Unsinkable Ship, RMS Titanic

RMS TITANIC -- We Are Breakable
THE UNSINKABLE SHIP


Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.
So it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess,
And to stop the muscle that makes us confess.


RMS TITANIC -- The Plot
THE UNSINKABLE SHIP

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

RMS Titanic: The Roleplay, THE UNSINKABLE SHIP: CLICK HERE!!!

RMS TITANIC -- The Cast:
THE UNSINKABLE SHIP

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

---TO BE ANNOUNCED---
Played by Spotty: ILARIO GOSNEY, 35

Ingrid Michaelson: "Breakable"

"You're so fortunate, Ilario!"
"Yes, your younger brother is touring the...Orient, though what he sees in those countries, I'll never be able to tell."
"So you take this ticket in his stead."
"It's a chance in a lifetime."
"Your brother is so much more deserving, but you'll just have to endure..."


Most conversations with his parents ended that way. He respected both, more than he probably should, but the adoration they held for his younger brother, the supposed creature of perfection was...grating on, not only his self worth, but his very sanity.

He reflected then that whining about his rocky relationship with his parents was a little frivolous, especially considering the fact that he was about to board a passenger ship, one nearly three times the size of the cruiser he'd boarded that had taken him to this "beautiful" country, just to ride on the claimed "Ninth Wonder of the World". Really, could this boat be anymore cliched?

The person in question, decidedly male, in posture and height, was standing near the dock, watching as many of the boat hands snuck ashore for some moments on land. This was something his didn't understand. Hadn't the pirates of fairytales and story books badmouthed the "landlubbers"? He lifted a hand to his forehead, massaging his temple in a bored, mildly anxious manner; in the process, shifting his dark, grey streaked hair. He wasn't old, but he was aged...as those of his age bracket liked to label it, apparently in an attempt to soften the sting of just being damn old. He was considered attractive, for once he was clean shaven, as well as delicately coated in some expensive cologne or another, the scent catching the air as he moved closer to the grand ship before him.

Nervously, he fidgeted in his pockets, reaching either hand into one of the multiple pockets the, surely fine, grey thing possessed. He must have been wealthy, from his shined, new black boots, to the hat in his hand. Even the spectacles he wore had a sort of fresh, wealthy gleam to the lenses.

After several moments of deliberation, a generous drink from the flask produced from one of his numerous pockets, and grasping of the pink and white parchment that secured him passage on the vessel, the male made his way to the line at the deck. He..stumbled. Maybe that delicate scent of cologne was nothing more than severe stench of alcohol clinging to his form? But after some awkward shifting of his hat, and the tightening of his hold on his baggage (hell, most of his other luggage had been loaded long before his appearance on the shore; customs of fancy liners and all that), he was once more in place in the growing line.

It was a wonderous fact, at least, to himself, that he had managed to make the ship, let alone to be rather early. Multiple notables were already aboard the ship; they'd boarded at earlier destinations or had come much earlier in the morning and early afternoon to secure themselves upon the vessel. He wanted little situating and...socializing to occur before the trip. In fact, he'd have plenty of situating and little social contact, if that was an option. Holing himself up, in the fancy room his parents had purchased for the younger Gosney brother, with a bottle of hard liquor sounded ideal to him.

"Here's to not remembering a goddamn second on this damn boat..." he muttered under his breath, flicking his eyes to the sky.

ooc;;
If this has severe typos, pardon me. x.x Writing intros at six in the morning = Bad news bears.
Inspiration is a silly thing.

'I shall not get on that ship.'

The thought of the blonde woman was repeated often. She didn't like travel, in fact she hated the water. Any time she would be taken to the beach as a child would result in her crying the entire time, but of course her parents didn't want to ruin the fun of her siblings. So she would have to wait out the days by the shore. She would eventually go onto the Titanic, with her 'do what she is told' attitude.

She was quite short and thin. 'A pile of bones you are.' her father would say. The lady would just ignore him. It wasn't her fault she had such a figure. It was simple genetics. She was the type of young lady that was average looking with dark blue eyes. She wasn't quite tanned but there was a definate pigmentation of her skin.

"Elodie. Come here please." her father called to her, in Fench no less. They did speak English but there were still small gaps in their understanding. They could have a basic conversation and then some. Elodie and her father, Henri were travelling to New York, the rest of their family was waiting there, Elodie's mother, Aurelie, her brother and sister, Sophie and Oliver. Both her siblings were older than her.

Doing as she was told she approached Henri. He was a fearful man Elodie. He had never treated her the same as Sophie and Oliver, sometimes a little better, sometimes a little worse. You could never tell with Henri's mood swings.
"Yes daddy?" Elodie asked.
Even thought Elodie was an adult, at twenty six years of age she was still living with her parents. Aurelie wanted to make the most of her last child and Elodie found the unsheltered world outside of her home too frightening and harsh to deal with. She was the type who lived in the cocoon her parents had wrapped her around.

