Oh great fortune; oh, by some miraculous conspiracy of the heavens did this quaint little seaside town just so happen to have exactly what he was looking for! How charming it all was: the sturdy ships, the awful smell of fish that clung to everything, the sailors that left the top buttons of their shirts undone just to tempt him like sirens at sea – it was a breath of fresh air. Fresh… uh, fishy air.

Edwin blocked the sun with one hand and squinted down at the other. The ink on his hand had smudged, smearing a once-legible address into an unreadable swirl.

He'd made it to… a house. Couldn’t exactly double-check that it was the right one, now, before possibly disturbing the wrong individual entirely. Edwin clicked his tongue and wiped his hand against the inside of his sleeve, erasing what he could.

Then he lifted it and rapped his knuckles firmly on the door. Straightened his lightweight, tailored jacket, ran his fingers through his hair – like a… like a proper sailor, or an incompetent rich man’s interpretation of one.

“Helloo?” called Edwin in a light, chipper tone. “Is someone in need of a sailor?”

Probably wasn’t the best choice of words to call out. He wasn’t a sailor either.