𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑.
ramona's pov.
4,846 words.
sound recommended.

❝It's honestly a travesty that I didn't
blow up sooner, I could've been a
millionaire by now.❞

The flashbulbs popped like distant gunfire. To her, it was nothing more than the cracking of concrete beneath a queen's heel. Be woken up by someone whose livelihood is being her alarm clock, get dolled up until she's America's Sweetheart, smile for the cameras, rinse, repeat. She could do it all blindfolded now—every pose, every flutter of her lashes choreographed to perfection, it was so horrifically easy to have everyone wrapped around her finger. She kept smiling, that iconic bright red rouge smile plastered across her face as she scanned the crowd, taking mental snapshots of every envious gaze, every mouth parted in awe. It was intoxicating, the way the world seemed to twist and bend and fold in her presence.

Ramona Ritchi was their goddess, their vision of perfection draped in designer silk and diamonds. Dazzling enough to make them forget themselves.

She was standing on the platform of the station now, waiting to board the Orient Express—she hated waiting. She was Ramona Ritchi, for God's sake! It was bad enough she had to travel in public in the first place. Well, she had to wait for her favorite person in the world to arrive, so she might as well get some press coverage for her newest film, Only the Good Die Young, like her manager Robert Ziegler had suggested. Not that she was in any mood to seek the advice of the man who said they had to cut costs and so she couldn't travel privately, but in this case, it benefit her, and more importantly, her image. And there was nothing Ramona cared about more than her image. 

"Mona! Over here. Do you have any messages for your fans in Europe regarding your press tour?" A man shouted out, having managed to jostle to a position closer to the front of the crowd of paparazzi. It was chaotic, but Ramona was used to it. There were men carrying large, boxy cameras with mounted flash units, emitting a bright, almost explosive light when used, enough to temporarily blind someone who wasn't used to the attention. There were a few stenographers on stand-by, furiously writing in shorthand into their notebooks, even when she wasn't speaking. The press were like vultures after all, they'd be studying every little detail about her, and exaggeration in the tabloids wasn't uncommon. If she wasn't careful, one innocent comment about a male costar could turn into a dating scandal.

Ramona's gaze lingered on the man for a moment—she was used to people she didn't know, especially men, calling her by nicknames, so that didn't unsettle her. She lifted her chin slightly, making a point of resting a finger on her lip in thought, appearing more endearing to the press. All part of the image she was trying to cultivate, of course. Even her outfit had been chosen by her stylist with care. During her early days in Hollywood she'd be put in more scandalous outfits, part of her typecast as a bombshell, but she was trying to distance herself from that. To actually be taken seriously by the media instead of being seen as, well, a harlot.

For her first public appearance on the press tour, shorter dresses and elaborate fur shawls had been traded out for elegant chiffon, not in her infamous red or in a darker more seductive color, but in classy ivory. The sleeves were delicately puffed but not overly dramatic to give a timeless feel, cuffed at the elbows, and the dress reached just above her ankle, a flowy and light material. She was still Ramona Ritchi of course, so for a slight flair the chiffon was folded into a loose bow shape around the collar, and she wore a delicate string of diamonds around her neck with matching earrings and a bracelet—huge statement jewelry was so tacky to her. With white ankle strap heels to match, she looked like royalty, a vision of sophisticated allure that hinted at restraint rather than brash extravagance.

She crossed one leg across the other as she stood, the ivory chiffon moving softly around her legs with each subtle movement, creating a halo effect that made her seem like a painting come to life. Her hair was like molasses, rich, dark and glossy, pinned into soft waves that fell just above her shoulder. Ramona always had this glow about her, this untouchable sheen in her bronze skin that the gilded screen begged for, for a star that would rise above all other stars. One you had no choice but to look at, to be awed by. Her dark doe eyes shifted slowly across the crowd, this feature of hers which made you feel as though she was looking specifically at you, this inextricable ability to make any individual feel noticed. If she chose to.

