Tiberius rolled his eyes, tipping his wrist up to check the battered watch for what seemed like the hundredth time. The boat was three days late to port after a catastrophic storm and the mood of the boat had taken a decidedly sour turn. Many of the passengers had spent the last two days complaining over the shortage of food, the wicked heat, and the shortness of the crew and Tibby was glad to see the dock in sight. Once the boat had landed and the plank lowered, passengers bustled and squabbled as they jockeyed for position to leave/ Tibby took his time, waiting for the crowd to thin out considerably before he picked up his holdall and, tipping his hat to the crew, sauntered down to the dock. His equally lackadaisical stroll through immigration finally found him with a stamp in his passport and papers welcoming him in to America. Now that the hard part was over, he simply needed to make his way to Los Angeles to meet an old friend. 

After a night stay in a church run hostel, Tibby found himself on yet another long journey cross country. A bit of wheedling and a demonstration of his abilities earned him a spot as a coal tender for a west bound train. It was hot and filthy work but it came with the perks of a free trip to the West Coast and regular meals. His arrival in Los Angeles was almost instantly fraught with more drama then he wanted to be involved in as the friend he had come to the city to meet was waiting for him in the drafty chapel of a tiny Catholic church where the only pity the poor bastard got was the short prayer offered by the priest who looked surprised that anybody had shown up to pay their respects. 

Tibby returned to the rails and spent nearly three years working hard labor as an apprentice fireman before leaving the rails behind in Detroit. The job had paid well, and Tibby had been able to save enough for rent in a small flat. There were days where he felt he would never get the taste of coal out of his mouth, recalling the feeling of the grit in his teeth from the coal that left his face and hands black as night. Even with regular bathing his hands, cracked and dry from shoveling coal into the firebox, remained laced with black. A year into working on the train, Tibby had developed a cough and another year in it had only grown worse. By his third year he had developed an aching pain in his chest every time he breathed and after a reluctant visit to a doctor, he'd been diagnosed with pleurisy and pneumonia. He'd been ordered to leave his post on the train to recuperate. The doctor had said it might eventually get better but he'd never work hard labor again, a crushing blow to a young man of twenty one. He'd spent a month moping about, trying to search in earnest for gainful work that held some of the same appeal and near danger experiences that being a fireman had brought, but to his dissatisfaction, there was very little that he found he could do without searing pain and a wicked cough. 

His fruitless search saw some improvement in his symptoms but very little improvement in his overall mood. He found himself feeling cross often. One one of his more sullen days, he found himself near a shadier part of town, stumbling across a business deal that was nowhere within the realm of being legal. His clumsiness led to a series of meetings with a well known city leader that dealt in the shadier aspects of business and eventually landed him a probationary position of working for the local family. His medical needs were taken into consideration and Tibby found that the job was just the thing he needed to get back on his feet in Philadelphia.

A few weeks into the job he wound up shaking down a small business near a small cafe and afterwards decided he needed a cup of coffee. The cafe was crowded and warm and he found that there was very little room except a seat at the counter between a rather intimidating older man and a young redhead. He slumped into the seat and caught the waitresses eye, pointing to the coffee pot in her hand. She smiled warmly and pulled a mug off the rack of clean dishes, pouring a cup as she walked over to him, sliding the cup in front of him as she winked and he returned an awkward smile, reaching for the cup in front of him. The young redhead sitting next to him turned, a look of disgust on her face as she crinkled her nose.

"How can you drink it like that?" She asked in a thick Irish accent.