Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory » The Hidden Void »

Players Wanted: 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life ٩( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) » Seeking Role Players for a TOG Based RP »

0
followers
follow

Syllia Kelevra

There is always a fire striking somewhere beneath my skin.

0 · 370 views · located in Titanic Ship

a character in “April 1912”, originally authored by Εpιmetheus, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

S Y L L I A . K E L E V R AxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAND THE OCEAN SWEARS THAT IT WON'T BE EASY_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image
Image




FULL NAME
SYLLIA ALINA KELEVRA


ALIAS
SYL || COMMONLY ; PREFERRED
LI || INFREQUENTLY ; INDIFFERENT


AGE
TWENTY TWO


ORIGIN
EASTERN EUROPEAN ; OF ISRAELI DESCENT


SEXUALITY
BISEXUAL ; BIROMANTIC


ECONOMIC CLASS
THIRD CLASS


OCCUPATION
GAMBLER / THIEF


MARTIAL STATUS
SINGLE

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
L O O K I N G . G L A S S
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image
EYE COLOR
GREEN

HAIR COLOR
BROWN

WEIGHT
ONE THIRTEEN LBS

HEIGHT
FIVE FOOT SIX

APPEARANCE

She is a child of the streets, and she makes no attempt to hide it. Her brother makes sure she stays clean, so she lacks the tell-tale smudges of dirt marring her pale skin, but that's about as far as her attempts to look nice truly extend. She favors clothing that falls loose and comfortably on her scrawny frame, and while her brother keeps her wardrobe stocked with clothing lacking holes and made of fairly nice fabrics, she veers away from the traditional fashion of women. She wears pants and button-ups (and typically her favored pageboy cap), mainly because she enjoys the comfort of it, but also because she knows none of the idiots gambling in the back rooms of taverns would respect her if she wore fanciful dresses, much less let her join in for a hand. Plus, it's far more inconspicuous when she works her way through a crowd, picking pockets as she goes. She is not at a loss for all the good genes of her brother— has the same sparkling green eyes, the same long, elegant fingers— but the stain of her social class has detracted from any favor her delicate features and slim limbs might have earned her if that were different.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
T H E . D E V I L ' S . D E T A I L S
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image
Image
Image

LIKES

As the resident gambler, it's no secret that she's highly partial to cards and card games, mainly because she can count cards and therefore control a deck, but she has no power of the way dice fall. She loves the atmosphere she gambles in though, the heavy darkness, just the general pub air. Surprisingly, she finds she really quite likes magic tricks. Even though being unable to figure out the trick frustrates her, it preserves the strangeness of it, and she never tries too hard to decipher it because of that. She's also a fan of the open markets she tends to see these tricks in, loves the vast opportunities for picking pockets and just looking at all the good people have to offer. She is a street urchin, and most of her life is spent trying to survive, but when she finds time, she dedicates it to art. She loves sketching, particularly with charcoal, and unbeknownst to her brother, she's spent a day's work before on a cheap pad and some charcoal pencils. And why not? Life gives her so few pleasures naturally, so there's no harm in taking some.


DISLIKES

She's of a lower social class, but that doesn't make her any less of a person. She shares her brother's disdain for the wealthy who look down their noses at her, the asses who treat her like some kind of inferior creature. She differs from her brother in her opinion of book studies, knowledge she finds impractical and useless. She much prefers the far more practical information, information related to gambling. She's grown to like the activity as more than just a means of income, and she utterly despises losing, a hatred that extends beyond the gambling room. While she dislikes tasteless food as much as the next guy, she's also found she dislikes the burn of spicy foods, as well as the similar burn of particularly harsh liquors.


TALENTS


`◇ CLEVER&QUICK ; Streets smarts are paramount in her life, and that means more than just the impractical book studies. She's clever and a quick-thinker, very light on her feet. She may not know much about the latest scientific breakthrough, but she can count cards like nobody's business, and she can figure her way out of a bad situation with some shoestring and her wits.
`◇ COOL&COLLECTED ; This developed, of course, in a back room of an inn, playing card game after card game. She lost a lot before she learned to let her face settle into stone. It's helped her in the streets too, helped her blend into crowds and slip off into the alleys. She's learned to think a little longer before jumping into decisions, even if she hasn't learned how to hold her tongue.
`◇ OBSERVANT ; Much like her brother, half of her job relies on being able to pick up on facial and behavioral cues. She's learned to read even the best of poker faces, the slightest twitch of a jaw or furrowing of a brow.
`◇ HONORABLE ; Perhaps not in the most traditional of ways. She's not shy about cheating a mean out of his entire month's wages, but she's also not nearly as dishonorable as her brother. She keeps secrets told to her in confidence close to her heart, and should she ever find herself in another's debt, she's sure to repay the deed.


WEAKNESSES

`◇ BRASH ; She often speaks without thinking, and despite all her street smarts, her quick tongue has gotten her into more than a couple of scrapes.
`◇ GRACELESS ; Unfortunately for her, she lacks all the social tact of her brother and is a terribly bad actress. She tried, once, to help him with a job and nearly got them both thrown in jail. She can't seem to hide her upbringing.
`◇ ANTAGONISTIC ; There are two things that serve to make this worse: her bluntness and her tendency to take any slights incredibly personally. She doesn't back down from a fight, whether it's one she unintentionally picked or one that was picked with her.
`◇ COCKY ; She's very confident in her abilities; one might say too confident. Sure as sin, pride will always bring a person to their knees, and while she's yet to let her assurance blind her, the day probably isn't too far off.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
T E M P E R A M E N T
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image
She is guilty of attempting to emulate her brother. She tries to be as heartless as he seems to be, to be as angry and spiteful. But they're both very different creatures. She's not happy with their station in life, of course she's not, and she doesn't not hate the pompously wealthy who turn up their noses at their kind. But she doesn't stoke a burning rage in the bottom of her gut. She doesn't let her spite fester and boil over into something ugly. Stas acts like more than he is, and she wonders if that's what's made him what he is. She's a street urchin, it's the truth, and that's the only part she plays. She's not unattached as he is. She's embraced her profession and her place. She has the same brusque manner as the people she associates, a sense of humor that's far from what would be deemed "appropriate" in high society. She lacks the sense of 'airs' that she knows high class women put on, a sense of detachment and mystery. She is open, never shy about approaching people she doesn't know well. She has her friends on the streets, and she's grown with them, in the same style as them. She's rough about the edges, wields the same unpolished words and carefree swaggering manner. There was always a brawl going down when she was growing up, and she used to be involved in some number of them. Not that she keeps her nose completely clean and out of fights these days, it's just that if she is in one, it's typically not between friends over some stupid matter. But the casual roughhousing has remained in her nature, and she always jostles her friends or friendly acquaintances, an amicable, light punch to the arm here, a nudging elbow in the gut there. She is rough in general, a perfect stereotype of a roguish pickpocket and thief. She has no honor in that sense, has no shame for her sticky fingers or for cheating at card games. But she always honors her agreements, is sure to never leave a debt unpaid. Her word is worth something to her; after all, she's never verbally promised never to steal or cheat. She's out to live her life as best as she can within the confines of what fate has thrown her way. She doesn't want to let the restrictions placed upon her destroy all her days and years. She is tough and she is clever, and she is going to take some happiness for herself in some way if she has to fight tooth and claw for it.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
M E M O I R SxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxBUT THE OCEAN DON'T KNOW ME OR JUST HOW TOUGH I CAN BE
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Image
Her past doesn't matter as much as it could. She was born in London, with a brother two years older and a mother who was out of the house more often than not. When she was gone for good, Syllia didn't particularly feel as though she'd lost much. Her brother was resentful, she knew, but she couldn't see why. They had always been poor. They lost a roof over their heads and that was a shame, but Syllia didn't mind working to regain it. It wasn't as though she was pleased being bored stiff doing nothing all day. Her brother taught her how to pick pockets, and she quickly took to the streets. She was a natural, got caught far fewer times in the beginning than her brother. She made friends among others of her kind, despite the fact that her brother always urged her to not form any attachments. Life wasn't easy and it certainly wasn't fun, but some of the moments were.
She was fifteen when she first discovered gambling. Accidentally stumbled into the back room after a night of celebration out at a pub for a good days work with some other thieves. The men and women there were older, scarier, but they saw an opportunity to rob a young girl blind. So much for honor among thieves. But Syllia won a hand. Lost another. Then won one more. By the time her friend dragged her away, she was actually up a little bit. It was nothing substantial, but she was hooked on the thrill of the game. Gambling is mostly a game of luck though, and after a couple of nights of losing everything she'd made, she decided to dedicate herself to the sport.
She learned how to count cards from an old gambler for the price of a half week's work, but it was worth it. She learned tells and manipulation from him later, for another half week's wages. Just as worth it. He took a liking to her, starting teaching her some tips and tricks for free, and she kept winning until they kicked her out of the pub she frequented for good. The man taught her how to lose on purpose, and she hated the thought of it, but learned it was a necessary evil. She was well on her way to being a card shark, and she loved it. Her brother took up conning rich folks around the same time, and their income increased. While he waited on the long term payout, she kept them going in the meantime. When he traveled for a particular job, she stayed behind. She carved out a place in the dirty streets of London, and she liked that place.
She won the boarding ticket in a gambling game, a desperate last ditch wager from some poor guy who needed to win back some of what he'd lost. Curiosity got the best of her, and she won a match she should have lost, but it didn't matter anyway. Not if she'd be in the Americas in a matter of weeks. She brought it home and showed her brother, who promptly went out and nicked his own ticket. He managed to find them a ride to Southampton (how, she didn't ask), and soon they were both eager to see what was in store for them. Like her brother, she's on the lookout for some nice valuable to snatch, but their views differ on long term goals. She knows he only sees a new set of people to con, but she knows there are fewer blue bloods in the United States. More new money. Maybe more opportunity. She knows they both have their passions, and she's maybe just a little bit hopeful they can make something of themselves with those talents. At the very least, she's willing to try.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Image
PORTRAYED BY :
EPIMETHEUS

