February 4, 2022 – 1:45 AM
2 February 1892 — Zelfred's House, Sanditon Terrace
The Voyager had made port around sunrise that morning, and although Alfred would have liked to have flooed straight home and told Zelda he was back, there were a number of things to tend to before the ship could be left alone at the pier. He kept his crew working hard on the various odds and ends — unloading cargo, tying up sail cloth, repairing frayed rigging — until just before lunch, when he let them loose. They were late returning by nearly a week compared to what he'd planned at the beginning of the voyage, but he actually felt they'd made good time; the merchant they'd been escorting had a devil of a time with the winds around the cape, and that delay could have set them back two weeks if he hadn't made some of it up. The last time he'd written Zelda he'd told her he'd likely be gone well into February, so he was hoping this would be a pleasant surprise. Of course, he hadn't made it quite quickly enough to find her at home on a weekend, so when he did make it back to their home (through the Sanditon Resort's floo and then a short walk — he'd meant to file the paperwork to have their parlor fireplace connected to the floo network before he'd left, but he'd put it off to accomplish hurricane repairs and hadn't done it, and he wasn't sure whether Zelda would have or not) it was empty except for her dog.
He killed time. He tossed a toy for the dog, who was interested for ten minutes and then decided to nap on the rug instead. He made a sandwich for lunch and wandered through the house, taking in the little ways that it had changed in the months since he'd been here last. He'd gotten used to things being different from how he'd left them; even when he'd had his own room in London there were always subtle changes when he was away so long. A new cozy in the kitchen for the tea kettle; one fewer mug in the cabinet, presumably because one had broken; things in the lavatory had gravitated towards new positions. It took ten minutes for him to find his shaving razor.
Alfred opened his seabag and considered unpacking, but in the new context of this house the salt ground in to everything he'd brought with him from the ship was apparent. He'd probably have to wash everything before he did any actual unpacking, which meant he'd have to wait for their laundry woman to visit again — Alfred didn't know how to wash clothes except with saltwater.
Eventually he ran out of things to do and decided to leave the house, abandoning his still-packed seabag in the hallway and his wand on the table by the door. Of course he ended up at the Sanditon's docks; even if he'd set out to wander aimlessly he would have found himself there sooner or later. The sailboats were in much the same condition that he'd left them, since they had been safe from winter weather (there had, apparently, been no further hurricanes), but there was still upkeep to be done, so he busied himself with that. He hadn't brought a watch with him and there was no clock at the docks, so he didn't realize how late it was getting until he the light from the sun started to slant and impact his work. Zelda would have been home from work by now, probably — what time of day did the sun set in this part of the world, at this time of year? He couldn't recall. He stopped by the boathouse to wash his hands and left his sleeves rolled up as he returned home. He considered knocking, but only for a second before he chided himself for being foolish — this was his house, after all.
"Hell-o," he called as he swung the door open, already grinning at the thought of seeing Zelda inside.
He killed time. He tossed a toy for the dog, who was interested for ten minutes and then decided to nap on the rug instead. He made a sandwich for lunch and wandered through the house, taking in the little ways that it had changed in the months since he'd been here last. He'd gotten used to things being different from how he'd left them; even when he'd had his own room in London there were always subtle changes when he was away so long. A new cozy in the kitchen for the tea kettle; one fewer mug in the cabinet, presumably because one had broken; things in the lavatory had gravitated towards new positions. It took ten minutes for him to find his shaving razor.
Alfred opened his seabag and considered unpacking, but in the new context of this house the salt ground in to everything he'd brought with him from the ship was apparent. He'd probably have to wash everything before he did any actual unpacking, which meant he'd have to wait for their laundry woman to visit again — Alfred didn't know how to wash clothes except with saltwater.
Eventually he ran out of things to do and decided to leave the house, abandoning his still-packed seabag in the hallway and his wand on the table by the door. Of course he ended up at the Sanditon's docks; even if he'd set out to wander aimlessly he would have found himself there sooner or later. The sailboats were in much the same condition that he'd left them, since they had been safe from winter weather (there had, apparently, been no further hurricanes), but there was still upkeep to be done, so he busied himself with that. He hadn't brought a watch with him and there was no clock at the docks, so he didn't realize how late it was getting until he the light from the sun started to slant and impact his work. Zelda would have been home from work by now, probably — what time of day did the sun set in this part of the world, at this time of year? He couldn't recall. He stopped by the boathouse to wash his hands and left his sleeves rolled up as he returned home. He considered knocking, but only for a second before he chided himself for being foolish — this was his house, after all.
"Hell-o," he called as he swung the door open, already grinning at the thought of seeing Zelda inside.