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July 1879, Brighton, West Pier
It was a nice day. Of course, the seagulls were an issue and he had been designated as guardian of their picnic basket, both to defend their sandwiches and keep their ideal spot from the invasion of tourists like themselves looking for a place to crash once tired of playing in the sea.
The west pier was – contrarily to what everyone seemed to say – an abomination to the fine eye.
Children with their nannies were shrilling in the distance, annoying as children could be.
But it was a nice day: the weather was good, and Nigel, James and John looked utterly ridiculous in their stripped swimsuits. Especially John, he might add.
As for Helen? She was the best part of the day thus far. Her laughter was contagious, her smile as bright as the sun and it warmed his heart somehow. She was splashing around in the water, kicking the waves at Nigel who was swearing, trying not to lose his bearing amongst the shingles. A single finger from John on his shoulder and Nigel wavered and fell on his behind in the water and Helen covered her mouth with her hand to try and look sorry, a not so ladylike snort escaping her throat.
From where he was sitting on the beach, Nikola heard John burst out laughing and saw him catch Helen to raise her bride-style above the water, threatening to give her body as an offering to Neptune, making her pretend she was offended when, clearly, she sounded delighted.
James lent a helping hand to Nigel to help him back to his feet. Watson was always the only adult in the room, it seemed.
“I’m bloody soaked mates! I’m out!” Nigel shouted, trying to pass his message above the commotion.
It was a nice day, but Nikola was sulking. He hated to see John’s hands on Helen. Of course, she wasn’t a delicate flower. She wasn’t frail, she could care for herself, she didn’t need defending and God she was not the least bit innocent. But she was precious to him, and pure of evil, and he was… Disgusting. Oh sure, John was Nikola’s friend. But whatever happened, he sided with Helen Magnus. And he could sense that whatever the hell was going to happen with these two, it was not going to be pretty.
He was thinking about that when Nigel sat next to him, extending his arm to take the picnic basket and extract a sandwich from it.
“You look ecstatic, really mate.” He noticed.
Nikola refused to let his eyes wander away from his friends having fun in the sea as he answered.
“Have you noticed a change in Druitt and Helen? I think they are engaging in a less platonic relationship.” He explained, throwing pebbles at a distance.
Nigel snorted.
“Shagging, Tesla. We call it shagging, in England. And yes, we all noticed. Look at James, he looks like a beaten puppy, still expecting Johnny to take him to bed.” He retorted.
Nikola raised an eyebrow. Call him innocent, but he had never so much as imagined that Watson had a thing for that brutish… thing. Well, that was enlightening.
Seeing Nigel munch into his pork sandwich gave him an idea, and he took out a sandwich from the basket.
“That’s Druitt’s, I thought you hated pickles.” Nigel warned.
Nikola flashed him a devilish smile.
“Oh, I know”, he said, unwrapping the food.
“Then what…” Nigel stopped when he saw Nikola take a handful of sand to pepper the inside of the sandwich.
“Really, Tesla?!” He chocked before a laugh took over his surprise.
“I put the sand in sandwich” Nikola answered, wrapping it again to put it back where it belonged.
“Amen to that my friend. Amen to that.”
It was a nice day. But it turned out to be even better at lunch time.