"Of course! I'm oh so looking forward to greeting all my darling fans from across the Atlantic," she smiled as she answered the reporter, her voice as rich as everything else about her, mature and yet airy all at once. She twisted her bracelet around her wrist carefully, knowing the stenographers would inevitably take note of how her nails, painted a cherry shade, matched her classic red lip. "I sincerely hope Only the Good Die Young touches the hearts of my European fans, playing Alessia has been my favorite role to date—"

"Miss Ritchi, look this way!" Another journalist shouted out, irritating Ramona, though she obliged for the sake of positive press coverage, angling her body in the direction of the voice, a loud shot sounding as a camera's flashbulb popped. She paused just long enough to ensure her profile looked flawless under the glare. "Broadway Brevities has labeled you the 'Trailer Park Tramp Princess' in their latest hit piece. Would you say that description is accurate? And is this press tour an attempt to distract from the rumor that you slept your way to the top beginning with your first manager Jeremiah Lewis?" The journalist continued, a tall man who looked to be in his early 30s who had managed to shove his way to the front, wearing a slight smirk as he beckoned his cameraman to move in closer.

All of a sudden, the crowd went dead silent. The air around Ramona crackled with tension as the question hung in the space between them, thick and suffocating. The other journalists, previously clamoring for her attention, stilled, their questions fading into uneasy silence as their eyes darted between Ramona and the bold reporter. Even the stenographers, usually focused solely on capturing quotes, paused mid-scribble, their pens hovering above the pages as they instinctively felt the dynamic shift as the atmosphere became noticeably charged.

Ramona's smile dropped slightly, barely enough to notice, for she was a renowned actress for a reason and was used to provocative jabs intended to elicit scandal... but to her, that slip was seismic. A crack spider-webbing across the flawless porcelain mask she had been hiding behind. For a moment, she wasn't the beloved Ramona Ritchi, the person who could make the universe bend to her will. She was Ramona Richards, that little girl who was behind everyone else in class because her mother never cared to teach her anything. The one with the unbecoming garments, the hair that the other kids would stare at—the weird girl who no one wanted to be friends with. The misfit.

As her mind raced to keep her composure and formulate a good way to deflect from the question, someone else was approaching. A rushed "Coming through, coming through!" pierced the silence, though Ramona didn't process it. The woman with her auburn hair and expressive green eyes pushed through the reporters, her steps purposeful strides as her heels tapped against the ground, tugging at the edges of her gloves as she made her way towards Ramona.

"I—" Ramona began, realizing the silence had gone on for too long, though she was interrupted by a loud yelp from that very same reporter who had heckled her, who was now hopping dramatically on one foot, his expression one of indignation. Andromeda Nightingale had made it to the front of the crowd, and with all the power she could muster, had stepped right on top of the man's foot with the heel of her stiletto, making a point of really digging it in for emphasis. She turned to face the reporter as he stumbled back with an angry "What the hell was that for?", his bravado wavering under the piercing gaze of the woman who had disrupted his career-making moment.

Ramona couldn't help but smile gratefully at her friend (is it odd to consider your psychic your friend? Ramona didn't think so) for coming to her rescue, though she didn't want to appear too pleased in front of the press. Instead, she simply covered her mouth with her hand, feigning a believable expression of surprise and pity, knowing that the press would be capturing the moment, even offering the man a hand to stabilize himself. How was that for a tabloid title? Humble Star Ramona Ritchi Assists Journalist Who Makes Disparaging Comment About Her—now that would certainly turn the narrative on its head, she thought, a flicker of mischief sparking in her eyes.

"I really do hope you're okay. After all, it wouldn't do to have the press running with a story about how clumsy you are, would it?" She whispered in amusement as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial volume while she assisted him. The reporter, still wincing in pain, could only muster a scowl in response, which only made Ramona's smile widen as she straightened her posture.

"I'm so sorry," Andromeda shook her head in mock apology, sighing dramatically. She caught a glimpse of the man's name tag clipped onto his blazer pocket, smiling as she straightened it for him. "Allow me to do you a free reading as compensation for my mistake, I'm a psychic, Andromeda Nightingale," she stated with a dramatic flair, pulling out her business card and showing it to the cameras.

