Reginald Keystone
Location: The Ferry (Elite Deck, His Stateroom)
Skills: N/A
It was with no small amount of relief that Reginald located his stateroom and entered without issue. He wasn't sure what the highly American and very young Mrs. Ridgeway was getting at, but at his age, Reginald was far too venerable to be sharing private quarters with a lady who was of an appropriate age to be a granddaughter. Or near to it, at the least. The Lord Major's reputation in England's upper crust circles had taken a bit of a hit about things of that nature, and the last thing he wanted to do was inflict that sort of gossip upon a perfectly innocent young lady. Propriety was all about the appearance of things, after all, not the truth of them. That was the way the world worked, be it that it wasn't always fair.
His quarters were indeed up to his standards. For a boat, anyway. His upbringing in the nobility of Great Britain aside, the Lord Major had spent far more time as a soldier, stationed in a soldiers' quarters. In fairness, they were generally those of an officer. It could not be denied that they were invariably less luxurious than that which his family held as standard accommodations. The short form of Reginald's assessment with his room was that it would suffice; it was better than he expected yet not quite what he thought of when the phrase "First Class" was bantered about.
"Oh I say," he mused aloud,
"that obnoxious fellow did a crack job it it, didn't he?" Reginald was referring to the neat packaging of much of his personal belongings, including uniforms, personal effects, and he even thought to pack his riding and marching gear. The old man did not intend to do a whole lot in the way of marching if he could help it, though it was good to see his field gear on standby. He even caught sight of a bundle that he assumed was his rifle from the Great War, wrapped in leather and secured with bayonet unaffixed. He was a more than decent shot with it despite his lack of necessity comparative to others involved in the War with its use, owing to his insistence to train with the grunt soldiers. As a man of gentlemanly practice, preferences marked him as more of a sword-and-pistol combatant.
Also something of impressive note, a basket of that date bread he liked so much, individual sections wrapped in waxed paper, lay waiting for him in the sitting area, alongside a bowl of fruit and a ready bottle of his personal scotch with accompanying tumbler.
"Good heavens, that Corporal is taking this 'Valet' business seriously..." There was a touch of awe in his voice, bordering upon disbelief. He was actually a damned good Valet, though he doubted very much if he could see himself hiring Reddish on in his civilian life and having to introduce him to his social circle as,
"Ah, yes. This is my Man, Reddish." The concept of having to deal with his usual battle cry (Yes, Lord
MAJOR!!!) in his home every time he requested something, such as poached eggs of a folded periodical, was galling.
Reginald shook off the very thought with a shrug and helped himself to a fig from the basket. He wasn't especially hungry, having just finished supper, but it was in the mood for something sweet anyway. In any case, he had come to his stateroom to avoid a situation, which he had accomplished, and now that he was present he refilled his tobacco pouch from personal stock and tooled out his pipe. Yes, a bit of good, brown, Egyptian leaf with his new colleagues and fellow veterans would be a rousing sort of endeavor. Perhaps that Zalil fellow might want to join, were he in shape enough to socialize. Reginald thought he mentioned something about serving a term with the troops in India. A sort of Boys' Night among fighting men, as it were. The thought warmed him.
His task completed, the Lord Major gave his room a once over and then quietly exited, curious as to what he was to do next upon the boat until George was done with his tasks and Mahendra decided whether he was going to poke his nose out of his cabin that evening. Perhaps he would take in the air, lose a shilling or two at gambling, or just listen to the musicians ply their trade as they all floated along the Nile. With such options available to him, Reginald closed the door to his room behind him and locked up, then began to make his way toward the more open guest areas of the Elite Deck.
He suddenly froze in place. His eyes caught something that made him worry that he was either losing a marginal part of sight in his declining years, or possibly a chunk of his mind. It was the Corporal, arm in arm with Josephine, who was
wearing the man's uniform jacket. The shock was still fresh with him when Reddish turned in his direction and, without slowing his pace, threw a very casual salute in Reginald's direction. The Lord Major did the only thing he logically could do in that instance: He doffed his cap to the man and returned his salute, though his mind jumbled with questions.
