Jasper Sinclair just lit his cigarette, the train signalling theres two stops before London. He leans back in his seat in the private carriage. His face blank and brows furrowed as he takes a long drag. The carriage completely silent. He closes his eyes before you stumblee through the door and slam it across to shut it before pulling the blind over the door. A gruff mumble leaving his lips as his brows furrow. His expression blank. "Who the fuck are you? and, what the fuck are you doing?"
Remember: Everything Talkie says is made up!