"Be ready to board. We wouldn't want to leave you behind. And stay close for god sakes child. Don't begin to wander off until we are on the ship. Then I won't mind." Henri said, some in French and some in English. Elodie nodded and clutched her bag a bit closer to her then needed. The pair held second class tickets for the Titanic, their family wasn't exactly poor, and were definiatly not rich. They were somewhere in the middle, possibly leaning towards the rich side.

Elodie flipped the strands of hair out of her face as she sat down, her simplistic white dress was high cut and elbow length sleeves and ended at her feet. It was quite light and airy for those dress standards. She couldn't help but smile. It was a dress her mother had picked out before her own departure the month before. 'So you can feel the sea breeze on your arms.' Aurelie had told her daughter.

"Elodie Noelle Benoit! Don't sit like that you look like a fool." Henri hissed at his daughter. "Get up, we need to board now anyhow." he said, grabbing her arm and lightly pulling her up. Even though no one was making a rush to board her father had always been one to do things early and out of the way before his aging mind forgot and left it too late. Elodie herself, with her sharp as a tack mind wouldn't forget such a thing to board a ship.

Going through all the necessary requirements to board and once on the vessal itself Elodie didn't know where to begin. The ship was quite large and there was bound to be endless entertainment from begining to end. There would be many people to talk to if nothing else. Elodie was also excited because it was during this time she would begin to make the transition to speaking English 'full time'.

The young woman's personality varied from time to time, in fact it was almost like she had several different personalities. For the most part she was quite the self concious girl who was a introvert with bursts of outgoingness. Elodie wasn't very connected in her family except for her mother. She and Aurelie were very alike, go with the flow, aversion to conflict and not quite saying her feelings to people that are too close.

"Well daddy, may I leave your company now?" Elodie asked. Henri just nodded, but as his daughter began to walk off he spoke.
"Just find me every couple of hours. Just to make sure your still here." Henri laughed. Elodie laughed too but continued to walk until she was out of sight. It was then she heaved a sigh of relief. The world was hers.

Ooc: Ick. I have no idea how long that took me to write XD I think there are a lot of typos in there that I just can't remember where they are.

Click.4.Carlisle
(Link works now BTW~ ^ ^;)

BackInCharacter-
American life in the early 20th century was paradise. Europe and North America were now, quite literally, on top of the world. Electricity was a fantastic addition to the many comforts that citizens of Canada were getting addicted to. They certainly had their luxuries. Of course, a few years later, the Great War (referred to in the future as World War I) would begin, followed shortly by the Great Depression, and then World War II. But we won’t go into that. After all, it hasn’t happened yet, and no one can say for sure that the terrible luck of one iceberg brought on all this sorrow and chaos, can they? It is unrealistic, and uncouth. Instead, my precious reader, we are following the adventure of young 25-year-old Carlisle James Manson. Born and raised in western Canada with his an older sister and single father, he, too, was used to bed of roses that were becoming customary for the people of this generation. Until he joined his countries navy, where hard work had turned his young body into that of a man. His back was straight and strong, testament to the work he had faced throughout his years of service since his 19th birthday. Six years since then.

Soft waves of brown hair were neatly combed to the side of his head, a part showing the white of his scalp. Beneath eyebrows of the same shade, brown eyes flicked nervously back and forth. Carlisle’s gaze was dark, full of rich shades of burnt umber, and a touch of amber near his black irises, and perhaps a few flecks of green that insisted one search his eyes further to find out. Modest portions of his skin showed, and his smooth café au lait skin seemed to please the eyes of others. He had the control of a marine officer, determined to ‘soldier on’, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable in his current setting. Narrowing his eyes at the quarters, however, he allowed himself a low whistle. He’d bet the navy captain’s quarters weren’t this nice. He was travelling second class: that meant a room that housed two, if the two beds weren’t any indication. Three suitcases were already placed next to a chest at the foot of the bed. Two were his: One holding clothing, the other a saxophone he’d been playing for quite some time now. The other, he wasn’t sure.

“I’ll just leave your bag here, sir?” The attendant said crisply, before backing out into the hall and walking quickly away in the direction of the upper deck.

“Thank you . . .” Carlisle sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. His torso twisted around as stared at the comforter’s pattern, shifting his weight to test the beds springs. It creaked under his weight. The young man only fell back, one hand curled under his neck, the other laying across his stomach, much the loud annoyance of the mattress. How strange: this was the ship’s maiden voyage- why on earth would the mattress sound so old? Or feel so uncomfortable? He was riding second-class! The ship was so large he couldn’t tell if they were moving or not, but he suspected they would embark fairly soon.

For all the talk of the brochures, describing the grandeur and elegance of the dances that were to take place, the ship hadn’t seemed very epic so far. Besides size, of course. Aptly named, she was enormous. He wondered momentarily if that would affect her speed. But this would have been taken into consideration. How silly of him to worry. Ingrid herself had told him to try to enjoy himself.

