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Post by jack on Dec 17, 2009 18:36:20 GMT -8
There he was standing at the end of a long lines of life boats with a piece of charcoal in one hand and his journal in another. He'd only been drawing a short time, but already his face, clothes and arms were doused in the black flakes of powder. With each stroke of charcoal against parchment a picture began to form of a father and his son playing with their German Shepard on the ship's dock.
His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the pinstrip lines on the young boy's shirt. He could not have been more than seven years old, but he was dressed like a gentleman twice his age. Top hat and all, he looked like he was well prepared for an easy life, but then again Jack was lurking on the first class portion of the ship. Everyone looked that way here.
He rounded out their eyes, gave the old man a few whiskers and he was done. Jack raised the picture to his lips and blew the remnants of charcoal off. They blew to the west, carried in a gust of cool north Atlantic wind.
He carefully closed the journal and tucked the charcoal into his pockets. Not bothering to wipe his hands he stood and moved further down the ship looking for another drawing prospect. He had hours to kill before supper and he would make the most of it.
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Post by Rose DeWitt Bukater on Dec 17, 2009 20:18:09 GMT -8
Rose’s high heels clicked against the wooden deck of Titanic as she walked. The horrible things pinched her feet, giving her blisters. They were too small, of course. But that made her feet look smaller, and according to her mother, that was one of the few things that mattered. She had somehow managed to slip away from her mother, Cal, and all of their petty, shallow friends and their carefully restrained lives. She had to get away. She hated pretending that everything was perfect when she wanted to scream. Rose’s footsteps quickened until she reached the ship’s railing several yards away from where a young man sat with charcoal in his blackened fingertips. Rose gripped the railing tightly in both hands, leaning far over the edge to stare at the water with an empty look in her eyes. She wanted out. Out of everything. Out of the whole trap that was her life. She did not want to marry Cal; neither did she want to be on this prison ship. Everyone else marveled at the beauty and luxury of the ship, but she saw only the bars behind which she was trapped. She was going back to America against her will.
Rose fought hard to keep her tears of frustration at bay, but it was no use. A few escaped, quickly blown away by the strong winds that played at the strands of her hair that had fallen loose of her previously perfect bun. She struggled to maintain enough self control to keep from breaking into uncontrollable sobs. She was falling apart, breaking open. How was she expected to stand to live this way much longer? How did her mother live this way? How did anyone?
Soon, Rose was gasping for air, breathing in the salty scent of it. Blasted corset. How was she supposed to breathe in the thing? Her mother’s way of life left one with no room to breathe in nearly every way possible, it seemed. On a sudden impulse, Rose tore off the beautiful shoes that pinched at her feet, flinging them over the side of the ship, where they made a satisfying splash before sinking into the ocean. It was surprising, how liberating that one small act of rebellion felt; it was a freeing sort of sensation. Now she only wished for a way to be free of her corset without stripping in front of everyone on the deck.
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Post by jack on Dec 22, 2009 19:42:07 GMT -8
Jack moved along at a snail's pace. He had no destination in mind so there was no real need to rush. Twice he had stopped to chat with a few other third class stragglers who were making their way to 'their' part of the ship. Never one for following the rules, he would linger on 'this' part of the ship as long as he wanted.
It was as he was walking along and looking out at the ocean that he saw a shoe sail overboard into the dark blue water below. He paused in his track and raised a brow. Unless it was raining shoes he couldn't immediately make sense of it. He looked over head at the higher decks and then down the line of life boats until his eyes rested on a red head whose cheeks were almost as red as her hair. He could see her chest heaving up and down as if gasping for breath, but she looked incredibly pleased with herself.
So it was her shoe. His blue eyes darted from her to the ocean and back again and a gentle smile curved his lips.
Now this was definitely worth a sheet of time.
Moving as not to be seen, he found a place near a tiny girl on a bench. Her mother quickly pulled her away. He didn't care. His eyes were trained on the fine crimson woman standing near the railing. He pulled out his charcoal and flipped open his journal to a blank sheet.
He wanted to capture the loose strand of fire blowing in the wind atop her head, the shimmering light reflecting off her gown and her bare feet which were just visible beneath her dress. He scratched away, his lip pulled in with his teeth as he captured this very inspiring damsel in distress.
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Post by Rose DeWitt Bukater on Dec 23, 2009 16:58:39 GMT -8
Rose was still gasping for breath as if she had run a mile. She was getting odd stares from the other passengers on deck; she could hear them whispering to each other. She wondered what they thought of her; some strange, deranged young girl throwing shoes off the side of the ship, her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess. If only that were the only thing in her life that was a mess just now. Soon enough, they went about their business again, as if the world’s gears were slipping into motion again despite her temporary disturbance. No matter what she did, Rose never seemed to have the power to do more than cause that one momentary disturbance here and there; tiny things that had no lasting effect on her life, or anyone else’s, for that matter.
Rose’s breathing began to slow, and she closed her eyes for a moment as her hands gripped the railing of the ship again. But not quite everything seemed to have returned to the way it was before she had disturbed the surface of things. Rose’s eyes flew open and searched the deck around her until they landed on a young man with fair hair and sparkling blue eyes looking intently at her. Rose’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she quickly looked away as if she had not seen him. Though her face remained facing forward, out towards the sea, her eyes slid to the side, trying to get a better look at him without openly gaping. He was quite mesmerizing, now that she had gotten a better look at him; she found it difficult to look away.
Rose was so lost in her own thoughts that it took longer than it should have for her to realize that her mother and her group of stylish friends were now making their way towards her. Not quite ready to return to that other world yet, Rose quickly ducked behind the nearest lifeboat, hoping that she had not been spotted. She knew that her mother would have a fit if she saw her daughter in such a state; barefoot except for her stockings and her hair a ruin. Rose held her breath as her mother passed. She could hear her prattling on about the weather or perhaps the upcoming wedding; Rose was not paying attention.
“… don’t you think so, Rose? Rose? Oh, where has that girl gone off to this time?” Came her mother’s high voice. It was so like her mother; it should not have taken her this long to notice that her daughter was missing. But it seemed that no one bothered to pay much attention to Rose anymore. But how could she expect anything different? It wasn't as if her thoughts or feelings were at all important in her mother's eyes. She was expected to blend into the background; a quiet shadow of a girl with no opinions or thoughts of her own.
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