to look through for employment. I don't suppose anyone is looking to hire a historian, but I'm not above working manual labor to feed myself." He chuckled. He was friendly, at least there was that. He thought of Darius as someone more genteel. He stood there poised with the satchel. He was poor but not destitute of course, he was the lower middle class blue-collar sort of fellow, salt of the earth. He was also not shy, it seemed.

Darius studied the man who called himself Lysander. That was an eloquent name. Perhaps he was a conman., Darius wasn't sure to relax just yet. People wandered through towns where they weren't known were perfect to do this sort of thing. Right? He was sure he'd read about it somewhere.

"Ah, I'm Darius. " He wondered if he should give his last name in case the man had heard of it before. But the doctor had told him not to lie.
"Wells. Darius Wells. As for where to get a job, I believe there are some ads that might suit you." He had just read his own, feeling a little worried people would ignore his qualifications, but he would see. "I'm sure you will be settled in no time. " He offered, trying to sound pleasant since this man would be walking with him until a place with a room caught his attention.

He gave a nod and then said, "By all means, Mister Wells." He nodded, ready to get moving and away from the crowd of people milling about. He might like people, but he hated crowds. In fact, that was something he was trying to work on but it was hard to be among so many people at once. He was used to the quiet. "Lead the way."

Assuming they began walking, he'd stay at Darius' flank, but not within arm's reach. He looked back at the crowd at one point and then seemed to visibly relax. "How are the libraries here?" he asked casually. He wondered if he could get in with one even. He might be the last person one would expect to see working as a librarian but it wouldn't be a bother to him one bit.

Was he clearly superior? The other called him Mister but they seemed about the same age. Then again, perhaps he couldn't help but have the poise and look of someone from money. There was little he could do to fix that. He simply nodded and began to walk.

He appreciated the man wasn't too close. He'd have probably put his hands in his pockets to deter pickpockets, even though the actual stuff was under the jacket. Before they got far though, he was asked a question. "Libraries?" Lysander had said he was a historian. Did the people in this town read? He suddenly remembered. "I ... there is a bookstore nearby. As for libraries.. I'm not sure. I haven't tried to find one, I'm not the avid reader I used to be. And..." again he had to pile on the lies. This man might try to bother him for a job at his house, and he didn't think the house needed any more butlers or stable hands. "I know someone who...works in a large house that has books...I've borrowed if I wanted one." That was a completely reasonable and believable lie, he decided.

Lysander was none the wiser at the moment, though the hesitant way in which Darius spoke had him wondering if he was nervous around people too. He did not judge the man though. Lysander pondered for a moment and said, "Well, perhaps I can look for it some time, but for now, I'd be happy just to have a meal and a nice ale. Hopefully it won't be too crowded with people." He seemed to sigh at that.

As they got further away from the folks at the train station, he noticed that there were still people milling around but not nearly as thick. At least they walked unhindered for the moment. "Something warm that isn't a sandwich sounds about right," he mumbled to himself as his mouth watered at the prospect of a hot meal.

Darius simply nodded as he walked, slightly looking for available cabs but also terrified to step into the wrong one. He didn't have much to add to the conversation beyond an affirmative sound though he had glanced slightly towards the other. "I'm sure they will."

Right? He guessed so. Or perhaps the only places he could afford would offer sour wine, some stale bread, and a mush that could have been gruel or yesterday's supper having been left on the fire overnight. He didn't know what horrors resided around in the buildings he walked past.