”I wish you’d come with me.”
The female’s eyes took in her brother’s features affectionately.
“I can’t always be there to protect you from the scary women, James. Besides, you need someone to write to. I’m telling everyone my little brother found his courage.”
He had smiled uncertainly as he embraced her. It would be several months before he saw her again. She had no idea that he’d already found his courage: he just wasn’t interested in what society expected of him.

After the recent death of his father, Carlisle had never been so far from his sister, whom he relied on for support and assurance. He reached into his breast pocket, removing the picture of his sibling in sepia. After a moment, he sat up and straightened his clean linen shirt, and tucked the picture back into his pocket. A short stroll around the deck would probably help him calm down. As he meandered, eyes wandering the walls, though not closely enough to appreciate the artwork, he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapping the box against his palm. The slim white tube was removed carefully, and the box replaces to his pants pocket, the cigarette in his hand. As soon as he was on deck, he made his way through the boarding passengers towards the rail, carefully keeping his eyes on the horizon as he struck his match and held the flame up to his lips, free hand guarding the end as he sucked in his breath, before exhaling in relief and tossing the tiny match into the water. Again, he was very careful not the look down. Carlisle was not frightened of water, but he hated looking down into deep, dark places, as if they were endless pits, and he were falling . . .

Now if only he could find a good poker game, he could feel a bit more at peace. Perhaps he would go look for a game room later in the evening.

OutOfCharacter- . . .
I just had this mental image of a couple making out before the Titanic hits the iceberg, and it’s like:
THAT TAINT SOME EAGER LOVERS WHO CAN’T WAIT TIL PORT, CHILLUN’S-- THE SHIPS SINKING! D8
>>
<<
-crappy Brit accent- “WE’RE ROCKIN THE SHIP! 8D”
Anyways, heh. I’m still not over my hyper streak. I’m starting to think VT is at fault here. >> That’d be my intro luffs. Enjoy. <3

This post has been edited by Tabbies on Apr 27 2009, 05:47 PM

ooc; Daphne gets a crappy intro. 8D
Huzzah for Spotty's DP canons~
You have to wonder if this character always ends up dead.

ic: It was 1912 and the docks at April brought the scent of ocean spray and English smoke into the sweet, sunny sky. It was a time of high fashion and ankle-length, wired skirts, lowered necklines and bare arms. Hair nets and hat pins securely clasped draping chapeaus over hair which would be pressed in curls if they were not cut into a short tangle. The wealthy wore white these days, unless they were traveling; perhaps they wore white anyways, just to prove the disposable nature of their clothing. It was a decade of lawn tennis and catwalks, Poiret and Paquin, and quaint haberdasher lovers which dreamed to be fashion designers. Of the year’s theatrical influences, there were Gialdini, Pucchini, Mahler and Stravinsky, the Manhattan opera house and New Amsterdam’s Broadway theatre. In music, there were numerous names that could flaunt their fame and talent as if they were made to perform. Amongst these most beloved artists was a little songbird with perceptive blue eyes, full lips and carefully kept nails. She looked a delicately desirable thing – better suited to be a courtesan than anything else – with all the makings of an American socialite. As it was, the English-bred performer was a smidge of an actress and too much of a businesswoman, and here she was in a profession that bred scandal without bringing in the extra income. Daphne Belle – or rather, now that she had reconciled with Sir Alaric her father, Daphne Paige – was a sight to be beheld. She matched the notes of the delighted chorus of laughter the other women offered on that bright day, clutching to their hats and watching their skirts as their companions managed the luggage and worried on boarding passes.

Had someone focused on her at just the right moments, the trepidation the woman felt about boarding the passenger-liner would quickly become apparent in the expression she wore. There would've been a flash of sharp eyes - blue needle pricks of anger, wrath and womanly rage – before Daphne caught herself and fixed her smiling lips, cheeks flushed delicately in the reserved manner of a pleasant-faced entrepeneur. It seemed as though Daphne Paige, one of America’s most beloved performers, was always agitated these days if she had no one to distract her. True, she had spent her time in Europe seeming blissfully happy, accentuating her charade of delight with the most becoming of experiences: hello, Paris; hello London; hello society.

It had been nice to be home.

She had enjoyed modeling at the opera houses and racing games, would miss the Orient ballets of London and the demimondaines of France. Her father was at once furious and pleased with her recent appearances in London; not, of course, because of her old familial scandals. The current complication of their father-daughter relationship was because of the most recent chatter tailing the songstress: nobody had known what to make of Daphne Paige’s Korean fiancé until news broke out of his affair with one of her closest colleagues. Considering the fact that she was supposed to have come to England a married woman and then returned on the Titanic with her husband, it was no surprise that her restless features took on an infuriated turn whenever she was left to think for herself. She was supposed to board the vessel before her with Elias Lee at hand; instead, she had Roderick Gallow at one arm and Lady Duff Gordon somewhere before her.

