Chapter Text
The last man Arthur Kirkland expected to see on the maiden voyage of the Airship Victoria was Alfred F. Jones. They’d grown up together on the streets of London, pilfering pockets to stay alive. Five years his senior Arthur had taken the lad under his wing.But then Arthur had been snatched up by a new charity initiative rehousing the youth of Britain and he’d lost track of his old companion.
Over a decade had passed but Alfred still boasted his boyish face, even behind the engineering goggles. His grin was bright and friendly, holding none of the animosity Arthur expected to find if they ever reunited. He’d suspected the boy would think he’d abandoned him on purpose.
“Is that you, Artie!?” Alfred beams, moving forward and wrapping his arms around Arthur in tight, intimate embrace. Arthur tenses. He’d grown unaccustomed to such familiar touch in the new circles he found himself in. The Bonnefoy family who had adopted him were descendants of one of the richest dynasties in France. He was certain if Francis ever suffered a paper cut he would bleed blue.
“Erm, hello Alfred,” Arthur says, swallowing nervously.
“That all you got for me?” Alfred laughs, “And what’s up with the duds. You look good!”
“Yes, thank you,” Arthur says, patting down his freshly starched tailcoat, “I thought it best to dress for the occasion.” He licks his lips, taking in Alfred’s much more worn attire. It made him stick out like a sore thumb around the aristocratic passengers. His overalls were stained, and he one of his sleeves rolled up while the other remained caught on his sleeve.
“Well, I’m just a junior engineer here,” Alfred says sheepishly, seeming to notice Arthur’s critical eye.
“That’s wonderful!” Arthur commends, “You’ve gone to school?”
“An apprenticeship,” Alfred says, “Mr. Braginsky took me in. He’s taught me so much about the way it all works. The cogs in the machine. All that.”
“Braginsky?” Arthur repeats, finding the name familiar and yet unable to place it.
“Anyways, I gotta get back to work. You know where the life-ships are, right?” Alfred waves.
Arthur scrunches his brow, “They mentioned them during the safety meeting.”
But by then Alfred has turned away, slipping down the hallway to descend further into the bowels of the ship. Arthur can’t help the dread starting to build in him. He gropes for his gold pocket watch for the time only to find it entirely missing.
“Bastard,” Arthur hisses, realizing it’s not the only expensive thing missing from his person. It seems Alfred still remembered the old lessons he taught him. Now he was mostly concerned with whatever new tricks he’d acquired.