Physical State: Sea-chilled
Mental State: Wistful

The Majestic lived up to her name, a merciless tower of steel and luxuries that pushed across the cruel Atlantic. The new paint was still fresh on her, marking her transition from the German fleet to the British as part of the war reparations. Goodbye Reichstag; long-live Majestic. Sebastian ran a finger along the wood panelling in his cabin, wondering if a Prussian baroness had stared at the same walnut inlays or if those were just as new. He shrugged off his outer coat, unbuttoned his jacket. They had been useless to him on the deck, the sea winds cutting through the heavy wool like they were nothing. At least the cabin had a little gas fireplace and good sealing on the windows. The gas hissed lightly before the match caught it and the flame burped to life, slowly nourishing the air with orange light and warmth. He stretched like a cat in front of the blessed contraption, letting the cold out of his bones before he felt ready to do anything else.

When he at last felt up to it, Sebastian moved over to his writing desk which sat up against the adjoining wall with the next cabin. When he sat he could just make out the sounds of the record player - Rose of Samarkand. He reached into his case and pulled out a small bundle of envelopes tied together with rough, brown string. Goodbye notes, farewell messages. He had left most of them unread as a diversion for the journey; the Majestic had a telegram station he could use to reply if he particularly wished or if there was any urgency, but he currently had no intention to. Besides, there was one letter in particular he was looking forward to reading, and taking a good amount of time to read at that. He ran his nose along the bundle, looking for lily of the valley. There. A looping, cursive hand, little flecks of silver in black ink. Fine, thick paper stock.



Sebastian smiled softly as he read Henri's letter, holding the paper up to catch the perfume's softer nuances again before he folded the creamy paper back into the envelope with the other memories of the summer. He would be at sea for days yet, lashed by cold winter rains, and would need that warmth of remembrance to last him all the way to Arkham. Over the time he'd been reading, the small fire had now quite filled the room and he trotted back over to kill the gas and stifle the flame. When he came back to the desk, this time he pulled out the Brotherton Genealogy which had set him off on the journey to begin with. He had an old, cold lead plucked from the between the pages of this crumbling quarto; one Nathaniel Brotherton, youngest son of Sebastian's great-great grandfather Willard, had departed for the colonies in 1751 aboard Captain Heywood Duffy's St. Margaret. Nathaniel had brought his wife and two children - unnamed in the fragmentary, rushed prose - with him. The St. Margaret's route put her arriving in Massachusetts, at the harbour in Kingsport.

The only problem was he could find no other reference to Nathaniel in the family record; all the texts at his disposal originated after that point and merely referred back to historical events, leaving him to believe that for some reason Nathaniel had been simply written out of the family history and never acknowledged as existing again. Given the timing, he supposed it had something to do with the Mr. Washington's Unpleasantness, though this was never explicitly referred to. But it was Willard, Nathaniel's father, who had built much of the family fortune in quarries, mines and the like and Nathaniel vanished not long after the disaster that flooded their chalk quarry at Capenwray. Perhaps Nathaniel had earned his father's ire mis-managing the blasting of -

A knock at the door broke his line of thought. Sebastian hobbled over to the cabin door and slid it aside to see the strong, full figure of one of the cabin boys - well, this was more of a cabin man really - holding out a telegram for him. Good skin, eyes like walnuts. Sebastian offered the man a drink in exchange for the service, which was politely declined for professional reasons but met with a soft "well, perhaps once you come off your shift". The man flushed red, blustered an excuse and left quickly. Sebastian smiled devilishly as he slid the door back closed and flicked open the message card.



Sebastian set the typed card down on the dressing table and poured himself a brandy. He sipped it and managed to keep the shiver from his hands long enough to finish the tumbler. The room was suddenly cold again, as if in the time between opening the door and closing it an Arctic chill had rushed in.