"I'm sensing..." the woman closed her eyes and put two fingers to her head like she was tapping into some unseen energy, and for a second time, the crowd fell silent, caught in her theatrics. "Oh dear, it seems your wife is cheating on you, Kevin. Right as we speak! I'm also sensing you should be more careful where you step in the future, especially around powerful women," she declared, her voice dripping with feigned seriousness. "Perhaps I should have read your energy before I stepped on your foot, but alas! I only see what is before me," Andromeda continued with a grand curtsy, shooting a knowing glance at Ramona, who smiled and raised a brow.

The journalist looked equally skeptical as he did embarrassed, but the way he hurried off in the direction of the exit made it clear he wasn't leaving his reading to chance.

Ramona linked arms with Andromeda and answered a couple more brief questions before boarding the train, stepping away from the eager reporters. As they moved towards the sleek car of the Orient Express, Ramona temporarily forgot about how much she didn't want to be on this train. The luxurious gleam was in stark contrast to the hectic atmosphere of the station, at least, its polished exterior symbolized everything Ramona aspired to be—glamorous, refined, and utterly captivating. "Is it true, then? That man's wife is really having an affair?" She questioned once they were fully inside, her tone immediately intrigued, the product of her need for gossip.

"No," Andromeda replied instantly, her green eyes sparkling as she grinned and tilted her head to look at her client. There was a moment of silence before both women burst into laughter, though Ramona quickly shut up when other people walked past them in the train cart, giving them curious looks. "I made it up. I saw his wedding ring so I knew he was married," the psychic continued with a light laugh, holding up a hand dramatically.

"You're awful," Ramona responded in mock contempt, though she smiled. "God, I need a drink and a smoke after that," she chuckled as they walked towards their compartment, where her luggage had already been dropped off.

Just then, she came to a standstill as a loud voice carried through the narrow corridor, her jaw instinctively tightening. She knew that voice, she was certain. Over many threatening phone calls, and yet significantly louder in person—if a voice could take up space, hers would. Ramona turned to look at Andromeda, who had also stood still, looking just as confused, although she looked more vexed than afraid. And Ramona was afraid.

All her fears from the past few years were confirmed when a woman came storming through, right towards her, though the anger clearly wasn't directed at the actress or the psychic. She was being escorted by the train conductor, and she looked, well... a state. Her hair was wet and her white fur coat stained a reddish pink, like someone had just tipped wine over her. Ramona would have laughed, if she weren't so deathly petrified of the woman, or more accurately, what the woman had over her. Arabella seemed so enraged that she didn't even notice Ramona or Andromeda, just shoving past them angrily, Joaquín giving an apologetic tip of the hat as he passed through.

━━━━ °⌜ 火车 ⌟° ━━━━

Ramona had been quick to drag Andromeda into their room, shutting the door behind them as she tried to pull herself together. Arabella couldn't hurt her. If she just stayed out of her way, no one had to know about what blackmail she had over her, she tried to rationalize, but it wasn't in her nature to rationalize. Even so, how much could possibly happen on a train? There was no press here.

Andromeda had briefly explained her connection to the woman while Ramona rummaged through her luggage, taking out a pack of Chesterfield cigarettes and a bottle of moonshine. The room was quickly filled with smoke as she took a long drag, the nicotine just barely calming her frayed nerves for a moment. The harsh scent mixed with the lingering fragrance of her perfume that clung to her luxurious chiffon dress, a stark reminder of the world she inhabited—glamorous on the outside, but fraught with peril beneath.

"There's something I haven't told you about, yet," she finally stated, her voice steadying as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, the tension in her shoulders slowly beginning to ease, although it did little to hide the darkness that now rimmed her eyes. The cigarette dangled from her fingers like a fragile lifeline, its embers glowing faintly. The tightness in her chest was both familiar and suffocating, a gnawing anxiety that had haunted her since the affair.

