From the journal of Senjata P. Witt
Arrived in New Babbage this morning, after a journey that was entirely less comfortable and more lengthy than I’m certain now was at all necessary, given modern technological advancements in the fields of air and aether travel, but a 2 week journey by steamship was character-building, at the least, and gave me, I feel, a greater appreciation for the ground when once again my feet were upon it.
I had not made arrangements in advance for lodgings- I find this to be helpful to me in quickly getting to know my surroundings and the local inhabitants. Necessity being the mother of invention, as they say, and hardship being the greatest of incentives toward personal momentum.
Very quickly encountered a woman in odd garments- some sort of aero-pilot, I gathered- whose name I do not now recall. This woman led me to another fellow, one Victor Mornington, a hotel proprietor, and apparently, a societal patron of the region. Mr. Mornington in turn led me, by both routes and contrivances which were likely memorable to any but myself, (curses again upon my useless cognitions,) to his establishment, and saw quickly and courteously to my accomodations. The fire now blazes, the shadows of darkness at bey, and I am able to settle and consider the paths before me. Perhaps I’ll take advantage of the hotel’s baths before I retire.