boat maintenance thread

So my mother - Winter I'd call her, for the long stretches it was me and Mom living in London - was a modestly successful, well-travelled sea captain who was torn apart by mutineers the one time she took a dip into the human trafficking business. Apparently her reputation as a cannibal queen of the high seas didn't mean squat by the time the crew hit breaking point.

I'd always figured I'd follow in Winter's footsteps, eventually, maybe, once living on subterranea firma like a normal Londonite stopped appealing to me for some godforsaken reason.

Mom's will was delivered a few months back by a lady with a face like death and an utterly inscrutable laugh when I asked her if she felt alright. She was the surgeon on my mother's ship, and wants to hold a similar position under my captaincy.

Winter left me a gun, some steamy literature and her surgeon, willing the townhouse to Mom. She gave me the go-ahead to sell off some of Winter's old cabinets and curios and scrounge enough funds for a partway decent ship (One that would have actual space to mount my inherited armament.) Mom's getting on in years, but I still remember her talking about Winter's promise that all three of us would live in a mansion one day.