TIME ZONE :
EST

HOW OFTEN DO I POST? :
AS NEEDED

So begins...

Syllia Kelevra's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ollie R. Gatz Character Portrait: Juliette Le Sauvage Character Portrait: Van Der Woodsen, Madame Yvette Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Caspian Mar Grey Character Portrait: Daisy McGregor Character Portrait: Crawford, Mr. Lawrence M. Character Portrait: Schoen, Madame Jaqueline Character Portrait: Domonic Drew Castell Character Portrait: Chun-Hwa Mun Character Portrait: Henry R. Nelson Character Portrait: Amelia V. Nelson Character Portrait: Blanche Herveaux Character Portrait: Jewett, Paul Mr. Character Portrait: Ophelia Böhm Character Portrait: Oscar Dawson Character Portrait: Timothy P. Silver Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Arthur McGhee Character Portrait: Abia Crane Character Portrait: William Crane Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra Character Portrait: Coraline Jennine Blackwood Character Portrait: Noah Cobain Character Portrait: Xavior G. Kennedy
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image




Date: Wednesday, 10 April 1912. xxxLocation: Southampton, England. xxx
Arrival Time: 9:30 a.m xxx Time of Departure: 11:30 a.m. xxxWeather: Brisk winds northwest at 15-20 mph; 50°C




"Aye, batte'n down the hatches will ya'?"

"Are my eyes deceiv'n me, or am I seein' this ship's ready to land?"

"Eeeeh, boy!"

"I'm needin' help to pull this lever."

"Ready to land, Captain!"


A slow, crooked smile had spread across Captain Smith's face resembling that of much content. The great ocean liner had took approximately three years to construct, engineered to be the largest and most luxurious steam ship in the world. Its very first voyage would truly be something worth remembering; articles about the ship were thus written, claiming it to be a marvel of modern engineering. Both men, women, and children alike came fleeing from their homeland to get a glimpse of the monstrous beauty that dared hinge itself onto the British port as if it was the only thing that withheld dominance. The passengers to board the luxury ocean liner were nonetheless grateful. Many had lifted their chins up in prestige because not only were they able to gain enough money to enter, but they were the first to do so. Street market sells boomed significantly, men were getting their beard groomed quickly as their wives pimped their children for the long journey; brushing off any specks from the petticoats of young girls, and straightening their son's woolen jacket.

And, it all happened in a speck of time. Everyone clustering, like ants. It wasn't later until the ship's plank board was lowered had everyone began pushing and shoving for a leading spot up the ramp.

"You want first-class passengers to board first, Captain?" One of the ship's crew member approached him. It was no surprise that even the most wealthiest aristocats were given better treatment. To Captain Smith the first-class were 'walking money', they would surely help spread the word, and perhaps bring in even more fortune. "Yes," Smith assured, "let the first-class board first."

And, off the worker went to announce the news to the people who waited impatiently. "Listen up," he had to shout over the uproar, "so, far we have at least two thousand two hundred and twenty eight thousand of you. I want first-class passengers to board first, then second, and lastly third. I want this to be done in an orderly fashion. We will set off in approximately two hours."

At that the commotion grew much louder, people kissed their loved one's a farewell. It was a moment of ecstasy, all for the ship that deemed as virtually unsinkable, the Titanic was truly a phenomenon.



Image
Image
Mood: Observant xxx Outfit:herexxx Theme song: N.A. xxx





'Two hours, two hours, two hours ..'

Arthur McGhee felt the perspiration beginning to form at his temple, like thousands of tiny crystals scattered about his ivory skin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand as he chewed at his lower lip, it was a habit he had possessed since it was his conceitedness that got him stuck in the game of Cheat at the British port pub.

He remembered his words, a mockery as he smirked at the dunderheed that had just sent another man walking with loss. 'Ah bet yer ass I can win you at a game of cards. Aw or nothin', lad.' But, nevertheless it was those very words that had got him a pound short out of his pocket. If only he'd kept his mouth shut.

"You give'n up yet?" Arthur looked up from his stack of cards to the burly man who sat before him, the way his crusted lips curled back in amusement every moment he saw the poor Scott's exasperation.

He kept his answer short. "No." He concentrated on his next play.

He put down an ace, and at that, the man guffawed something bitter and awful that made Arthur fight the urge to hurl.

"You aren't gonna win, mate." Arthur ignored him as he put down a two.

Then, a four; six, eight, and before you know it he's all out of cards. Checkmate.

Arthur looked up at the man's now gawked expression, and smirked. "Mibbe ah jus did."

The guy was infuriated now as he looked at the cards, to Arthur, to the cards, then back up at Arthur. "Bullshit," he spat out a wad of tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth.

The man was nothing but muscle and tattoo compared to Arthur. However, as he said that Arthur couldn't hold it in anymore. He laughed, and laughed until his sides were cramping; until the man grabbed at his white button down, and heaved him up from his chair. "I want a rematch". He demanded, spit freckling across Arthur's face.

