Pietro didn't take much leave of his room. He was not happy to be going to America, and he didn't particularly care for the questions from the other passengers. They were rich, yes, but still fairly new money, and his accent coupled with his hair always made the girls titter in a way he found most irritating. It was a bright shock of white, and had been since he was quite young, they said he'd suffered a very bad fright, and it had never returned to its natural shade.
Today however, he had been coaxed out into the fresh air by his sister. Soon she was swept off by the tittering ladies, and Pietro was left to walk the deck alone when he heard a lovely sound drifting through the air. He pressed on until he found the owner of the voice, watching her with wide pale blue eyes.
"...You've a lovely voice," he said when she'd finished.