"What is it? Whatever it is, you can trust me," Andromeda reassured her, genuine concern etching her features. True, she could be described as money-hungry (and many didn't hesitate to point that out), but she did genuinely care for her clients, and she had been the actress' confidant for a decent length of time now.

"A number of years ago... well, four years ago. I had an affair. With that woman—Arabella's—fiancé at the time, Felix," Ramona confessed, a confession that felt heavier than she anticipated, the words hanging in the air. Before Andromeda could respond, she hastily continued, "in my defense, she was horrible to him! She belittled him, constantly compared him to other men, made it seem like nothing he did was ever good enough—" she caught herself, realizing this was sounding like it wasn't entirely about Felix for a moment. "Well, we just connected. It was intense, you know? He was charming and passionate, and he made me feel seen in a way I hadn't felt. Ever," she blinked slowly. She was a romantic at heart, and the memories flooded back, tinged with bittersweet regret.

Andromeda didn't attempt to conceal her surprise, though her mind was racing more in relation to how bad this would look for her friend's career, rather than thinking about it in a judgmental light. She knew well enough that Arabella was a horrible person, even if adultery wasn't excusable. "And she found out?" She asked after a moment, as Ramona stopped speaking to take a distracted sip from her drink.

"That's right. She managed to... get her hands on some explicit material. And she's held that damned tape over my head ever since," she answered bitterly, glancing at the door as if expecting Arabella to burst in at any moment. At times, she forgot that life wasn't the same as the film sets she worked on. "The affair ended three years ago, I've tried to move on, to bury that part of my life. But it's like she knows exactly when to call, to gain leverage and remind me she can ruin everything I've built. I've worked so hard to get here, and it could ruin me!" She said this part with more feeling, looking like she wanted to throw something at the wall.

"Not to worry, Mona, you're stronger than you think. We can figure out a plan together, you don't have to let her dictate your life, surely there's something we can do," Andromeda replied with a frown, slowly taking the bottle of alcohol away from her client and closing it. "We'll think of something, I promise. Just walk me through every detail, and then we'll strategise after dinner."

Ramona nodded slowly, but her gaze remained fixed on the closed door, like it held back the memories she really wanted to forget. The thing about the past? It never stays hidden. Not for long.

━━━━ °⌜ 火车 ⌟° ━━━━

"She must be gone by now, right?" Ramona muttered, twirling the front strands of her hair around her finger, the fact it was messing up her styled hair being much lower on her list of priorities than it usually would have been. It had been a while now, both women talking between themselves about the situation (and getting sidetracked by a number of other discussions, as they were apt to do), waiting until the later half of dinner in hopes that Arabella wouldn't be in the dining cart. A confrontation would be inevitable at some point, but Ramona would rather the woman not know that she was on the train just yet. She didn't like to think about what kinds of threats would come her way, and she didn't want to be subject to Arabella's whims and be on her beck and call simply because she had blackmail on her.

Andromeda nodded, gathering a few essentials in her handbag while Ramona walked to the door. Only, once she opened it she came face to face with someone coming out of the compartment opposite, hiding how startled she was. The woman was quite pretty though, wasn't she? Her smile was polite, but her eyes seemed to linger on Ramona a bit too long, like she was reading more than she was simply looking. Ramona could almost hear the voice of her director in her head saying that it'd be a spot-on mannerism for a person playing the role of someone who's been frequently underestimated.

It didn't take long for Ramona to turn on the charm and ask the woman (who she learned was named Jia) to join her and Andromeda for dinner—true, she had promised herself she wouldn't go out of her way to be social on this journey. She was still pretty annoyed about the fact she had to be here at all, but she knew an interesting person when she saw one. Plus, it'd be nice to have someone else other than Andromeda on her side, now that she knew that the she-devil herself was here.