"Not how it works." The man pushed Arthur against a wall; hard. Others began to move away immediately in the process at the same time the owner shouted for the two men to take their tussle outside, but he was only ignored. "Listen to me, mate. I will hurt-" he was distracted by Arthur's hand moving behind his ear, thus a silver dollar had appeared between his fingers as if by magic.

"Did you not hear me? Arthur's smile widened. "Yer outta luck, lassie." He threw the coin at the man's face, causing him to loose his grip on Arthur.

"Aye!" he called out as he saw the sly Scott scoop up a few coins from their table, including a third-class ticket to board the 'White Star Line', and ran free from the pub toward the grand ship.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

                        So there it was. In all it’s glory and splendor. Stas and Syllia stood at the harbor with the rest of the awaiting passengers, gaping up at the massive boat. Well, Syllia was gaping.

                        ”I don’t see what’s so special about the damned thing, actually.”

                        Syllia groaned. “Stas! Look at it!” she responded, pointing excitedly in the direction of the behemoth of metal. “S’huge! Gotta wonder how somethin’ like stays afloat in the water, y’know. Looks like it oughta sink.”

                        Stas frowned. ”No. Not at all.” He turned his head to Syllia, looking vaguely puzzled and only slightly judgmental. ”It’s the buoyancy force. The ship displaces water, which then pushes back and keeps the whole thing up. In simple terms.” He paused. Muttered, ”Christ, Syllia, I really ought to get you to read something every once in awhile.”

                        Syl scrunched up her nose, furrowed her brow, and wound up. She landed a particularly hard punch on Stas’ arm. He recoiled and grabbed his shoulder, pulling it away from her. She ignored his glower.

                        ”That oughta teach ya not to be so rude next time. What’s a couple’a science-y things gonna do for me? I bring home money, don’t I? That’s good enough for me.”

                        Stas scoffed. Syllia held up a fist again. He grimaced, and she grinned.

                        ”At any rate,” Stas said, straightening, “speaking of bringing home money—”

                        ”I know, I know,” Syllia cut in with the tone of bored teenager who’d been told too often the rules of the house when her parents were away and could now recite them by memory. Which is what she did, ticking off each point on her fingers as she went. “Don’t start anything until the ship’s departed lest we both get kicked off. Don’t try anything dangerous in an intimate setting with slow and or limited escape. Don’t take too many things at once or someone will notice eventually. Don’t take more than one thing from each person. And most importantly,” she said, leveling her gaze towards Stas, who looked mildly irritated and wildly unimpressed, ”under no circumstances should I attempt to act or otherwise tactfully talk my way out of a situation.”

                        They both knew how that had gone last time. A quick lie until she could bolt was no difficulty at all, but any attempt to act a part for an extended period of time could only end in disaster.

                        ”Fine,” he said, slightly testily. ”Alright.”

                        That marked Syllia’s turn to scoff. He so hated when she interrupted his speeches. But he’d given them so frequently, how was she meant to avoid memorizing most of them.

                        They stood silently in the crowd for several minutes, watching the wealthiest move up the boarding plank and up onto the deck. Stas took note of each of them, which ones would be easiest to charm into giving something up in the duration of the relatively short journey, which ones he’d be better off just picking something off them and then avoiding for the rest of the voyage. When one worked in the business for as long as he had, it became relatively simple to deduce those things from little more than an extended glance. He’d have no way of telling, of course, anything detailed about the personal life, but he would have a feel for the general emotions surrounding it. He deduced nothing, not really— it was only an instinct.

                        Syllia glanced about her immediate “companions”, the rest of the poor and less fortunate. She took note of which ones might be willing to play a game with her. And then she took note of which ones looked stupid enough to try more than once. She turned to look ahead at the second class. Wealthy enough that they wouldn’t miss a valuable or two, and hopefully oblivious enough that they wouldn’t even notice if it were gone. She was already deciding on specific items. That bracelet was awfully nice, as was that watch. And lovely cufflinks. One man kept patting the front pocket in his jacket, as though he was aware that he was in a less savory part of town and was proud of himself for making sure his wallet was still on his person. Foolish, if you asked her. All that did was let her know exactly where to pull his wallet from. She’d revisit him later.

                        But the whole excitement of merely being close to the ship faded quickly. Syllia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to do something more than stand around. Stas stood stock-still, but she could tell by tenseness of his jaw that he detested all the waiting around too.

                        ”Listen,” she said, ”d’ya think I could pop off real quick? Maybe play a quick hand in the pub just over there? We’ve got more than enough time.”

                        ”Absolutely not,” he responded.

                        Syllia sighed and looked up at the cloudless blue sky, resigning herself to what she was sure would be at least a good long hour of hell.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ollie R. Gatz Character Portrait: Juliette Le Sauvage Character Portrait: Van Der Woodsen, Madame Yvette Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Caspian Mar Grey Character Portrait: Daisy McGregor Character Portrait: Crawford, Mr. Lawrence M. Character Portrait: Schoen, Madame Jaqueline Character Portrait: Domonic Drew Castell Character Portrait: Chun-Hwa Mun Character Portrait: Henry R. Nelson Character Portrait: Amelia V. Nelson Character Portrait: Blanche Herveaux Character Portrait: Jewett, Paul Mr. Character Portrait: Ophelia Böhm Character Portrait: Oscar Dawson Character Portrait: Timothy P. Silver Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Arthur McGhee Character Portrait: Abia Crane Character Portrait: William Crane Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra Character Portrait: Coraline Jennine Blackwood Character Portrait: Noah Cobain Character Portrait: Xavior G. Kennedy Character Portrait: Rosalie Essex
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image



Date: Thursday, April 11th 1912. xxx Time: 10:30 am. xxx Location: the coast of Celtic Sea
Headed to: Queenstown, Ireland xxx Arrival time: 3:30 pm. xxx Weather: partly cloudy with an abundance of stratocumulus clouds. moderate breeze at 50°C N/NW




Titanic's departure from Southhampton yesterday was quite the success! Afterwards, the massive vessel sailed to Cherbourg, France to board more passengers. Nonetheless, everything seemed to be running smoothly, not a mishap identified. Its passengers are enjoying the long voyage as well. Some even managed to make friends with those within their social heiarchy, but who knows? Maybe love will parish within this grand vessel, or rivals will be made. Sometimes fate just has to be waited upon before it is allowed to make its next move.

As first class passengers began to make their way towards the Parisian Café for an early morning coffee, most second and third class passengers aimed to put on their best fitting garments to join them, passing the bouncers who are scouting for any possible intruders. Nevertheless, people are making the most of it until their final destination to Pier 60 in New York on April 17, 1912.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

                        Swaths of people crowded in front of the small luxurious cafe, where only a few wealthier people were already seated. The rest of them, like Stas and Syllia, were all just posers, waiting to gain admittance. Which was no easy feat. Technically, only the first class were meant to gain entrance, but Stas had seen many a second class passengers go in past the security as well. It was all in the manner of dress. There was no checking tickets; so long as one looked like they belonged, they could belong. Fortunately, Stas had had plenty of practice with blending in with crowds he didn’t belong in. Syllia, on the other hand... Well. He was a little worried for her.

                        ”Is this really necessary?” she said, tugging at the tweed waistcoat he’d practically forced on her earlier. ”I don’t see what the big deal is. We coulda jus’ eaten with the rest of the third class people down below.” She tugged again, this time at the carefully starched cuffs on her shirt.

