[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/bded91a9-c816-490a-8fb9-8745db8e4e8e.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=darkgoldenrod][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Ferry (Elite Deck, Reginald's Cabin)
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	It was the first night in quite a while wherein the Lord Major was not wading through a flood of odd imagery and Egyptian Mythology. The mental silence was most welcome. While he did have the odd dream or two, it seemed the common, ordinary sort from which he still arose refreshed and ready to meet the day, at least better than most people of his approximate age and roundness of torso. As his eyes gradually opened, squinting against the morning light streaming into his stateroom, he gave a reflexive look to the walls near his bed and readied his sword arm to spring forth and grab his saber. A bad memory involving a camel spider from a couple of days ago came to mind; as improbable as that exact thing would be to happen again, and on board a boat, it did at least serve to wake him fully. Lucky day, he was alone in his room. 

	There was one detail that was different and/or unexpected in his surroundings, however. Upon the floor, near the main door to his stateroom, a rectangle of paper lay quietly within the directed glow of the ante meridiem. Reginald set his feet upon the comparatively chilly floor and shuffled over to the piece of paper, which he was fairly convinced was a note of some kind slipped underneath the aperture of his door. The tiniest amount of satisfaction crossed his features as he bent down and picked it up, to realize that he was correct. He held it out a little bit to better read the writing thereupon: 

	"[i]Please, do join me for breakfast at 8 A.M. on the Sun Deck. Bring your companions if you wish. Sincerely, The Captain.[/i]"

	Ah! Invitation from the Captain to take breakfast at his table. How quaint. It would be horridly ungentlemanly to refuse, as well. Reginald retreated to the nightstand to recover his pocketwatch. Sure enough, it was about two hours prior to the time mentioned, which should be ample time to freshen up and contact the others in his group staying on the Elite Deck. If they wished to involve those attached to them from the Second Deck, that was their decision. Considering the abrupt nature of the Corporal, the man attached to him in that regard, he was unsure as to whether it was the wisest course of action, himself. Conversely, if the Fellowship was otherwise the Fellowship, regardless, and should remain together throughout. Tactic might suggest that, with others on board that were acting against the best interests of their group, putting everyone in one very visible place wasn't the best idea. 

	Reginald rallied himself against the thought, remembering the simple and direct fact that he was [i]not[/i] in charge of this expedition. That honor belonged to Lady Munn. She might be considered foolish not to listen to the advice of the Lord Major as it was given, but nonetheless it was her decision, not his. The only man he could order about was the Corporal. Just to avoid the man's iconic response, he might keep even that to a minimum. 

	Well, it was a good time to get himself dressed. He wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=bdb76b]Haring Reddish[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/f00cb42d-37a1-4194-bdd2-9a6b0b4ec02f.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=darkkhaki][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Ferry (Second Deck, Reddish's Cabin)
[color=bdb76b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr][hr]

	Corporal Reddish rose with the sun, curious and optimistic about the coming day. Why, he even whistled a short tune that he picked up during his time in the trenches of the Great War, though the piece of music was better performed on a harmonica. Regretfully, he had never taken up an instrument that might have sufficed to properly communicate the nuance of the tune in question, and so whistling was the best that he could offer the situation. Reddish's own internal debate on the propriety of harmonica vs. whistling aside, all anyone who might have happened to be listening at the time would have known was that there was someone whistling a jaunty, wartime tune, quite possibly in a British accent (if such a thing were possible). 

	There was a brief period wherein he adjusted to the fact that he was indeed upon a boat. Nothing upon the open seas, granted, but a tiny moment to adjust footwork and he was good to go. The first order of business, after washing up for himself, was to neatly fold and stack the now clean and moisture free apparel of Miss Josephine Clarke, Hollywood Starlet. The whistling picked up for a little bit more as he lined up seams as perfectly as a non-commissioned man could when readying for inspection, folded without creasing, and arranged presentably, as if he intended to display them within the front window of a boutique or clothiers' establishment. Once satisfied that they looked as tidy as was humanly possible, he moved to see to his own duds for the day. 

	Class Bs, it seemed, positively radiated propriety. Standard marching wear, not dissimilar to what he had worn the previous day. If nothing else, it served to allow for the carrying of his more obvious means of defense without persons suspecting anything nefarious. A soldier of the British Empire carrying a revolver and bayonet was part and parcel with the scenery. A random tourist outfitted similarly was not, generally. Questions were potentially asked. With that last thought in mind, Reddish gave a moment of contemplation in the selection of his bayonet for the day. He settled on the same one as the previous, it was functional and could be pressed into immediate service if necessary. Not that it mattered, they all fit the same scabbarding or webbing as needed for the occasion. But it was just nice sometimes to have the option. 

	Well, first things first: Reddish promised to have Josephine's laundry ready for her by morning. And morning it was. Likewise, he was promised that the photographs taken yesterday would be ready for him by morning. Running up to her quarters twice in a short period might prove to be awkward, so he resolved to kill the proverbial pair of birds with one stone and wait on his delivery before making hers. He couldn't even say for certain if she was going to be awake yet. It made sense. 

	So, no problem at all! A bit of stretching, maybe a poached egg and toast, and then to business! ...and then to different business.