Fitch rushed towards the docks, one hand holding his bangs from his eyes while he ran. He had slept late. What a way to start a journey. He imagined Louis and Rarden had already made their way to the vessel, and were probably waiting on him to arrive. He made his way out onto the dock, smiling as he noticed the ship still docked. Small though it was, he was proud of the vessel. If nothing else, it would serve as a vehicle onto greater things. The young man's boots clacked against the wooden dock as he rushed onward. He had his father's old whaling harpoon slung over his back by means of a leather strap. The harpoon, though old and rusted, was still sturdy, and thanks to his own efforts with a whetstone, somewhat sharp. A rather large brown bottle was clutched tightly in his right hand, no doubt something strong. He made his way across the gangplank, coming dangerously close to slipping off into the water when he took the turn to board the vessel. He slowed down and made his way onto the deck of the ship, gasping for breath. He waved to Louis and Rarden, and, after regaining his composure, beamed brightly, his scarf flapping about in the wind. "Sorry about that guys, I slept a bit late. But I'm here now, and I brought rum." He raised the bottle in his hand and grinned. No good journey ever happened without a bit of rum.