                        ”And how do you propose we take the first class valuables,” he retorted cooly, ”if we make no attempt to get anywhere near them?”

                        ”Well,” began Syllia, indignantly. Then she paused, racking her brain for a possible answer. She knew Stas was right, of course. But that didn’t help that she felt uncomfortable in the very nice clothes she was wearing (stolen from a suitcase left unattended in a hallway) or the fact that she wasn’t confident Stas’ plan to sneak her in would work at all. She huffed, voicing her resignation. ”Fine. I just don’t see why you had to dress me up like this. No way it’ll work.”

                        ”Of course it’ll work, Syllia,” he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. ”So long as you remember what I told you. Which was?”

                        Syllia grumbled, muttered something under her breath, but began reciting what she’d been told at Stas’ sharp glare. ”Keep my head down, but my back straight and look right ahead.” She stopped. Then, at his expectant look, continued. ”And act like I belong. Confidence an’ all that. Got it.” He nodded, clearly expecting her to be silent for the rest of the wait, but she couldn’t help but ask again. ”I just don’t see why you had to dress me up like a boy though. They’ll know.” She was anxious, of course. She’d never been good at the posturing like Stas had. She’d flub it up in some way, she was sure. She adjusted the pageboy cap hiding her hair nervously.

                        Stas bit back a groan. ”If you weren’t so resistant to dresses,” he said, through his teeth, ”I might not have had to.”

                        ”But I hate dresses, Stas.”

                        ”Then be grateful I didn’t force you into one anyway.”

                        Syllia frowned and resisted the urge to punch him again; that wouldn’t be proper behavior for any respectable young man.

                        Stas watched as several people were turned away from the door. Some third class passengers even wore their Sunday best hoping to get in, but to no avail. He wasn’t particularly worried, though. They lacked what he had: the grace and the clothes. Stas wore simple linen button-up with a tie, casual black pants and polished loafers. Hardly anything extravagant, but that was the point. The truly wealthy had no need to put their best on display. The men wearing full tuxedos and the women wearing gaudy evening dresses were obviously out of place. Their over the top attempt was a dead giveaway. In contrast, Stas’ simple outfit had the crisp appearance of being well tailored and well-cared for. A subtle whisper of wealth. And as always, he carried himself with the air of a man who knew he always had a place waiting for him at the table.

                        The bouncer waved the two of them by, Syllia successfully passing off as his young teenaged brother, and Stas barely even considered it an accomplishment. Syllia, conversely, was grinning ear to ear. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her barely restrained pride and excitement.

                        ”I’m going to go sit down. You be the excited young boy you are and take a look around.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. ”Bring back something good.”

                        Syllia turned her head towards her brother, giving him a knowing wink, then went off into the crowd of diners heading to their tables. She acted every bit the eager young boy part she was meant to play (really only externalizing the excitement she actually felt), and darted from area to area, bumping into certain people as she went, apologizing with a breathless “sorry” and a grin, to which they merely chuckled. Yes, she looked like the poster child of youth and naivety and excitement. Which is why they failed to even notice when her fingers, quick and slender, pulled wallets from suit pockets or front pockets or back pockets. No pockets at all were safe from her. She restrained herself though, of course. Wouldn’t do her any good if she had too many wallets to hide. Only three or four max. Which was a good picking, really, especially if one them was actually from a first-class passenger rather than a second-class one. Either way, she was pleased with herself. A grin was plastered on her face, and she began whistling a fine little diddy as she finished her “tour” and started to turn back to head towards her brother.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image


Image
The accommodations for second class weren't nearly as opulent or refined as those in the first class, but they were still a far cry from the sleeping arrangements the third class had to deal with. Evan was lucky to only have one other man to share accommodations with. As far as he could tell, the slightly portly man, was a business man and kept to himself. This was fortunate as Evan preferred peace and quiet. He was grateful to not be saddled with an exuberant or chatty man for the duration of his journey.

It was a bit of surprise when he had bumped into one of his more recent clients upon one of the ship decks. The man, Mr. Ernhardt, had evaded paying full taxes for years and had hired Evan to make the problems disappear in court. It had been after the divorce was finalized. Evan had taken all of his rage and funneled it into Mr. Ernhardt's case which yielded surprising results. Mr. Ernhardt ended up not only winning his case, but receiving a rather large sum of money as compensation for the hassle of it all.

"Old boy!" he had greeted Evan with his usual raucous grin. "What the blazes are you doing upon the Titanic?"

They had spent the evening catching up over glasses of brandy, and smoking cigars. The night ended with Mr. Ernhardt requesting that Evan join him for breakfast to discuss a potential business venture.

That was how Evan found himself within the first class dining, a guest of Mr. Ernhardt.

A very young looking chap had entered into the dining room and it caught Evan's attention. The young boy looked excited and separated from the side of what was assumed to be an older brother. Evan eyed the boy as he weaved through the room, bumping into people, and apologizing with a dip of his head.

Evan's brooding eyes narrowed as he saw just what this boy was doing.

"Excuse me for a moment Mr. Ernhardt." Evan stood from his seat and Mr. Ernhardt waved him off.

Evan moved between tables and people until he had reached the boy who was whistling rather gaily. He quickly grabbed the boy's elbow and steered him over to a corner of the room.

"Rather bold to be nicking the first class our first morning upon the ship." His voice was low and cold and he had the boy cornered. "Miss." He hissed quietly.

Evan had a sharp eye, and he was more than familiar with how women held themselves, as well as their bodies, to know that this was not some youthful pick pocket. "Give me one good reason to not report you right now." His voice was low and dangerous. He was a good bit taller than her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Caspian Mar Grey Character Portrait: Domonic Drew Castell Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Image

Domonic stood tall as Amira straightened his favorite tie around his neck with gloved fingers as they waited in line to be seated in the cafe for breakfast. He could tell she was nervous by the way she chewed on her bottom lip. With how strict her family was it was a shock she was even allowed to go on this trip in the first place. She was never allowed to go anywhere but school and home before.

He looked past her at his parent's in front of him. They stood side by side silently, the apparent disgust for each other thick and foggy around them. Her arm hooked around his with less affection than a necklace clasped together. They were married, and had a child, that's as far as they would take their act. Anything further and they would surely make themselves sick.

Domonic shook his head. He felt dread and defeat every time he looked at them. He knew he too would have to go through with an arranged marriage at some point, and so would Amira, but if this is what they had to look forward to he'd rather be alone till the day he died.

"Hey. Earth to Domonic. Did you hear me?" Amira's voice cut through his worried thoughts like a sharp knife and brought him back to reality.

"Hm? No. I apologize. My mind was elsewhere. Do you mind repeating it?" He smiled down at her. She shook her head and grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

"For someone so smart you sure are spacey. You need to move. We're being seated finally." She said, her nerves hiding in the edges of her voice. She pulled him roughly and bee-lined for the table. Domonic barely had time to open his mouth to give warning before Amira drove herself into what appeared to be a young man in a pageboy cap. They exchanged apologies before she brushed off her dress and picked up her clutch purse from the ground.

She cleared her throat and moved to Domonic's side, wrapping her arm around his and holding him tightly. He could feel her slightly shaking. He gave her a warm smile and started walking towards the table his parents were seated at.

"Just breathe. You'll make things worse by being a nervous wreck." He said softly, patting her hand on his arm.

