Djura Charvát

Djura Charvát is a dull-eyed bartender featured in Murder on the Orient Express. He was a Killer alongside Vai Sokolov. Haunted by the illusion of a better life on the other side, Djura carries a careless air, with a rather blasé attitude towards strangers.

Introduction
"The scene is a film noir tale of murders and detectives, and Djura Charvát is all at once the sleuth, the victim, and the killer. He swears himself to be plain-looking, his most defining trait being a mark of weatheredness-- lines under his eyes, rough skin, and a hoarse voice. Whether it be due to age or stress, Djura’s seen better days. While working a night job in his town’s most beloved run-down bar, he devotes most of his free time to his research. A research valued by himself only, as he’s an array of sudden memories have led him to believe he’s been ripped out of his true reality and tossed into the drabble of a man he’s dubbed “the Novelist.” He could recite it to the walls by heart-- the life he once lived, the wife he promised the world to, the cozy home they’d built away from the noxious clouds of the city… Lest not forget his first meeting with the Novelist.

Not like he’d ever tell.

He believes the Novelist to be sadistic in nature, stripping his soul from his cozy lifestyle into the body of an unfortunate man rotting in an old apartment in the middle of a cold city. Seeking to aim for the head and tear the story at its seams, he wanders town in search of the Novelist, who must surely wear a mask crafted for the occasion. In this “new” life, he’s a bartender, familiar with many faces in the city. A job fit for his situation, really-- the sweet thing about alcohol is that it gets people talking. He makes note of it all, with smooth words digging into every nook and cranny of the everyday man’s psyche in the case of the occasion that one visitor may just be his guy. He’s learned which strings to pull at to ensure he squeezes his every customer of every drop of valuable information without sharing a word about himself.

The look in his eye is most often a piercing glare-- a fast, jittery eyeball constantly scanning the room looking for something to make note of. Yet, there’s moments one could never catch him in when a light is seen shining deep in his eye. Brief moments of bliss when he waters his widow’s thrill or when he watches the sun rise from the window in his bathroom would bring out a spark from the very core of his most private self and glow quite timidly through his gaze.