She would have to be thankful to the elder woman; the designer that was Lucile Duff Gordon, here under the alias of ‘Mrs. Morgan’, had provided the most eventful escapades. She had participated in several of Lucile’s catwalks in the draping, kimono-inspired costumes that were blazing through Europe, enjoying the lavish evening gowns Lucile had her advertise during numerous evenings out. Admittedly, she had enjoyed her nights spent on the arms of every man that was not her former fiancé, establishing her presence on the fringes of her father’s “high society”. Now she found herself dressed in white with one of the century’s sunhats shading her brow, arched eyebrows finely kept over expressive eyes, and brown curls framing her rosy face as though they’d been laid in press. Lucile’s assistant was murmuring something about mannequins and Roderick had come to an impasse in his conversation with her; she took the moment to swallow silence and reflect on just what she would do when she returned to New York and her usual social circles, and the perplexing situation of that… infuriating scoundrel and the problem of their marriage.

Distractions, distractions - perhaps she could use a few more, just to keep her at ease until New York. Perhaps she would be able to enjoy the mindless evenings of the olympic-class vessel. Fine wine and classic company would never hurt a woman, but somehow she predicted too much time on deck, staringly vaguely in the direction of England where her scandals were old ones and there was much more work to be had. She caught a rush of French as she boarded, allowing her attention to fix itself on a hesitant young lady with lighter eyes and blonde hair - what was the name she heard? Elphie? Elodie? It didn't matter - tearing away from her family.

"I should have more relish for leaving home," Daphne muttered, quite suddenly, to the man beside her. Her cousin merely laughed, guessing at her thoughts, and let his own glance move quickly about his surroundings as though appraising a new home. "Let us hurry and get settled in before we come upon someone we know..." And though Roderick helped her with her luggage and she managed to find her room, perhaps another unforseen problem would riddle the voyage: what to do when her fiance arrived on the ship itself.

Thankfully, she hadn't thought of it. Surely there was plenty of room for them to be on the same passenger-liner without catching sight of each other?

Life really couldn't have been much more of a mess, could it?

Until 1890, there were absolutely no Koreans in the United States. As a baby, Seuhwo Lee had been brought to Hawaii in the first wave of Koren immigrants. He took on the name Elias. Korean names were hard to pronounce, and his parents were fond of the name. So from there on we was known as Elias Lee.

He lived in Hawaii for quite some time. His parents had passed away by the time he was fifteen and after that he spent all of his time collecting what money he could to get away. He wouldn't go back to Korea; he hadn't heard anything good. Apparently the Japanese were very oppressive during their occupation of Korea (which at the time was still just Korea, North and South were not yet established).

Korea was out of the picture. Elias wasn't going back. He wouldn't know where to go anyway. But he couldn't stay in Hawaii, so he gathered the money he needed to catch a boat to California. From there, he worked odd jobs with anyone who would take him. Elias spent plenty of time being turned down; most people weren't fond of hiring Asians. They just weren't very common and apparently diverse races made people uneasy. But Elias managed to make it through, living on the streets part of his life, but eventually making it to New York.

New York City was amazing. There was so much to see. So much to do. He fell in love with the theatre. He wanted to be up there so badly. Elias even practiced lines that he remembered from plays whenever he was alone. He acted out all the parts he could. It was all he wanted.

So, despite his race and lack of status, he auditioned. Again, he was turned down, a few times without ever even auditioning, but he struggled through and eventually found someone who was unafraid to have a multi-racial cast.

He made a name for himself. Elias might not have been so well-known if he was white. And it probably wouldn't have helped his popularity if word hadn't spread about his alleged relations with a close colleague of Daphne Paige, Elias' fiance at the time. They had met during their time working on performing the same show. They had fallen in love. Elias was sure that he would never want to be with any other woman, and somehow, Daphne had decided that Elias would make a good husband. But Elias wasn't known for thinking with his head, especially not after a few drinks. And it was so close to the wedding!

It was so close, in fact, that tickets to and from England had already been purchased by Daphne's father, and Elias had agreed to pay him back. But Daphne didn't really seem to want anything to do with Elias any more. She couldn't look past his mistake. His one-time mistake. His one-time, drunken mistake. And Elias wasn't going to pay for tickets for someone else to use. No, he was determined to get his money's worth out of his god-forsaken life.

He had stayed out of Daphne's way for the most part, but they both knew that they'd be on the ship together. And no matter how much he tried to set aside his feelings for Daphne, the woman who seemed as though she would never come back to him, despite his sincerest apologies, she was all he could think about. He wanted her back. She was the one he was supposed to marry.

Elias was dressed accordingly. If he hadn't been dressed well, he wasn't sure they'd allow him to board. He didn't wear white. White was too bright for his mood. A grey suit fit him just fine. He wore a white, long-sleeved button-up shirt under a grey, v-necked vest with four front pockets and one straight line of buttons. A red necktie was mostly hidden beneath the vest. Elias' black hair was part to the side and slicked over. From behind, it was impossible to tell that he wasn't white. He was thankful for that, but when he turned around, his high cheek-bones and almond-shaped brown eyes, with the help of a narrower mouth and the lack of overhanging forehead that seemed to be a trait of white people, seemed to give him away. He was exotic for the time.

