Gideon had spent hours on board the Reizen without a hitch. He was grateful that Captain Stormholden held no color. He had thought he might- that a creation of word, with a predetermined path and backstory, held no truth when made real. He had hoped that would mean the Captain'd have the same coloring of newborns; one clear and endless. Gideon had been right and now he sat riding to Reason, his first visit since he had been a child ages ago. Gideon found the train's bar, and pleased that the Captain looked of drinking age, purchased himself a couple shots of Dusky Star whiskey. It was smooth and coppery and sand-less. The body of the pirate was finally starting to have its perks.

The train sputtered miserably along its rickety, older than creation, railings, making Gideon grimace as he fiddled with the too tight trousers that constricted the Captain's rather long and broad legs. It'd finally left Refinery and was headed toward who knew where. It was the train that traversed the layers; it could go to all the layers or turn back around and hit the Refinery, maybe once, twice, a hundred and three times. Or it could hit all the layers except for Reason, an infinite loop of misery- especially for when the whiskey ran dry- for a busy boy like Gideon. He wished the train hadn't been so fickle or that he could change it's nature, but he would have to patiently wait.

The boy looked out the tiny window of his cabin, staring and sitting, his right hand itching at the fabric of his trousers. He had known what that meant and hoped that the whiskey would calm his nerves as well as coat his boredom. He sat third row coach, in a private cabin wooden cabin, lumpy velvet seating adding to his discomfort. For a train that traveled the layers and that could choose where it decided to go, you'd think it'd choose to be a little more luxurious. Uninspired knotted pine boards ran the length of the car, neither polished or stained, and if you stared at them long enough, you'd probably start to wonder if they were actually wood. They were, however, very splintery, regardless of there make up.

There was no mistaking that the cabin, or the train, held anything of interest for Gideon, except for the golden liquor he swirled around in his glass, clouded ice cubes clanking together. He went to take another sip and it was then he noticed a tiny fly frozen in one of the cubes. He chuckled as he downed the liquid, the fly's preserved death mask adding a surprisingly peppery taste to the alcohol. It had been a long time since Gideon had ridden the train, but the memories he held of it hadn't seemed so plain. Maybe that had been because he had eyed the train with naivety then and it had been made beautiful because of the possibilities it had held. But Gideon Darqish was older, eyes full of the know, and the train had weathered poorly from what his memories recalled. Outside, he saw the Auburn sky of the Refinery far off on the horizon, the calming whites and pastels of the Renewal ahead. He sighed, knowing his journey would be a long one. He hated to have to wait more and he hated the Renewal.

Gideon could just move himself to Reason, but that impatience would alert all of the Council to his presence, and he'd be back in the Rose, in the End Chamber and he had hated the End Chamber. Gideon had watched Peneloper watch him board the train. He had, after all, sent the invitation to her back yard. And though her curiosity had peaked- her lavender aura had spiked with thin maroon wisps of questions- something had stopped her from reaching into his portal. If only she had called out to him; Gideon could have brought her to him. The boy sighed, another smoke out of the canister being rolled between his fingertips. He reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed a pack of matchsticks, pulling one away from the others, lighting his cigarette the way un-alarming sorts would do. He made sure to exhale though the smoke never bothered him.

Outside, Gideon could see the ethereal white that cloaked the Renewal. The smell of cream, clove and honey, tickled his nose and forced it's way down his throat. He hated the scent of the mist that always blanketed the layer; it spoke of no comfort to him. This was the land of the angels; damned nosy little winged busybodies, who had delighted in the way the humans addressed them when they had first started to intervene in humanity's course. They flitted and floated about, helping those who needed their renewal services. Through the fog, a giant city of crystal towers emerged, the train's tracks weaving its way through the buildings were the angels would guide spirits to their next lives. For all of Renewal's magic, it was still, sadly, very much a bureaucracy. There were lines, lines to the lines, and suites filled with leather seats, horrible fluorescent lighting, and re-purposed computers. Out of necessity, the layer, bred strict order, efficiency, and organization. The business of ferrying spirits and offering up advice to those who sought it was very demanding. It was too rigid a layer for Gideon to enjoy and so he hoped their stint in it would be minimal.

Not much had changed since he was last in Renewal. A few more crystal towers dotted the skyscape and there seemed to be more clocks floating aimlessly around, bouncing off the metallic body of the train as they trekked thoughtlessly too close. Everything seemed cleaner, as if the air here was beneficial somehow, and the fog was maintained with precision and dedication; the stone streets of the city being kept fog free by busy Grayflys. They were constantly flying here and there, with brooms made of deadwood, brushing away the fog to keep transportation going without a hitch. Angels swarmed about; some were hurrying spirits to their next destinations, sending them to Filing to be re-purposed while others were whispering in the ears of the sleeping, giving advice they may have sought out.

The Yggdrasil grew here, dead center of the city, saplings of it sprouting up throughout the city, feeding on the magic here, digging roots in deep. Gideon had tried many times to burn down the tree and its saplings but he could never get all of the tree; its roots hidden from him in other layers, and so the tree always came back. Its leaves were golden now, its bark smooth light brown, with etchings of the eldest tongue, marking the bark. It smelled of fire, the scent of renewal, and Gideon could hear the old tree's heartbeat, a low pulsating beat that sang out to him from every layer.

The train came to a stop as it pulled up to the platform in the Renewal and the conductor made his way to the double doors. He would be checking their coloring just as he had done in the Refinery; though the Renewal was said to house classier folks. Hopefully things would get along smoothly and they would leave this layer quickly. The platform held mostly spirits- common for renewal- and a few Angels seeking to aid humans from within Reason.

Gideon sighed, Peneloper's aura filling his mind; his need to see her growing.