The three women made small talk as they made their way to the dining carriage, and Ramona was quite pleased to hear that the maid was a fan of her new film. This was precisely the type of supporter she appreciated—the women who would watch pretty much anything she starred in, unlike those who were only interested in her work if she was playing a bombshell kind of character. As they entered the dining car, Ramona relaxed slightly, basking in the familiar warm glow of the crystal chandeliers and the hum of elegant conversation around them. This, this was the lifestyle she deserved after how hard she'd worked to get here. The train's silver accents glinted under the light, and the rich scent of seasoned roasts and fresh-baked bread filled the air.

Ramona subtly glanced around the carriage, confirming Arabella wasn't in sight, then turned her full attention back to her companions. She approached the table reserved for her and Andromeda—there were three seats at this table, though the third seemed to be occupied, a glass of Lanson champagne resting on the table. Without any hesitation, Ramona picked up the reservation name tag and swapped it with the one on Jia's table, which was empty now, Yuexia still resting and Luo long gone, now looking after his daughter.

"Is someone not sitting there?" Jia stated curiously, though she tentatively took a seat anyway, arranging her dress neatly. She had a certain elegance one wouldn't expect in a maid, but Ramona would be the first to argue that your birth class doesn't mean you can't be a classy person. She simply shrugged in response to the question, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other, out of habit.

"They won't mind," was all she responded, Andromeda chuckling at the familiar entitlement of her client. "Thank God that woman isn't here," Ramona sighed, fanning herself with a menu. Jia was looking at her blankly, and she smiled at the realization she must be confused, placing a hand on her arm in apology. "There's this awful woman aboard the train who Andi and I both know. Arabella Cavendish... she looked to be in a terrible state when we saw her though. Covered in wine, I should think. Frightful, really!"

"Ah..." Jia suddenly became very interested in the design of the table cloth, though her mind was racing realizing that somehow, these two women had been wronged by Arabella in some way as well. She didn't comment on the fact that it was her who had poured wine on top of the woman, for it really wasn't in her nature to open up that quickly.

"Is antisocial behaviour a passion of yours? Pouring wine over people and sitting in reserved seats?" A voice suddenly broke through the conversation, though despite the bite to the words, it seemed more like muted amusement, largely monotone. A face that Jia recognized but the other two didn't was looking down at the group, a tall man wearing a charcoal colored jumper over a white button-up, picking up his glass of champagne from what was his place.

"I told her to sit there—and what? That was you who did that?" Ramona first addressed the man, then turning around to stare at Jia in surprise. The woman didn't strike her as someone who would do that, but impressions could be deceiving. The question was, why? How did she know Arabella? Jia said nothing, just gave a look that said 'I'll explain later'.

"Am I supposed to care who made the executive decision? The point is, I was sitting here," the detective raised a brow, studying each individual in the three person group. Colorful individuals, would be his first impression. He did vaguely recognize the woman with the red lip as Ramona Ritchi, but he was devastatingly uneducated about pop culture, seeing it as a waste of time and memory.

Ramona seemed taken aback at someone not bending to her statement immediately. Was her explanation not clear enough? She, beloved actress Ramona, had told someone they could sit somewhere. This was her world after all, everyone else was just living in it. "What I mean to say," she began, standing up and forcing a smile as she looked the man up and down. "Is that we would be truly grateful if you could allow our friend to sit here with us. I'm sure an attractive gentleman like yourself is used to such chivalrous action," she made sure to flutter her eyelashes for good measure, her whole act enough to make men immediately backtrack and get all flustered. It was a charade well-rehearsed, and always a success.

But here, it seemed to have an adverse effect. Alaric looked more put off than anything else, taking a hesitant step back like he was allergic to being even remotely flirted with, however obvious the underlying intentions were. He didn't even want the seat back, really, he was just curious about the newcomers. Needless to say, his curiosity was satiated enough that he'd much rather observe from a distance than have someone look at him like that. How sickening, even fake displays of anything close to romance were needlessly unsettling. "Right... yes. Indeed," he frowned, casting one last questioning look at the group before relocating to the empty table, actually rather glad he had one to himself.