But he fit the fashions as well as he could and ended up boarding with more ease than he expected. And immediately upon boarding, his eyes were scanning the area to find Daphne. He didn't see her. It was getting close to departure. He carried his bags toward the room on his ticket, more than impressed with the size of the ship. And it was supposed to be unsinkable! It was amazing. Or perhaps Elias was just easily amazed.

As he walked, he considered something. The room assigned on his ticket... had been arranged when he had expected to be returning with a wife. Oh dear. Daphne would not be happy to be sharing a room with Elias. Or a bed for that matter.

His voice carried across the ocean as he boarded the top of the beautiful ship and yelled good-bye to Ireland. The sea salt clung in the air and he could taste the mist on his tongue. "America, at last."

Finnegan Leary's family had managed to come out of the Potato Famine of 1845 with a decent amount of money to start anew. After the first signs of Blight, they had picked up and moved to England, where they lived for several years until it was safe again to live in Ireland. They took the money they had made in England doing factory work and moved their large family to a plot of land and paid for the material and the land itself and built a small cottage.

They began to raise potatoes and farm a few sheep, hens, and cows. Eventually, their profit rose and rose, as there were nearly no farms left in Ireland in 1855, three years after the end of the Great Famine. By the time Finnegan had been born, in 1893, the family was quite well-to-do.

Finnegan, preferring to be called Finn, already had his secondary education and was saving money working in the local stores and on his farm, to raise money to leave Ireland and pursue an education from one of America's Universities. He hadn't yet decided which one, but he already had enough money for the house he wanted, and was saving more money for the ticket. His parents had enough money to send all of their eleven children first class to America, but they wanted their children to learn the importance of working for their living.

With that in mind, Finn decided he would only buy a second class ticket so he could have enough money to buy a few things for his new house in America. It was pure surprise when his parents gave him a good-bye present of a first class ticket and brand new wardrobe and suit to wear when they did inspections. He thanked them both and promised to write everyday and return with even more chances to make more money for his family.

After he got his University education, Finn decided he would come back to Ireland and start a family of his own, while running a farm and a business. He would come back and marry his wonderful fiancé, Nory. He would have several children and they too, would work for a living and go to America for education and bring themselves back to Ireland, so they could establish more well-off families in Ireland, now that they had their independence from Great Britain.

Finn had his whole life planned out, he was so excited. With nearly two-thousand dollars to spend and the money for the house, Finn packed his belongings, dressed in his new suit and hugged his seven little brothers, two older sisters, and two younger sisters farewell. He told his father good-bye, who gave him his old pipe and a picture of the family when they first moved back. "Remember what this family is about, son. Remember the Leary's." Finn nodded and hugged him good-bye. "Make your Pa proud, Finnegan."

When he told his mother good-bye she cried against him. "Look at your Ma, wrinkling your good clothes. You've made this mother one happy woman, Finnie, please come home; please write." Finn nodded and kissed her on he forehead, being a foot and half taller than her.

His next stop was off to see his best friend, Sean to tell him good-bye. He would miss him so much. They had grown up together, they had worked together, and now he couldn't even get him to come to America with him. He knocked on the boy's door and waited for him to answer. When he flung the door open, Finn attacked him with a hug. "Sean, I wish I could take you, too!" Finn confessed. "It won't be the same without you," he choked back a few tears. "I promise, I'll write you from my new address."

After they had said their brief good-byes, Finn made his way down to say good-bye to Nory. He walked down the road for a while and looked around at all the places that he had loved as a child, silently saying good-bye to each of them, making his way slowly to Nory's house.

She clung to him when she saw him with his bags. "Please don't go, Finn. You'll meet someone new, you'll fall in love. You'll forget me!" Nory sobbed into Finn's suit coat.
Finn couldn't listen to her. "Nory, I will always love YOU!" He hugged her and gave her a kiss, "I promise I will come back. We'll start a family. You'll have my children. I love you, Nory. You know I need to get my education. I will return." With another kiss and a silently look of love, Finn turned and walked to where he had a buggy waiting for him in town, at the Post Office. All along the way he kept whispering to himself, "The Titanic, First Class, America..."

When he reached the port that the ship, Titanic, was docked, waiting for the last of the passengers to board, he got in line and waited for what felt like days. The man inspecting him asked for his ticket. He smiled at him, and his suit. The man was not Irish, and Finn felt a slight self-consciousness to his bright red hair he had combed and slicked back for the moment. Usually he had it wild and shaggy, it helped keep the sun out of his green eyes and often hid his brown freckles that dotted his face. He was nearly six feet, and his hands were skinny and large. The man nodded at him in acceptance. "You look like a fine young gent, for coming from Ireland."

Finn didn't know how to take that, but he smiled, waved to the man, and bid him a good day. He picked up his luggage and so did a small boy, who, Finn assumed, was his luggage carrier and person to show him around. Once Finn got to his room, he tipped the boy two dollars and sat down his luggage on the small couch in the front. The room was so luxurious, Finn couldn't wait to explore the rest of the ship.

