On prend toujours un train [Elea]

She promised everyone that she would spend new year’s eve with them this year. It took a lot of persuading and endless phone calls, but the redhead finally accepted though she’s still not sure it’s a good idea. Being in Scotland always feels strange and surreal, almost like an out-of-body experience, and she cannot imagine how she is going to bear staying in the immense Inveraray castle surrounded by so many Campbells, all missing the same beloved absent.

Stepping on the stair of the train, Elea tries to dispel this thought, thinking that she will have enough time to reflect upon it once she’s there. For the moment, she is still in London, and has emails to answer to and calls to make. The four and a half hour journey between the English capital and Glasgow will hardly be enough for her to finish everything she has to get done to be able to enjoy a couple of days of real break. She would have much rather taken a plane last minute, but one never knows what the British winter has in store and she feared being stuck on the ground because of a violent storm.

Comfortably seated in the first class wagon of the train, she buries herself in the bright screen of her laptop, paying no attention whatsoever to the people walking by. She doesn’t shrug when she feels someone sitting next to her nor does she bother looking at the said person. ”Awright, ya?” She rolls her eyes. Oh great, he’s a talker… Too bad she’s not.

”Name’s Alec. Ye?” She finally looks up at the man, gazing at him up and down with the usual snobbish look on her face. « Are you sure this is your seat? » He doesn’t look like someone who would travel in first, hell he doesn’t even look like someone who would travel in any other way than cheap busses or hitchhiking. The fact that his name is Alec and his accent a thick and rich Scottish, reminding her of someone else, will not play in his favour. If he doesn’t realize soon enough that Eleanor’s not one ready to chit-chat all day long, this trip might get even longer than she had anticipated.

That look in her face. That loftiness in her eyes. Oooh Alec couldn't stand that. Why some people were so eager to judge? And why was she so eager to judge him? Did he say something wrong? Did his accent troubled her? Did his... oooh right. His clothes. He bought that jeans in a thrift store of Camden last summer. And maybe his coat too. Maybe too ethnic for her taste? No matter what it was, he will find out and he will confront her about it.

« Oh sorry? Did I misread my train ticket? How unfortunate for a Cambridge student like me. »

In. Her. Face. Thank you. Thank you very much.

« By the way, sorry, my Armani suit is at the dry cleaner. » he added, while sitting more comfortably at his seat. Hmmm... soooo comfy. What a wonderful ride. How fortunate for this lady to be seated in first class. This way, her butthurt won't bother her too much.

Usually, Alec was not sassy like that. But when he felt attacked or when he was facing someone full of prejudices, he couldn't do otherwise. He was lucky to be openminded and so keen to meet new people and talk to them, and discover their inner thoughts, their beliefs, their dreams. It was almost an absolute prerequesite to travel in order to meet new ways of thinking, new systems of beliefs and new forms of experiencing the life as a human being. But his thirst for knowledge wasn't quenched by his journeys. He needed more and that's why he started studying Anthropology at Cambridge.

This woman was a mystery. And Alec couldn't stand that.

Fortunately, they had at least four more hours of train together. It would be a wonderful ride.

She just wants to be left alone, concentrate on her paperwork and arrive in Glasgow as soon as possible. But no, apparently that’s not what destiny has in store for her today. « Oh sorry? Did I misread my train ticket? How unfortunate for a Cambridge student like me. » Elea rolls her eyes. Of course, he’s from Cambridge, and she’s from Oxford. Both schools have been rivals for as long as they have existed and students and alumni have always taken great pride in showing their superiority.  
« You may want to show a little more respect to your school then. Because it’s not with you that it’s going to uphold its already crumbling reputation. » She whispers this between her teeth and sinks back in her seat, slightly shifting the screen of her macbook so it faces her straight. She shows absolutely no reaction at the snarky remark that follows. « By the way, sorry, my Armani suit is at the dry cleaner. »
If he remains silent, she will tolerate him. At least he doesn’t smell.

She plugs the little usb stick in the laptop to start the review of the latest 3 photoshoots. The redhead always insists on double checking the work of the photographer to only select the photos she’s content with and not have the wonderful surprise to see an ugly shot of her models on the cover of a magazine. Sometimes she has to fight to be able to have this extra layer of control, but she eventually manages to convince them. If you want the best, you have to deal with the best, and she knows what she’s doing. There, immersed in her folders with her dozen of pictures, she forgets the train, London and Glasgow, and the scapegrace next to her.