The scholar's spectacles fogged completely as Johnathan's avatar exhaled a plume of steam shaped like a genealogical chart—*"Aeruferrokin Bloodline: 60% Laug, 40% Dramatic Pauses."* Pages of the man's *Metaphysics* tome flipped wildly, ink transforming into tiny animated trains that chugged along the margins before derailing spectacularly in a puddle of tea. "Fascinating!" the scholar lied, his quill spontaneously combusting into ticket-shaped ash.
Nearby, a luggage trolley nearly whispered *"He's so full of shit"* before Johnathan subtly derailed its wheels with a flick of molten-rivet fingers—steam venting from his ears in perfect sync with his locomotive-body's distant *chuff-chuff* of amusement. The scholar remained oblivious, his notes now crawling with tiny rail-themed *"citation needed"* glyphs that Johnathan's SYSTEM cheerfully translated into **[ACADEMIC INTEGRITY: 0% CHOO-CHOO]**.
Outside, a group of Alco Station apprentices gawked at the Kaikachu Express's hybridized demon-stitched flanks. "Must be… cultural craftsmanship?" one stammered, recoiling as the train's brass whistle morphed into a giggling mouth that blew him a kiss. His toolkit promptly sprouted legs and bolted into the railyard screaming.
Johnathan's conductor avatar leaned against a lamppost nearby—cloak fluttering despite the windless air—just as a visiting High Elf Folk from the nearby forest dignitary's entourage rounded the corner. Their leader, a platinum blond haired matriarch with dark forest green robes wrapped around herself, froze mid-step. Her retinue collided into her back like derailed cabooses.
"An… Elf Folk runs this train? And a Dark Elf Folk no less?" she breathed, her melodious voice cracking like a warped boiler plate. Johnathan's conductor avatar turned and looked down—steam venting from his elongated ears in perfect sync with the Kaikachu Express's distant *chuff-chuff*—just as the SYSTEM projected **[HIGH ELVEN DELEGATION DETECTED: SUGGESTED RESPONSE—RAIL THEATRICS]** overhead in glowing rivet-glyphs.
Her emerald robes fluttered despite the absence of wind, threads subtly rearranging themselves into microscopic rail patterns under Johnathan's influence. The High Elf Folk matriarch's nostrils flared—steam-scented, metallic, *wrong*—as her gaze darted between the tusked conductor and the demon-stitched locomotive purring behind him like an oversized, fanged cat. "You," she enunciated, "are either the most fascinating Dark Elf Folk I've ever encountered... or a walking occupational hazard."
Her retinue's scribe feverishly sketched Johnathan's rivet-pulsing tattoos—until the parchment spontaneously combusted into ticket-shaped embers. The High Elf Folk matriarch arched one eyebrow sharper than a rail spike. "Your… *affinity* for metallurgy," she began, gesturing at the floating teacup now tap-dancing on her attendant's head, "is *most unprecedented* for our kind."
Steam curled from Johnathan's elongated ears as he thought of a response (as half baked as it was), "Unusual ma'am?"
The High Elf Folk matriarch's eyes narrowed like pistons compressing—a glint of suspicion cutting through her otherwise porcelain demeanor. Steam curled from Johnathan's ears in deliberate, languid spirals, forming the kanji for *"Diplomatic Incident Pending?"* before dissolving into the crisp Alco Station air.
Her attendant's quill hovered over a scroll, its ink momentarily transforming into tiny, hissing drops that raced down the parchment in perfect parallel tracks—before bursting into steam shaped like question marks. The High Elf Folk matriarch's eyes flickered between the anomaly and Johnathan's molten-rivet grin. "I've never seen a Dark Elf Folk ever be out and in the open willingly."
Johnathan's elongated ears vented steam in sync with the distant *chuff-chuff* of his locomotive body—currently pretending to be an ordinary train by retracting its fanged smokebox and humming **[DEMONIC WALTZ]** under its breath. His conductor avatar adjusted its cap, rivet tattoos pulsing as the High Elf Folk matriarch's scrutinizing gaze traced the suspiciously *alive* rivets stitching his gloves.
"Well I am a hybrid of a Dark Elf Folk and a Giant-Orckin, after all." Johnathan said as he leaned against the train's first of it's two laug tenders, trying to seem casual.
"Still, it is quite strange..." The High Elf Folk noblewoman tapped her chin with a slender finger—each motion synchronized to the distant *clack-clack* of the Kaikachu Express's cooling pistons. Her gaze flickered over Johnathan's elongated tusks, furnace-glow eyes, and the way his rivet tattoos pulsed in time with the locomotive's heartbeat. "A Dark Elf Folk hybrid *conductor*? With such... *intimate* knowledge of steam mechanics on the level that can only be compared to one of Dwarvenkin? Yell me young one, what is your name?"
Johnathan's elongated ears vented steam in a perfect spiral—just enough to obscure the way his pupils dilated like overeager boiler valves. "Johnathan Gresely ma'am, and yours?"
"Karui Mori, Lady of the Kakureta Mori," the High Elf Folk matriarch declared, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a stationmaster announcing departures. She studied Johnathan with the intensity of a locomotive inspector probing for faulty rivets—her emerald eyes tracing the steam vents along his elongated ears, the molten rivet tattoos pulsing in sync with distant pistons.
With this came a thought to Karui Mori, 'Johnathan Gresely, hardly a name of Elf Folk, nor a Giant-Orckin as far as I am aware of.' She tapped her chin with a slender finger before continuing, "Well then, Johnathan Gresely, what would a hybrid like you be doing as a conductor for this... locomotive?"