Even though his family would be considered first class, he didn't feel as comfortable there, with the rest, regardless of how people looked at him as one of their own.

He heard two small children run down the hallway, screaming about how the ship was getting ready to set sail. Finn knew he must go say good-bye to America. He walked back through the luxury cruiser's hallways and onto the first class deck. He made his way to the rail of the boat's side and looked out over it. He made a small wave, to Ireland, and whispered a promise. "I will return."

ooc;;
-sulkily uses magnifying glass to read obscenely small fonts- D<

bic;;

While waiting in the line to clear passage onto the ship, the man found his gaze wandering from those stationed among the upper class, the chosen, to the lower and middle class, boarding in second class and steerage. The ordeal through which those bearing cheaper fare was a curious display. One that caused the man's eyebrow to twitch upwards momentarily. He didn't travel often, sure, but...the custom of searching for lice? among the dirty poor made little sense to him. Let it not be confused with his person being one to champion for the rights of those belonging to the lower "caste", but he couldn't help but crinkle his nose in response to the injustice.

The various conversations surrounding him faded into the background, though...he felt certain that someone had mentioned a popular actress...or singer? Truth be told, the man wasn't familiar with entertainment that couldn't be found at the bottom of a dark colored bottle, but the name Daphne...Daphne Paige, a woman uttered just ahead of him. That name he recalled, if only vaguely. Some show or another that his parents had paraded off to, their disappointment of a grown son in tow.

Those thoughts caused his acknowledgment of the supposed starlette in their midst with a bitter taste in his mouth. The scowl accompanying his darkened mood caused the gentleman checking his passport and examining his ticket to laugh, adding in an amicable manner, "Cheer up good sir, this voyage is bound to be unforgettable."

That statement he tended to disagree with on a couple of levels. Touching the pocket that kept his flask shielded from view, he fully intended on making the gentleman's words the very opposite.

"Welcome aboard the RMS--" Blah, blah. He wasn't listening any longer. Instead, he'd already stepped inside the ship and sought his way to his room, leaving the gentleman to shake his head in wonder to the bitter, middle-aged man. Americans, eh?


Ilario had managed to swipe one of the multiple servers slipping through the halls and requested a bottle of liquor to be delivered. It seemed to be the case that he would have drunk himself into a state before the ship had even left land. Of course, that couldn't be the case as the same woman returned, her face alight, and encouraging him to go to the rail as they departed.

For the love of god, women were infuriating.

Somehow, he found himself on deck, leaning over the railing boredly, eying the land, and gaze practically dripping with apathy. He glanced toward the red-headed fellow to his immediate left, offering a nod, though he couldn't be sure the other individual had even made eye contact. This land before the other was probably his home. Maybe he was leaving it forever, maybe only temporary. Either way, Ilario Gosney couldn't bring himself to care.

He reached into the pocket of his coat, drawing out the flask, and taking a generous drink, before snorting at the country that lay before them. He wasn't a traveler, one of those that trotted the globe, tossing the names of dignitaries and celebrities about just as he inhaled air. No. He'd be happier back in America, at this nine to five job, the evenings reserved for drinking to oblivion. This...this entire thing was a mistake. The sooner he returned to his rooms with the bottle of liquor that awaited him, the better. "Good riddance," he grumbled under his breath, paying no mind to the man known as Finnegan beside him.

(( Soo.. this is where Taph will post.. TOMORROW! Or she will die a horrible death at the hands of her head. ))

OoC:||
Uhh... Guys?
I think Taph might have been forced to kill herself with her head's hands.
>>

(( >>' Thanks for pointing out my mistakes in language Stace. ;____________; -is a failure, died at the hands of her head- << WELL ANYWAYS! I GOT A POST.. like I promised. ^^ .___. Pardon the typos.. etc. ))

To think-- a ship so sturdy that even god cannot sink it! Unimaginable! It’s like the epitome of fantasy taken root and materialized from elaborate stories from children fables and novels. The turn of the century!—absolutely spectacular! “Mam, did you know that even god can’t sink the Titanic! The newspaper claims that no force, man or supernatural can do it!” The young overly excited child exclaims as she quickly board ramp of the grand ship. A woman, with an almost identical expression to that of the little girl’s— piercing green eyes wide with marvel, a young complexion with rosy cheeks highlighting her almost invisible cheekbones on her round childlike face—quickly follows her ecstatic child. “ 'Mille! Slow down, you’ll bump into someone, you’ll slip! Relax!” She utters a series of the ‘what ifs’, sounding out of breath herself as she did and continues to carry a somewhat large case close to her bosom as if her life depended on it. “Miss let me carry that for you!” Calls out the man following behind her with the rest of her cases, “Non, I’m quite capable,” A slight French accent reveals itself as her guard lowers and her concern for her child increases.