Image

Image

Caspian, having been woken up by his internal clock at the crack of dawn, placed a stick of sweet nicotine between his lips and inhaled. He had spent most of the morning exploring the massive ship and finally stumbled in the first class area. He leaned against the wall and watched all the first class passengers file into the Parisian Cafe along with the few lower classes sneaking in with them. It wasn't hard for him to spot someone from his own world in a sea of higher ups.

He moved to the front of the line and nudged the bouncer with his elbow. He could smell a hot head from miles away and this man was one of them. And having left a fight early the day before he was itching for something to finish the job.

"What do you want kid? You can get lost if you think you're getting in." The bouncer said, looking him up and down.

Caspian took a long drag of his cigarette and blew into the man's face,"Just wondering if you like you're job of sucking up to people." The bouncer gritted his teeth and gave him an annoyed look.

"If it pays the bills, any job is good enough." Caspian shot him a smile and nodded. It was to true to argue back. He wouldn't even know how to when it was the same motto he went by. He wouldn't be getting a fight with an audience today. Besides he promised his mother he wouldn't cause trouble and get them banned from ever getting on the ship again. It was hard for him but he'd do it. He licked his lips and placed the cigarette between his lips as he fished through his pockets for a small piece of candy.

He popped a small, blue hard candy into his mouth and moved as the bouncer shooed him away. He was getting bored anyways, just standing around. Caspian flicked some ash to the ground and made his way through the rest of first class, making a mental list of all their luxuries and wondering if he should take some home. He shook his head, "Ma wouldn't even know what to do with it all if i did." He thought to himself as he passed up the tempting offer he made himself.

He instead resigned to spend some time outside on the deck of the ship.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Daisy McGregor Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image

Daisy McGregor

After a good night's rest, Daisy got up bright and early. She was always a morning person. In fact, she got up so early, the sun was barely rising over the horizon. She was quiet as a mouse to not wake up her roommate. In the past she had shared sleeping quarters with her sister and other young women when space was minimal. She was even use to 'roughing it' in the wild with a simple tent with her own father. She wanted to laugh thinking about what others would have thought about that. They would have been horrified. Some of the places she'd been to, she couldn't even imagine some men doing. After getting dressed, she went about exploring the ship more, at least to the places she was allowed. She wasn't bound to go where only 1st class people went. As curious and as adventurous Daisy was, she was no rule breaker.

Outside she watched as the ship sailed through the Celtic Sea towards Ireland. Daisy couldn't wait until they arrived. She did travel to Ireland once, but never been to Queensland. The people there she recalled were a happy bunch. She had traveled there with her father when she was twelve. She recalled how it was spring than and it rained almost the whole time. Daisy loved it. It wasn't called the Emerald Isle for nothing. It make sense for it to rain there. Now that she thought about it, most of the places she had been to rained a lot, so she suppose she was use to it by now. Unlike most of the British she met in England, she had a healthy tan with freckles over her body thanks to being outdoors a lot. Plush she was used to warmer weather. She was still trying to get use to the cooler weather here.

As she explored the ship, she carried a journal and several fountain pens, writing down things she saw and experienced so far. One could never be too careful. The quiet of the morning was very peaceful. She lounged about outside writing until more people started coming outside. Wondering what time it was, Daisy decided to return to her quarters. Her room size suited her and she didn't mind sharing it. The bed was actually one of the more comfortable she had ever been on, even though she was aware first class would be getting the best. Taking her journal, she put it up in her suit case before deciding she needed some breakfast. She saw that it was already 10:30 am.

Leaving her room, she started heading towards the place where she could get some food. She ended up passing the Parisian Cafe and shook her head, spotting those who were obviously not first class. She mingled enough with the 1st class to distinguish those who weren't. It was all about the stance. It helped she was very observant about things. She started walking pass when she heard her name.

"Daisy McGregor? Are my eyes deceiving me?" said a female voice, one that Daisy recognized immediately.

An easy going smile on her face, she turned to see a robust middle age woman with black hair with streaks of grey in it. Her name was Elizabeth Hurst and she was the widow of Major General Hurst. Daisy met the 1st class Officer and his wife and family when she married Michael. The military became a second family for Daisy and the Hurst's were one of her favorite people to converse with. When Michael died, the Hurst's were there for her along with her other family members. The general passed way a month before her own father died.

"Hello Eliza, it's been awhile." smiled Daisy, comfortable calling Mrs. Hurst by her first name.

The two women hugged each other in greeting.

"Well my girl, I can see you are doing well. How have you been?"

"It hasn't been easy, but I am doing better."

Mrs. Hurst nodded in understanding, knowing about her father's passing.

"Have you ate yet?"

"Not yet, but I was about to."

"Join me than so I don't have to eat alone or with someone who I know will bore me to death." Mrs. Hurst said, whispering to the last part, which earned a laugh out of Daisy.

"If you insist, but are you sure you want to be seen with a second class citizen?" Daisy smiled.

"Oh pish posh! You don't dare call yourself that."

"But it is true."

Mrs. Hurst shook her head and pulled the younger woman into the line for the Parisian Cafe. Seeing how Daisy was a guest, she was allowed in and soon found herself talking with Mrs. Hurst. While talking though, she noticed one person bumping into people before this person was caught by a tall man and pulled to a corner of the room. She raised an eyebrow. Looked like thieves were on the boat and this didn't surprise her in the least.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

                        It really wasn’t all it was hyped up to be. From the way the people were lined up hoping to enter, one would think the cafe had chairs made from solid gold. That was hardly the case. He sat in one of the wicker chairs pulled into a table set against the wall, one with only three chairs, though it wasn’t as though he were really expecting company. He ordered a small breakfast, and began formulating plans. What would his cover be? Unemployed heir or a working man, humble and appreciative of his fortune? Either one had shown good results, albeit amongst different crowds. Which was why he was observing. Taking in all the information he could with visuals and limited hearing with keen eyes, hardly missing a thing. This was the main reason he’d wanted to dine among the first class. Reconnaissance. He would generate a cover and plan of action specially tailored for a specific type of mark; the perfect thing they’d dreamed of. He was hoping to cast a wide net this time, however, seeing as how he didn’t have much time to observe one specific person and create something specific for that one individual. He’d have to work with generalizations, which was much harder, but he hardly balked at the challenge. He’d just been brought a coffee, which he was sipping at slowly, when a distinct voice caught his attention.

                        He heard ‘Stas!’, which was a surprise, and then ‘Mr. Kensington’, which sent a cold chill down his spine. He recognized that name. He recognized that name because it was him. Well, in a sense. It was an old version of him, one that he’d shed and killed long ago. And that was a name he’d hoped he’d never have to hear again.

                        But then there was the person who had called that name standing before him, just as beautiful as he remembered, and it felt to him like a dream. Fleeting, ephemeral. Entirely unreal. And yet, there she was, commenting on his (very fake) childhood dreams. He was speechless for a moment, something very rare indeed. She asked politely after a rather embarrassing moment of silence, if she could sit, and again it took him a second to process what she’d said.

                        ”Of course,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper and his eyes wide and unbelieving. Then, ”Of course,” louder, more forcefully, more a statement than a question. He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of his stupor, and stood quickly.

                        ”How rude of me,” he said, chuckling lightly, as he moved to pull the chair out for her. ”Please, sit.”

                        Sure she was securely seated, Stas took his seat once more and quickly waved down a waiter to offer a coffee for Charlotte. He cleared his throat, unsure of what, exactly to say. This was unneeded, to say the least, and the unexpected appearance of an old victim was never pleasant. But she was more than just an old victim. She was... Well, that was a story for another day.