"What a strange man," Ramona muttered, feeling a flicker of something close to irritation but masking it behind a graceful shrug as she settled into her seat. She wasn't used to her charms being sidestepped, and she knew it wasn't her, so it must be him.

"Perhaps you're not his target demographic, dear. He might not play for your team, if you understand what I'm getting at," Andromeda suggested playfully. It was odd though, Ramona was objectively someone who made most people weak in the knees. "I rather think he might like men." She nodded in the direction of where he was sitting, leaning in with a grin. "What do you think, Jia?"

"I think he might not like anyone at all," she stated quietly, also now looking in the direction of the detective, leaning in closer to Ramona to get a better angle. From what little she had seen of the man, he seemed to be... well, not quite a recluse, because he had no issue speaking up, but detached from ordinary human connections. Besides, how could anyone not be charmed by Ramona? Jia knew she was. Platonically, of course. In the same way you would be awed by any Hollywood star, and definitely not in the way where you allowed yourself to wonder if they were as good a kisser as they looked to be in the theaters.

Alaric had been busy observing other people in the dining cart, holding up a book that covered all but his eyes, multi-tasking taking down mental notes about people and reading. He felt a strange sensation that he was being watched, glancing in the direction of his old table, grimacing when he saw the three women staring at him like he was an animal in a zoo. He furrowed his eyebrows and shot a glare before going back to studying other people, because of course it was quite different when he wanted to observe people like they were something to be studied.

"Never mind him," Ramona said heartily with a dismissive wave. "Let's focus on more important things. Such as... did you really pour wine over Arabella? What was the reason?" She questioned, turning to look at Jia, who looked less ashamed than a lot of people would. Someone who stood by their actions... it was something Ramona recognized in herself too, and she respected it.

"I... I did. Is it really that shocking?" The maid responded with a quiet laugh, glancing between the two women's intensely focused expressions. "She's an awful person, you said it yourself," she continued, keeping the conversation vague enough that she wouldn't have to go into detail about all that Arabella had done.

"No, no it isn't," Ramona admitted, pouring out a glass of red wine, a wry smile spreading across her lips. No, she knew better than to be shocked, if it weren't for the blackmail, she would have done far worse to Arabella by now. Not murder, of course, but admittedly, she had dreamt about pushing her off of a cliff more than once. It would certainly solve her troubles. But no, she was Ramona Ritchi, above all else, and she couldn't do what Jia had done—her reputation had to be pristine. She glanced down at her bracelet clasped around her wrist, the gold gleaming faintly in the low light, having been swapped out with the more valuable diamonds just to be secure. It was a gift from an admirer, a beautifully crafted piece that sparkled, catching the eye. Yet, as she held it to the light, she realized how hollow it really was—beautiful on the outside, but beneath it, just another piece of shiny metal without depth. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't how she saw herself sometimes.

She brought the glass of wine to her lips again, hesitating as she turned her gaze back to the two women, swirling the crimson liquid thoughtfully. "After all," she took a sip and set the glass down gently, turning to look out of the train window, at all the scenery they were moving past, a subtle blur. "All that glitters is not gold."

𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒.
an agatha christie inspired applyfic.

A/N - hello to my favourite people, hope you're all doing well 😽 this one's a bit of a longer one, since there's more characters (and because I struggle to be concise evidently), but I'll try to keep them closer to 4k in future. Also doubt anyone will pick up on this, but if you notice some English spellings of words being used and some American, if a chapter is from the pov of an American character it used the Americanised spellings, but if they learnt British English (meaning they're European or from Hong Kong/China, in this case), it's the English spelling of words  🙏

I was mostly going with the flow here, so I'm not sure it exactly reads well, but hopefully it's sufficient to get a feel for the characters since that's largely the point with these initial chapters. Not that they're not relevant to the plotline, I've dropped multiple hints in each chapter, they just won't be relevant until later on!! I'll try to pick up the pace as well, this would've been out about 2 weeks ago but got sidetracked with some events in the first week and then got sick in the second </3 all good now though! Drink water, sleep well, stay safe & happy ❤️