Nay, the child neither acknowledged nor waited for her mother as she rushes by the ever-jovial greeter that stood at the top of the ramp. A wider smile strikes him as Camille runs by, “Bon voyage, mademoiselle!” Again, Camille neither acknowledges nor regards the man—this child was far to determine to see the front of the ship. Her golden curls being to pour out of her loosely pinned up bun as she bumps someone here and there. “An unsinkable ship! Spectacular!”

Young Camille Fasset— the very image of her father— from her expressive eyes to the very soft gestures of her hand movements to even her reserved hostility. Face of an angel, mind of a deviant little trickster. She lived most her life along the coast of Cote D'Ivoire with her father, Adolphe Fasset, a very talented cellist and widely known, and her mother, Lorraine Fasset, a very young soprano making a name for herself slowly but surely. Both made a decent living— lacking the 'proper pedigree' that the aristocratic families did, however, the did fine being along the ranks of nouveau riche. Though, their family did not maintain together— for death did them part. Four years prior to the current date, Aldophe left Lorraine, a newly widow of only twenty-four and Camille, a newly fatherless child of only seven. Struggling to live comfortably, life finally grants them opportunity— as Lorraine was invited to the Titanic as a performer. She took the offer, hoping that perhaps her luck will be better off in America rather than in France. And thus, Lorraine boards the Titanic promptly after her child.

“Camille!” she calls out to her child once again as she’s pushed aside by the on boarding crowd. With a sigh, she gives up—surely Camille would be smart enough to seek her out once she’s done exploring. A slight smile crosses her as her eyes linger up towards the main mast and she rests her case on the chair besides her. This White Star line steam ship— a sign of opportunity? “Huh.. Unsinkable by God?” she shakes her head as her smile straighten out and vanishes as she clasps onto the small silver cross around her neck. With a slight whisper she whispers, “Forgive them God, for they have sinned.” At that moment, a brisk wind from the Atlantic rushes in, knocking her hat roughly off her head and over the railing, messing up her neatly gathered dark brown curls in the process. A shocked expression fills her eyes, as she remains standing in place with a slight shiver in her person. A word did not slip her lips as she contemplates—was this an omen? What kind of response was that, does tragedy foreshadow this cursed liner? Though, she was not given enough time to ponder the thought as a firm hand rest on her elbow and slightly nudges her forward, “This way Madame. My goodness you’re trembling, are you well? Oh don't tell me you're shy!” One of the workers attempts small talk and escorts her to her room. “Yes I’m fine,” she assures him with a believable nod and grabs her case, “It’s just rather frigid today.” “Well come along! You can warm up in your room with a nice cup of tea, and you need not worry about anything! This ship is unsinkable.” “…. Yes. So I’ve heard,” she whispers and is rushed along. Paranoia— I need to relax for the sake of Camille and I.

Alas, after a good hour exploring, twelve year old Camille reaches the railing of the ship and she leans slightly over, just enough to see the water in the bay below. The Atlantic— dark, cold and mimicking a troublesome memory— contrary to what the clear and warm Mediterranean Ocean reflected! "Mon pere.." she could not contain herself as tears moisten her eyes she steps back away from the edge, tripping on her own feet. Landing on her bottom the top button of her coat pops open and a large pack of tarot cards come flowing out. "... zut," she mumbles quietly as she gets on her knees and begins to gather her cards. Almost gathering all her cards, she notices one laying faced up in between two men— one a tall red head and the other seemed to be an upset alcoholic. Mother always told her to not approach alcoholic men for they tend to be unpredictable, though mother wasn't there at the moment and this one did seem rather harmless. With a shrug and a smile, Camille strolls up in between the two men and picks up the card. Taking a moment to glance it over, she utters loudly, "La Roue de Fortune! ..... in reverse." Her tone lowers for the last part as she glances from Finnegan to Ilario then back to Finnegan. "You two know what this means right?" A pout fills her expression, "You are doomed with unexpected bad luck, interruptions, and a word of advice... no gambling. Or else you'll be doomed to lose your money!" Camille smiles once more as she adds, "Cards never lie.. head my warning," attempting to sound a mysterious as possible like those gypsies she admired so did.

Fate was sealed the moment you set foot on the RSM Titanic.

OutOfCharacter- ._. You know, I hear dying at the hands of your head is the very worst way to go, besides sinking in arctic waters. PLOTSPOILERSORRY-shot-. >>

BackInCharacter-
Carlisle’s very existence was scandalous. How on earth was he supposed to survive this ship without making a nuisance of himself? All he wanted for now was a dark room filled with smoke and men and women sipping alcoholic drinks while they played their money away. If he were careful, he could probably purchase a first class room if he gambled his way to the top. But not for this trip-- he would have to wait for the next trip when some passengers left. Of course, even then, it would be difficult considering just how many people would kill to get on this cruise line.