"...what the devil happened at that supper?" he whispered, dropping the salute and letting his hand hang at his side.
Haring Reddish
Location: The Ferry (Second Deck -> Elite Deck)
Skills: N/A
"Why Miss Clarke, you bite your tongue." expressed Reddish with mock offense,
"Don't go apologizing for a laugh I'm keen on the hearing of. Why, I'll consider it a personal failure if I can't coax another one out of you before the evening's done." He nodded enthusiastically, a resolute look upon his face as if to reinforce this as a personal mission for the next hour. The Corporal took a more appraising look at Josephine, dressed nautically yet warding off the Nile wind with the frock of a non-commissioned soldier of the British Army. Admittedly it was a little mismatched, but the warm smile that touched his face for a moment suggested that he favored the look, be he somewhat biased on the matter.
When the starlet thanked him for the use of his jacket, he responded with a reassuring, even optimistic,
"Think nothing of it, madame. Nothing of it at all. If you'll allow my opinion, that being the case it's about bloody time someone did." The single bob of his head seemed to punctuate his sentence with a abrupt period. He took the moment to half drain his glass of wine, savoring the bold sweetness of the aromatic, golden libation.
Reddish looked soberly at Josephine as she commented on the wine. It was a fine piece of the vintner's arts, but it was fair to say that it did not suit everyone's palette. Well, waste not want not, as the saying went. While Josephine made her way to the stairs leading up to the Elite Deck, the Corporal quickly jammed the cork back into the bottle and handed it off to a standby dining steward. He gave over his room number and informed the man that the room should be unused and empty. And speaking of empty, he polished off the remainder of his glass and set it on a nearby table before jogging up behind his walking companion and linking his arm with hers.
"Well then, Miss Clarke, we're just going to have to find something that accommodates your tastes better, then won't we? Remember, I'm British. Two things we can do are queue and accommodate, if you'll take my meaning, ma'am! Besides, too much of that stuff is bad for you. Sugary, you see." Ascending the stairs, Reddish was more than happy to show his ticket to the official present. Soon, he was upon the wondrous and nigh mythical Elite Deck, a place ordinarily barred to common folk like himself. All the wonder and majesty of what the Upper Class got to experience on a daily basis was his to bask in! ...and yet, it didn't seem quite as awestriking as what he might have made it out to be. Of course, expecting to somehow find a fountain of craft beer and people in powdered wigs was admittedly a bit naive. Not just that, but like he had said below, he was here for the view. Before he could get to that, however, he caught sight of someone he knew from the corner of his eye. It was the Lord Major, come from his stateroom with the oddest look on his face, just staring at them. Staring as if someone had just told him a joke that he didn't quite get and struggled in vain to understand. The Corporal cast a look in his direction. As the man said, he was
Off Duty. Still, out of genuine respect for the legend known as The Lord Major, Knight of the Skies, Reddish raised his free hand and set it to his temple in salute, albeit never slowing his pace.
"You see what I was saying, Miss Clarke?" he said, looking across the water as they walked along.
"Moonlight upon the Nile, I mean to say. Nothing like it in the world." He stopped for a moment, noticing a photographer just a little ways up, taking souvenir pictures of foreign tourists and the like. The Corporal looked like he wanted to say something, but was held back by a sense of propriety. After a few awkward seconds, he finally said,
"Miss Clarke? I um... Look, you're all appointed and famous and the like, right? I'm the son of horse breeders from Middle England. This isn't my life at all, if you take my meaning, ma'am. First Class and moonlit walks with bloody movie stars in spectacular dresses. Just spectacular. Could I impose, and I know it's imposing, but would you take a picture with me? Maybe autograph after it's developed? Silly fan club style nonsense, but hey, when am I ever going to have an opportunity again, right?" He looked hopeful, but inwardly braced for a negative response to his request.
