Snippet #1228534

Imogen was very sorry that she hadn't gotten to dance with the Irishman yet, but the gentleman that held onto her - George, she presumed? Mr. Stanly? Ah well - simply would not let go, and although his company was enjoyable and he was very much a gentleman, she promised a dance to another man and she planned to give it to him. Then, of course, he had the gall to call the Irishman a drunk - and invited her to chess all in one sentence! Imogen extracted herself from his arms and began to smile icily, ignoring the girl that had walked up to them. She seemed a bit of a snoot, anyways. "Why," Imogen began, her eyes flashing dark under the bright lights, "I promised that 'drunken fool' a dance and sir, I'd like to give it to him. but," and she attempted to look heartwarming, "chess sounds lovely. Very stuffy, though, sweetheart. I'd presume you are first-class?" She turned on her heel and walked away.

Once she got back to her seat, pudding now old and uneaten, she was very saddened to see her dance partner nowhere around. "Aye, he's done left," the other brash Irish told her, his words slightly slurring as the man liked his liquor almost as much as he liked his women, "'E said ... 'e said to give ye his regards." Imogen harrumphed. She'd taken too long, then? She knew she shouldn't have kept the man waiting. With pursed lips she thanked her favourite drunk and exited the dining room, getting a slight chill as she did so, for it was getting a bit late and chilly, too. Imogen planned to search the whole ship just to get her dance, if that was what it took! And she did, from empty hall to empty hall to lounge to peeking into the first-class chess room even if she wasn't supposed too. She sniffed a bit at the sight and kept going.

Finally, with no place to look and at her wits end, Imogen bunched up her skirts a bit and climbed to the top deck, meaning to get a bit of fresh, salty air. She felt odd up there, as only a few people were milling around, most men with cigars and a woman or two to keep them company. Imogen herself was alone, and she took hold of the icy railing to ignore a bit of a pang. The wind whipped her hair around, causing her to laugh a bit and get a piece of hair in her mouth. She extricated it softly, wincing a bit at the wetness of the strand. She couldn't tell if it was saliva or just sea water that had by accident flown to her hair.

Then, she saw a familiar face. Her dance partner! "Sir!" She called, giving up her perch to chase him down. He appeared to be lighting up a cigarette, or perhaps a cigar (she couldn't quite tell from the distance) but that didn't matter much to her; she enjoyed the smell of them, and quite quickly reached to where he was. Breathing a bit heavily, as the top deck was quite large in width, she took hold of the railing beside herself and gave him a large, bright smile. "Sir, I do believe you owe me a dance!" Imogen proclaimed loudly.