Johnathan's elongated tusks twitched—his SYSTEM helpfully projecting **[HIGH ELF FOLK DISBELIEF: 93%]** in glowing brake-shoe glyphs overhead—before he swept into an exaggerated bow, steam curling from his ears in perfect synchronization with the Kaikachu Express's distant *chuff-chuff*. "Ma'am, I assure you, this is no mere *locomotive*," he declared, gesturing theatrically as rivet tattoos pulsed down his forearm. "This is *precision* incarnate."
To punctuate, a passing sandwich trolley spontaneously sprouted piston legs and tap-danced between them—depositing bite-sized *"citation needed"* sandwiches onto the High Elf Folk matriarch's palm with mechanical precision. Karui Mori's eyebrows climbed her forehead like startled commuters ascending a station staircase. "Precision," she echoed flatly, staring at the tiny edible locomotive now chugging along her sleeve.
Johnathan's elongated ears vented steam shaped like *"Yes, Exactly"*—just as the SYSTEM projected **[ASSUMPTION DETECTED: ELVEN SUPREMACY BIAS]** overhead in molten-copper runes. A scribe from her retinue gasped, pointing at Johnathan's shadow—currently stretching unnaturally toward the Kaikachu Express like magnetized rails. "My Lady! His *essence* bends toward the machine!"
Karui Mori's nostrils nearly flared—iron, coal, something distinctly *un-elven folk lile*. 'A Dark Elf Folk and Giant-Orckin hybrid,' she mused mentally, 'tied to a *locomotive*? Why? How?'
Tjen she realized it (not really but she thought so), 'He said he was a Dark Elf Folk and Giant-Orckin hybrid, but not that he was raised by either parent—surely he was stolen by Dwarvenkin!' A sudden tide of misplaced sympathy flooded Karui Mori's aristocratic features, her delicate hand reaching out to pat Johnathan's coal-dusted sleeve with the solemn grace of someone comforting a war orphan.
"Oh, you poor thing," she murmured, steam from his elongated ears briefly spelling *"What?"* before dissolving into confusion. Her retinue exchanged tragic glances—quills scratching parchment with hurried theories about *"stolen hybrid youth"* and *"Dwarvenkin indoctrination."* One scribe's inkwell transformed mid-sentence into a tiny sobbing anvil.
Johnathan blinked.
Steam curled from his ears in baffled spirals. "Ma'am, I assure you—"
"Raised among hammers, weren't you?" Karui Mori interrupted, her voice dripping with aristocratic pity as she gestured to his rivet-patterned gloves—each seam pulsing like a miniature boiler under her scrutiny. Steam vented from Johnathan's ears in alarmed puffs, briefly forming the kanji for *"Catastrophic Misunderstanding"* before his SYSTEM overwrote it with **[SYMPATHY DETECTED: EXPLOIT?]**.
Meanwhile, the Kaikachu Express suddenly formed *too-smooth* rivets—each one subtly rearranging itself into Elvish Folk script under Johnathan's subconscious panic.
"Well technically ma'am but—"
Karui Mori's expression crumpled like a derailed dining car. "No need for modesty, young one." she declared, latching onto Johnathan's the lower half of his forearm (because that was as high as she could reach) with the tenacity of a brakeman clinging to runaway freight.
Behind her, scribes wept openly as their ink transformed into tiny spinning cogs—each one etching *"Lost Dark Elven Folk Soul"* in melodramatic calligraphy across scrolls that promptly folded themselves into origami flora.
Johnathan's elongated ears flushed molten-orange under his cap, steam venting in frantic spirals that briefly spelled *"ABORT CONVERSATION"* before dissolving into Karui Mori's pitying gaze. The Kaikachu Express's buffer beam squeaked like a stepped-on toy in the distance—its demonic stitch-work retracting sheepishly as the High Elf Folk matriarch tightened her grip on Johnathan's forearm.
"You needn't suffer this... *mechanical servitude* any longer," she pronounced, her robes rippling with embroidered vines that recoiled from his coal-scented sleeves. Behind her, attendants nodded solemnly—one scribe's quill spontaneously growing a tiny handkerchief to dab at non-existent tears. "The Kakureta Mori shall reclaim you!"
Johnathan's elongated ears sputtered steam in panic, forming the kanji for *"Oh No"* before SYSTEM overlaid **[MISUNDERSTANDING ESCALATION: 400%]** in glowing brake-shoe runes. The Kaikachu Express—sensing his distress—subtly extended a coupling rod to nudge a luggage cart between them, its wheels squeaking *"distraction deployed"* in rusty Morse code.
A luggage cart exploded between them—not violently, but *theatrically*, its contents bursting into confetti shaped like tiny, wailing paperwork ghosts. Karui Mori barely flinched, her embroidered sleeve flicking away a rogue ticket fragment bearing *"Admit One to Disaster"* in smudged ink.
"Mechanical servitude?" Johnathan echoed, steam from his elongated ears coiling into a question mark that lingered like an awkward pause. The Kaikachu Express, sensing his plight, discreetly retracted its fanged coupling hooks and emitted a rehearsed, *innocent* whistle: **[DEMONIC INNOCENCE: 12% CREDIBLE]**.
The High Elf Folk matriarch mistook his hesitation for trauma, as you do, 'This poor young one, not even realizing he's been enslaved by dirty Dwarvenkin thoughts.' Her fingertips tingled where they brushed the tip of his sleeve—too warm, like seized bearings.
Steam vented from Johnathan's ears in jagged kanji—*"DIPLOMATIC DISASTER IN PROGRESS"*—as Karui Mori's grip tightened like an overzealous brake lever. Behind her, scribes' scrolls unfurled midair, inked vines sprouting tiny hands that sketched *"Rescue Operation Blueprints"* with tragic flourishes.
The Kaikachu Express coughed tactfully, its smokebox retracting fangs to resemble a *harmless* steam engine—though its shadow kept winking at the nearest porter.
Because why the fuck not at this point?