                        He settled, eventually, on smiling softly. ”Miss Whittaker. I simply cannot express how much of a pleasure it is to see you.” He paused, laughed lightly, bashfully, under his breath. Then added, as though with hesitation, ”You look just as beautiful as I imagined you’d be.”

                        He retained his composure, for the most part. But the rat inside him, the scurrying cowardice, was scrambling to seek an escape. This was unexpected, unplanned for. He felt trapped in an undesirable situation. He would need to find a way to escape without seeming rude, without appearing as though he were eager to leave her company. Unfortunately, it seemed that would prove a very difficult task indeed.

                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

                        Well. It was fun while it lasted. Why was picking pockets in a crowd in a city so much easier? Syllia suspected it had something to do with the escape routes. Even if someone noticed their money missing, there wasn’t a thing they could do about it if the suspected thief was already twenty minutes gone. But it was different on the ship. She couldn’t just disappear. She was relying solely on the nimbleness of her fingers and her quick step. But she thought, at the very least, it would take them a lot longer to figure it out than this.

                        One second she was pleased and whistling, on her way back to her brother with a sizeable loot. The next, she was being gripped firmly by the elbow and dragged to a far corner of the room. She stumbled along with the man pulling her, nearly tripping once or twice. The grip, she thought, was unnaturally strong for one of the older men she’d picked from. She looked up at the stern face of her captor, and saw someone she didn’t recognize at all. She hadn’t stolen anything from him. Aw, hell. Why did people always go around getting involved in business that wasn’t theirs? Would it have really killed him to let her slip off? She chided herself for letting herself be caught regardless, even if it wasn’t by one of her actual victims. She’d have to work on her subtlety, she supposed.

                        He finally stopped his unrelenting gait, and Syllia took the chance to yank her arm from his grip. ”Unhand me, ya brute!” she spat, scowling. Then, as if all of a sudden remembering the role she was meant to play, she sniffed and lifted her chin high, then lowered her voice pitch slightly in order to emulate a more masculine sound. ”You ought to learn not to be so terribly rude. That’s no way to treat a first class passenger.” She attempted to emulate her brother’s speech patterns, stopped stringing words and syllables together and cutting off ends of words. More formal, more stiff. It was terribly uncomfortable.

                        Fortunately, it didn’t seem like she’d have to keep up the charade for long. She was ready to fight his accusation of thievery, but she knew it was all over the moment he called her Miss. As Stas would say, her cover was blown. She froze for a moment, like a deer in headlights, trying to figure her way out of that mess.

                        She channeled her brother for a moment, trying to pick up on small details. There must have been a reason he dragged her to seclusion to accuse her of theft. Because he wanted to give her a chance to explain herself? Unlikely, given the dark, dangerous tone of his voice. Perhaps he wasn’t sure he was right. She took a quick glance behind him at all the true first class passengers. The man had wealth, but he wasn’t dressed as finely, she could tell. So he was second class. Accusing her falsely would be terribly embarrassing, she knew, so that was a potential reason. Perhaps he wanted something in return for not turning her in. That didn’t seem like the likeliest option, to tell the truth, given his harsh and unforgiving glare. Damn. When it all came down to it, she wasn’t her brother after all. Stas would have compiled all the observations she’d made and turned it into a quick and astute decision. One that would get him out of the mess. But she lacked that final step. She wasn’t great at reading people, truth be told, other than their tells at the poker table. Ultimately, she relied on her wits. It always came down to that. And if all else failed, talk fast enough and offer a decision that she’d make for them and leave them confused enough to give her just enough time to slip away. She went with that plan.

                        After a second or two had passed since his question, her wide-eyed look fell away in favor of a grin. She spoke in an imitation of a group of Pikeys she’d met once, those hustling gods. Not a single person understood half of what they said, and yet, somehow, they always managed to walk away with someone’s money. So she spoke fast, very fast. ”Turn me in and ya just make more problems for yourself, really, mate. Don’t want to do that, do ya, eh? I mean, who knows what’ll happen. They give me the boot, sure, but what’s your fate in all’a this? Any old bloke off the street can see you don’t belong here, not quite, just like me, so who’s to say you don’t get off just as poorly as me, ya see what’am saying?” She paused, very shortly, to give him a questioning look. Christ, she hoped this would work. ”Listen, tell ya what,” she said, digging around in her pocket for, and surfacing with, a deck of cards held together by a metal clip. ”I’ll play ya for it, how’s that sound? I win, ya let me go, no harm no foul. You win, well.” She shrugged, nonchalantly. ”Then you go ahead and turn me in, and I’ll even throw the wallets in for ya, and whatcha do withem isn’t my business.” She stared up at him with a wicked grin on her face, confidence, just like Stas taught her. If this failed she’d be screwed, but she’d be damned if she’d show any fear.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Juliette Le Sauvage Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Caspian Mar Grey Character Portrait: Daisy McGregor Character Portrait: Crawford, Mr. Lawrence M. Character Portrait: Domonic Drew Castell Character Portrait: Ophelia Böhm Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK




xxxxxxxxxxxxx
______________Juliette Le Sauvage______________

Image
    L O C A T I O N : BOAT DECK

    Dɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ Cᴏʟᴏʀ ✧ #ea98c6|| Tʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ Cᴏʟᴏʀ ✧ dim gray
    xxxxxTʜᴇᴍᴇ ✧ Suite Bergamasque|| Oᴜᴛғɪᴛ ✧ X
_____The morning sun created a gleam of light upon the English Harbor. Most chose to wave goodbye to their loved ones or to the onlookers of such an esteemed and historic occasion. Since Juliette had no family present and had been on the ship since the day before considering she was technically staff, she took the scenic route to the other side of the ship and watched the sun rise over Southhampton. She left her hair down, as she always did when she was free to move about, and inhaled the salty air. The few times she visited Spain with her parents she was completely drawn to the sea. Unfortunately Paris, her home since birth, merely has a river for her viewing pleasure and she smiled now at her good fortune of spending time floating about it for a solid length of time.
Juliette was not certain as to how long she had spent simply looking out at the view before her, but she imagined it to be quite a while since people could be seen filling out the ship and taking advantage of good weather and open decks. She sighed wistfully looking at them, knowing her brief moment of piece was spent and this place would hold no more privacy for her. She gathered up her skirts and began to make the trek back to her small quarters in Third Class, knowing by now people will be crowding the cramped hallways, when she was run upon by a very aggro servant. This man she had already been introduced to and he paused to catch his breath as if he'd been running. She reigned in her accent as she spoke knowing it was simply better for everyone involved if she didn't have to repeat herself.
"Bonjour Marc. What has you looking so flustered that you'd run all this way to find."
Forgive me Miss Juliette. But it's the other musician, ya see, 'e's sea sick. Tosser can't even hold his stomach five minutes into the damn voyage. We need a replacement at the Breakfast Cafe.You're the only other employed Pianist here and the quartet only plays for lunch and dinner."
"Merde,"she looked down at herself and was thankful she wore something semi-work appropriate. Her white shite, black ascot, and black skirts would have to do. She pulled a hair pin from her sleeve and quickly did her hair into a neat bun, with only a few strands falling but never too much to look messy.
"Very well Marc, take me to the cafe. I will just have to improvise."
Marc pulled her at a swift pace and she nearly lost her footing trying to keep up. "Please hurry we're already late!
The soon arrived to a slowly thickening crowd entering the French-style cafe and she straightened her skirts and pressed her fingers to her blushed cheeks as they'd grown pink from the exercise. She strode in quickly and smiled as she heard Marc letting out a deep exhale before he ran to inform his supervisors of her arrival no doubt. She accidently brushed passed a tall, rather rugged looking blonde gentleman and quickly apologized before continuing on. Despite there being people already in attendance, she walked straight up to the piano as if it was planned and began to play one of the many pieces she has memorized in her many years, Suite Bergamasque by Debussy, a favorite of hers. It had a lively into and was a moving piece in all. She quickly lost herself to the melody as people filed in.





Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image


Image

An unceremonious snort came from Evan as she reprimanded him for mistreating a first class passenger. This young woman was as far from first class as one might get. She was a pickpocket; a thief. Evan would likely have turned a blind eye if this had been a young man picking through the pockets of the wealthy, but the fact remained that it was a woman, and Evan would not have a girl ripping these people off.

He could see the wheels turning in her head as she was trying to scheme her way out of this. He saw the calculating look as she was judging her surroundings and how badly she was in over her head. He doubted there was anything she could say that would change his mind about turning her in. He had caught her red handed.

Her voice changed as she began to speak, and her accent would've been difficult to keep up with for most; Evan wasn't most. He narrowed his eyes at her as she tried to play it off as if it would only be trouble for them both and too much of a hassle to turn her in. "I don't think you realize just what I am." His voice was low and threatening. "It's my job to deal with problems, and you're no exception. It would be more work for me to release you. How could I justify letting a common thief go knowing your digging through the pockets of my wealthy clients."

This girl was desperate and scrambling. Evan rather liked watching her squirm. It would be more satisfying to humiliate her at her own silly game. He mulled it over for a moment before releasing her elbow. "Very well, if you win, you get to go free," he reiterated, "and if I win, I get to turn you over to the authority on the ship for stealing as well as sneaking into first class." His jaw was tight. He folded his arms in front of him in a very imposing manner as he waited for her to deal the cards.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Daisy McGregor Character Portrait: Crawford, Mr. Lawrence M. Character Portrait: Ophelia Böhm Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Abia Crane
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image


Daisy McGregor


Daisy gaps when she sees the gentleman and the person he grabbed start to play cards. She couldn't hear was they were saying, but it was obvious that's what they were doing. She was quickly brought out of her thoughts when Mrs. Hurst kept repeating her name.

"Daisy? Daily! Is your mind wandering again?" the older woman asked.

Embarrassed, Daisy turned around and replied, "Oh I am so sorry Eliza! What were you saying?"

"I was asking how your sister and her family were."

"Violet is fine. She and Edward are expecting another child soon. Vi is determined to give Eddie a son since she already has two girls. Her doctor thinks she is carrying twins because she's much bigger than the last few pregnancies."

This brought a huge smile to Daisy's face, but Mrs. Hurst could see the inner sadness of her friend. She knew that Daisy wanted to be a mother so badly. It was bad enough when she had the first miscarriage, it was worse when the second one was a still born. Daisy had once told her she thought there was something wrong with her especially with her twin sister being able to carry and give birth to healthy children. The matronly woman's heart went out to her, but she maintain her smile, wanting to keep the blonde in a good mood.

"Well she'll definitely have her hands full than. I am happy that Violet is taking a more hands on approach to motherhood, unlike some mothers I know."

This caused Daisy to giggle. She could not understand why some mothers did spend more time with their children. She understood the need of having nannies and governesses, but for some women to not want to be around their children was just mind boggling. Daisy herself thought of becoming a governess after Michael died, but she realized she'd have to give up her love of traveling, and she simply couldn't do that.

It was at that second, she heard a crash and turned to see a woman who was done as well as a man. The scene caused her to laugh hard, earning several gazes her way. Not wanting to embarrass her friend, she took several breaths to calm down, but couldn't quite stop the giggling. Mrs. Hurst saw the incident too and giggled as well.

"And here I thought these meals would get boring."

"I just hope they're okay. That looked nasty." commented Daisy after she managed to stop giggling.

"It certainly did."

"Well, I am done eating, so I'll go and get some fresh air. Would you like to join me?" Daisy asks as she stands up.

"Afraid not my dear, I am going to get some rest. I will see you later all right?" Mrs. Hurst said as she stood up and gave Daisy a huge.

"Take care." Daisy said before leaving the cafe.

She ended up walking outside back to her section of the ship before spotting someone else. Recognizing that it was her roommate, she approached her and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Good day Miss Crane. Enjoying the view?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Juliette Le Sauvage Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

                        It was too surreal to be unreal, that much he knew. His brain, no matter how tired or out of sorts, would never fabricate this as some sort of dream. He was scared, and that was the only thing he knew for certain. After all, he had no way of knowing just how much she was aware of. She was playing nice now, but he’d had more than one run-in with someone who held a grudge and was more than happy to conceal it until they had him feeling secure in his safety. Did she know about him, who he was— who he really was?

                        She expressed her joy at seeing him again, and he couldn’t help but feel a remnant of fleeting affection for the smile that crossed her face. He hadn’t seen it in such a long amount of time, and yet the visual brought back such vivid memories of the same smile that he’d once been the frequent recipient of. He chuckled again, nodding his agreement, still silent and slightly disbelieving.

                        He watched her fix her coffee, and took note of how she liked it. Cream, two sugars. Who knew when it might prove to be useful information. He was used to remembering the most inconsequential of things, as it was always something that proved additionally impressive to people who weren’t used to having others remember small things about them. It was almost a subconscious reaction. Simultaneously, he marveled at the fact that he’d never had the opportunity to memorize her coffee order before. Somehow, during the duration of their entire— he wasn’t sure what to call it, actually. Relationship certainly wasn’t the right term— something, they’d never actually gone out for coffee. It was a strange sort of knowledge.

                        Still, there was an anxiety eating at the back of his mind. How much did she know for certain? Questions raced through his mind until— notes rang through the air, deliberate and melodic and utterly calming. His racing heart slowed, steadied. How calming. Why was he afraid? Lottie, harsh as it was to say, had never been the cleverest of girls. Smart, yes, but not quite sharp, not in the way he and Syl needed to be. Naive, and that’s what he had liked about her. But it was that innocence that meant she would never be privy to his true intents. He needn’t fear for his being. In fact, this was an opportunity. He was different now; meaner, smarter, more cautious. He’d never fall victim to his old mistakes. And this was a chance to prove it.

                        He was yanked from his reverie by her voice again. She was apologizing. Somehow, he couldn’t hide his shock. And he was very good at concealing his emotions, he’d learned. At least he knew now she definitely didn’t know him as anything other than ‘Stas Kensington.’ Still, his eyebrows rose, and he set down his steaming cup of coffee to place a gentle hand over hers. ”Lottie,” he said, voice soft (and only half intentionally so), ”I have never, not once, cast any blame on you for what happened then.” And then he laughed, a rueful sort, nostalgic. ”But, forget that. We’re different people now, we need not dwell in the past.”

                        ”Hm,” he said, and took a sip of his coffee, pretending to be perfectly willing to tell her. He used the time it took to swallow to come up with a sensible lie. Finance. Something in finance. ”A job, actually,” Stas said, nodding as though he himself couldn’t believe his luck. ”I’ve been offered a position at one of the better banks in the Americas, and I figured—” he shrugged, laughing, “—well, I’ve nothing to lose, have I? So here I am, on my way.” He smiled at her, took another sip of his coffee. ”But that’s plenty on me. What of you? Surely something exciting must be dragging you away from home.”

