Of Privilege and Power (Anyone)

[Caledon Hockley]

Rich, wealthy people always seemed to know each other and because of this, most of the people on the ship knew of the steel-heir, Caledon Hockley. They knew of his arrogance, but mostly they knew of his charm. Yes, Cal was most definitely a charmer capable of having pretty much any woman he wanted...but he wanted Rose. Did he love Rose? Possibly, but for him, it wasn't about love. She was beautiful. Almost like a trophy. The type of woman that would make others respect him in the world. With a beautiful woman by his side, surely he'd succeed.

Walking on to the Promenade Deck that afternoon, the sun shining brightly, he greeted a few passers by as he took out a cigar and lit it, taking a long drag on it before exhaling. Soon they would be back in America and he'd be back to work with his father and getting married to Rose. He was anxious, but also hoped that this voyage would last forever.

Seeing a crew member, he signalled him over. "Yes, I'll take a Scotch neat..oh and tell my fiancee, Ms. DeWitt Bukater that I wish to speak with her urgently."

The crew member took off as if this was of the most importance and Cal leaned against the railing, relaxing as he finished his cigar.

[Rose DeWitt Bukater]

Rose lounged on the luxurious couch in her stateroom, reading her battered copy of Pride and Prejudice. She had only read the book a thousand times, but she never grew tired of it. Suddenly, she heard a knock on the door, and her maid, Trudy, rushed to answer it. A man dressed in the uniform worn by the ship’s crew entered, and Rose looked up from her book in confusion.

“Miss DeWitt Bukater?” the man addressed her, and Rose nodded once in acknowledgement, “Your fiancé, Mr. Hockley, asked me to send you to him immediately. He is waiting on the Promenade Deck.” Rose scowled. She stood up from the couch slowly, carefully rearranging her intricate lavender dress. She would go, of course, but she would take her time in getting there. She hated that Cal felt he could call her whenever he pleased and expect her to come running like a trained dog.

“Erm… It sounded rather urgent, miss,” the crewman said, and she thought she saw a pleading look in his eyes.

“I can assure you, sir,” Rose said, slowly pulling on her gloves, “the only thing that is urgent is the matter of Mr. Hockley's incessant neediness.” She stepped over to the mirror on her dressing table, standing in front of it to rearrange her hair. Not finding anything else she could possibly do to prolong her time in her room, she brushed past both the maid and the crewman on her way out the door. She ascended to the promenade deck as slowly as she could. Sooner than she would have liked, Rose was making her way towards her fiancé across the promenade deck.

“You called, darling?” she said, and there was a hint of fake sweetness in her tone. Rose raised her eyebrows as she came over to stand next to Cal. She gripped the railing just to his right and stood, facing the sea. “Whatever was so urgent?”

[Caledon Hockley]

What is taking her so long? thought Cal as he continued to wait for Rose on the deck. He could never understand what took women so long. Seeing the crew man return, he pulled him aside forcefully. "Listen here you incessant piece of garbage, you work for me...Now, if I say bring my fiancee here, I expect you to do it. Got that?" He released the man from where he gripped at his collar and adjusted his own, as if nothing had gone on. Hearing the sound of heels, he then turned to see Rose.

"Good heavens Rose, there you are.." He replied to her, leaving the man and going over to her side before kissing her cheek, mostly for appearance."To think I was starting to think you'd decided to swim to America.." He added, joking with her before waving at a group of people that walked by them. He looked back at her, now more serious. "Your mother thought it wise if I get you out of that room..." He finished the last of his cigar and tossed it overboard into the water. "As far as staterooms go anyways, it's quite inadequate...One would've thought on such a grand ship they'd pay more attention to it's details.."

[Rose DeWitt Bukater]

When Rose made her way over, she noticed that Cal turned away from the same crewman who had come to her room. The poor man looked frightened and nervous, and his collar seemed out of place. Rose sighed, feeling a sudden pang of guilt. No doubt her delay in getting here had caused Cal to loose his temper with the man. He could be so short-tempered at times with the people whose only purpose in his eyes was to serve him; he seemed to have no patience with anyone he deemed to be of "lower" status.

“Oh, don’t blame him, Cal,” Rose said coolly, putting a gloved hand over his. “It was the… erm… elevators that delayed me. They were over crowded, you see.” Rose lied, hoping he would believe her story. Stubborn as she was, Rose was not about to let an innocent bystander be blamed for her own habit of doing everything possible to spite everyone she connected with the world of first class society.

Rose plastered a forced, polite smile on her face at Cal’s words. Swim to America? She’d be more likely to attempt to swim back to England. America was the last place she wanted to be just now. Going back to America meant bringing her marriage with Cal ever nearer, and that was certainly the last thing she wanted.

“I think the staterooms are fine, darling,” Rose said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Her words were not entirely true, of course. Really, she was just taking any opportunity to contradict Cal. The rooms were bland and colorless in her opinion, but then, she was prejudiced against them. They were aboard the ship that was taking her back to America. How could she see them any differently? She turned away from Cal, decidedly ignoring his mention of her mother. Rose wished to be left alone. Why was that so hard for her mother to comprehend? As much as she despised her room that felt more like a prison cell, she would rather spend time in there than out in public, constantly on display in society, an object to admire rather than an actual person with feelings and thoughts of her own.