Winston had been in the cafe for a long time. Every time his cup ran out, he would just order another one. Each cup had been worse than the last. Probably because Winston drank too much coffee. It was quite boring. Winston didn't really mind, though. He was used to doing nothing.

Winston saw Aubrey charging in. All scuffed up and out of breath. Without any notice, Aubrey had told Winston to get to the ship in standard Aubrey manner; joking. Without much further thought, Winston grabbed his bag of things that he bought from earlier and ran out the door. Once he ran outside, he ran to the ship. It was quite a sight. Outside seemed to be a lot panicked. Lots of whispers though the street goers.

When Winston got to the docks, he saw that the ship was still there. It seemed to be intact, too. He walked aboard the ship and walked to his quarters. His was different than everybody else's. His was barren. All that was in his medium sized room was an old sleeping bag in a crate that was about seven feet long and three feet wide, his axe beside the crate, a mortar and pestle in the center of the room with a metal cup beside it and a single ceramic cup filled with dirt which had a layer of ash on it.

Winston opened his bag and took out the oil from his bag. He poured the oil into the metal cup. Then, he pulled out the petals from the small bag. He grabbed the mortar and pestle from the floor and put the petals in. He crushed the petals into a fine powder, then he poured the petal powder into the cup. He put the mortar and pestle down, and sat against the wall, waiting.