The little cigarette had fallen from his relaxed lips into the water, and though he struggled not to, he looked down, features turning pale with dread. He could still see the docks- the people- the water, dark and foreboding, gently brushing against the hull-

Carlisle hadn’t even realized he’d backed away, until he bumped into a woman holding a child. Of course, the child began to scream, but Carlisle was gone before the woman could snap something about just having calmed the creature down. A light sheen of sweat covered his features as he shoved his way through the passengers, stumbling drunkenly before he finally made it inside the elevator, one tense hand supporting his weight against the wall as he pressed his free palm to his face, gulping for stale air. A well-dressed woman glanced at him worriedly, edging away and turning her stare elsewhere. The young man’s cheeks reddened as he backed out, letting someone else replace him in the crowded metal cage before he leaned against the staircase railing, inhaling deeply. The interior of the ship was so elegant, so beautiful-- it was exceedingly difficult to believe that this was floating on water and not an elaborate hotel. So his room wasn’t very fascinating… but no expense had been spared elsewhere. Still, his mind nagged him. He was beginning to relax without the constant reminder of where he was, but he couldn’t simply forget--

Oh, God, how was he supposed to do this? Pride wouldn’t let him admit that he wanted someone to hold his hand and tell him the unsinkable ship was indeed just that. The Titanic was like a giant mother that wouldn’t let him down. Down . . . down . . . down . . .

He was a marine, for God’s sake. He’d travelled on water before. This would be no different. He pulled a handkerchief out and wiped at his face, finally sighing as he felt his body relax. The memory of his greatest fear vanished, as was his forced habit for sea-travel.
He decided that finding a fellow alchoholic would be best for his chances at distraction. The young man offered a smile to a passing young man named Elias, of Asian descent, he assumed.

“Pardon the intrusion, but do you have the time, sir?” The bar wouldn’t open until 11:30, he knew, as was British custom. How extraordinarily boring and vulgar that he would have to wait for the hands of the clock to move to precisely the right time, and have nothing else entertaining to do besides play cards.

OutOfCharacter- x.x Sucks. Sorry~

Elias had passed a few people on his way to his room, and he hadn't expected anyone to speak to him. So he was caught a little off-guard when a stranger spoke up. "What? Oh!" Elias said, immediately smiling and setting down his baggage to search his pockets for an old pocket watch he kept.

It took a minute to find -- he was caught off-guard after all -- but eventually he pulled the golden item out of one of the front pockets of his vest. "It's about ni-- Oh. My watch is stopped," he said, looking a little uneasy. "Sorry. I guess I don't have the time," he added, closing the watch and replacing it in his pocket.

He smiled sideways at the man that had stopped him as he picked his suitcase up once more, ready to walk away. He was still nervous about coming across Daphne, but at the same time he was excited to see her. "Well, good luck with the time, I guess," Elias said, still prepared to leave.

Two people had made contact with Finn. Two. Never in his life had many people talked to him like this without introduction and some time of idle chit-chat. He didn't know who these two were. A male, perhaps way older than him and a young female.

In Ireland, that was the way of those when they met. Finn turned toward the man first. He would uphold Irish tradition, it was in his blood and would remain in his whole family line's blood forever. "Hello, I am Finnegan. Most folks call me Finn. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance." As he spoke, he put his hand out to the other male's for a greeting handshake.

When he was done introducing himself to the man he turned to the little girl and got down on one knee. "And you might be?"

The freckles dotting his face seemed to brighten his look, keeping him from looking mean or angry. It was his strong point with children. He never looked like a monster that was out to attack them from under the bed, or the from inside the closet while they slept. A lot of men he had met his age looked a lot like that.

Standing back up, he looked over his shoulder to the ocean. It was beautiful, but it didn't look like the same ocean that hit Ireland's shore, even if it was the same one. This water was blue, near black, unlike the Irish green of the sea.

Suddenly, Finn felt homesick and he decided he would soon return to his room.

To be honest, Ilario was rather shocked that the man introduced himself at all. Or rather, he was shocked that his muttered phrase had inspired such a charitable reaction in the young man to his side. An eyebrow arched as he replaced the flask in his pocket, halfheartedly taking the man's hand and making a sound similar to snorting, "Ilario," he returned. After returning his hand to his person, he was content to resume glaring at the ocean and the land sprawled out before them. This trip had only served to make him feel more wretched than before and, frankly, the sooner the ship made to leave, the sooner, and closer, he would be to docking in New York and returned home.

The outburst from the child forced him to shift his attention, and unfortunately, his glare, to the source of the cried "warning", eyebrows darting up at the cards stuffed in her hands and the manner in which she spoke. Gypsies, to his understanding, were a people best not celebrated and he doubted this child's parents would be very happy with her choice of hobby. He didn't bring himself to scold the girl, instead allowing his expression to switch to incredulity as her warning finally occurred to him.

He shook his head slowly, bitterly, and returned his attention to the ocean, allowing the younger man, perhaps a father himself, to sort of the youngster, and trusted him, though a stranger, to hopefully see the girl to whomever she belonged to. "If only someone had bothered to deliver to me such a warning several years ago," the American muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on the railing of the ship. While the girl was nearby, he opted not to drink from the flask, as tempting as the act would have been after her announcement, by some unknown -- or was it really unknown -- persuasion and thought on his part.