                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

                        She didn’t appreciate his attitude, and she would certainly be eager to let him know as much if he didn’t hold her fate in his hands. Gads, Stas would be so mad if he found out she’d gotten herself snagged on the first day. He’d ice her out for a week at least, the bastard. She couldn’t afford to let this man hand her in. If she needed to, she’d bolt. She was very fast, and had lots of practice running away from law enforcement. Then she’d just have to be careful about not running into the imposing young man again. No big deal, even if it would be a bummer.

                        He kept her waiting. Threatened in a low voice, deep and threatening. She fought the urge to scoff. Stas had used that voice on her before, and it had never particularly deterred her from doing whatever rash act he tried to discourage her from. ”Well if you’re as good at weaselin’ yer way outta things as you say you are,” she mumbled as he deliberated on whether he’d play or not, under her breath, but loud enough that she was sure he’d heard, ”I’m sure you’d find some way.”

                        After what seemed like an eternity, he finally agreed to play her game, but not before reiterating her rules to her, as though he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t try to cheat her way out of it. She frowned. Syl was a lot of things— a thief, a chronic gambler, a cheater— but she wasn’t a liar. If she’d stated her terms, she’d follow through on them. But this man wouldn’t know that, would he? His opinion of her was already sullied, even though he hardly knew anything about her, didn’t even know her name. Damn rich folk. Always prancing around, acting all ‘holier than thou.’ Asses, the lot of them.

                        At least he had agreed to play. That was a weight off her shoulders. God bless those Pikeys. One of them had even stolen her first kiss (and the only thing she could really feel about it was impressed, truth be told), but she knew now she’d have to spend a lifetime thanking them and their skills of the trade. She’d study up on their accent more, too. Their incomprehensibility was, clearly, more of a talent than she’d given it credit for. And clearly this man’s mother had never warned him to be wary of street rats who carried cards with them. She ran through the games she could win. Blackjack, but even with her ability to count the cards, sometimes extraordinary luck won out in the end, and she didn’t want to risk that. Poker, but that was a little more skill-based, and she didn’t know the man well enough. Three card monte, that was the one. Infallible. No way she could lose, and it’d be over before he could blink.

                        ”Fantastic,” she said, grinning, and pulled out a chair at the nearest table to sit and pull out the cards she needed. ”We’ll play monte then. Find the Queen, Find the Painted Lady, it goes by a hundred different names. Easy enough. Look.” She held up three cards she’d taken, the queen of hearts, and the two jacks of spades and clubs. ”All you gotta do is find the queen. Follow her with your eyes.”

                        She tossed down the cards on the table to begin shifting them around. He would never find the Queen, this much she was sure of. It was all in the sleight of hand. She took the jack of spades in one hand, the queen and the other jack in the other. She made sure he knew where each card was. And as she tossed the card down, instead of tossing the lowermost card (the queen), which it appeared she had done, she threw the uppermost card (the jack). An easy switch, but an effective one. No one to date had ever discovered the trick, reason being that, if done correctly, the move was practically undetectable. He’d be following the incorrect card from the start, and a man like this (she could tell this much) would never guess. He’d trust his eyes, and that was the mistake. She finished shuffling the cards around, and pulled her hands back, held her palms out in a display that showed she’d leave everything, her fate and all, in his hands. ”So,” she said, a smile lifting the edges of her lips, ”go on. Find the painted lady.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image


Image
Evan narrowed his eyes as the young woman finally came up with the game they would play; monte. He half expected her to pick something more sophisticated. He couldn't help but scoff internally at the brazen confidence she seemed to exude. She seemed so sure that she would win, when in fact the game was simple and easy. All Evan had to do was keep his eye trained on the queen; simple.

He should have read more into the situation. Why would she pick such a basic and simple game unless she had something hidden up her sleeve? Why would she give him the favorable odds with a game that he could easily win?

Evan wasn't thinking mostly because the atmosphere in the room divided his attention. He didn't have a chance to analyze or think critically over his options. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the face down queen card and he knew he had this game won. The only problem was that he had been unable to see the near invisible sleight of hand trick that replaced the queen with one of her jacks. There was no contest when the young woman told him to find her "painted lady", yet Evan was a fool for not picking up on the quirk of her lip that was a tell tale sign she had already cheated him out of this game.

"Your queen," he said and lifted up the face down card he had trained his eyes.

Anger flushed through his body as he was not greeted by the queen, but by the jack. He felt the indignation rise within his body like a sour bile and he turned a very sharp eye onto the young woman. "You cheated." He accused before tossing the jack violently down and grabbed the young woman by the collar of her fresh and clean linen shirt. "Not only are you a thief, but a liar and a cheat as well. I'll have you for this, you pathetic little girl." His snarl was low but still quite impressive. He didn't want to draw a great deal of attention to them as those in the first class would not appreciate such a distraction from their breakfast. Evan knew that breed of people well. He also knew the breed of the young woman he had clutched tightly in his hands. He yanked her from the Parisian cafe and through the door past the bouncer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Miss Charlotte Whittaker Character Portrait: Evan Tuck Character Portrait: Syllia Kelevra Character Portrait: Stas Kelevra
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Image

                        Headed to her Aunt’s, was she? Stas vaguely remembered some mention of the woman from many years back, a passing comment maybe. The thought that she’d potentially only be in America for a year intrigued him. Depending on where she’d be, if— theoretically, very theoretically indeed— he were to attempt to pick his job back up where he left off, if the whole of it proved to be too difficult to accomplish over the span of the time at sea, he’d have a whole other year to finish it. And at the end of that year, she’d go back to her proper home and he’d never have to see her again. (He ignored the unsettling feeling the thought brought to the pit of stomach.)

                        Her comment on the possibilities being on the ship brought lent a similar gleam of mischief to his eye. ”What could happen indeed,” he murmured, with a slight twist of his lips. He sipped slowly at his coffee as he listened to her speak of what awaited her when she arrived at her aunt’s, her suspicions and all. A noise of disapproval originated in his throat and he set his coffee back down on its saucer with a clink. He turned again to peer into her eyes, frowning just a touch. "Certainly not. Africa’s far too dangerous for a sweet girl like you.” He smiled, eyes narrowing in endearment. ”You’ll be eaten by the lions.” A short laugh. ”No,” he said, shaking his head as he turned once more to pick up his cup. ”Tell you what, if you ever find yourself about to board a ship to Africa, drop by for a visit first. At which point—” he laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners— ”you may as well just stay until things blow ever.”

                        A joking comment, meant to be far from an earnest offer, but when he looked up into her eyes once more, he was sure to slightly drop the wide grin he’d put on his face— a small suggestion that the offer wasn’t all fun and games after all. Microexpressions. He was particularly well-versed in them by then, and found them to be the quickest path to a good con. People could never really control their brains, and they never knew what hit them.

                        So, keeping in the strain of the whole, ‘subtle indications people typically fail to consciously notice’, Stas turned away relatively quickly again, as though just a little embarrassed, and finished the last of his coffee. Again, he plastered a soft smile on his face. ”Well,” he said, “it’s been a joy to see you again, Lottie. Truly. Unfortunately—” and he stood— ”I’m afraid I’m supposed to meet an acquaintance of mine, and I may be just a touch late. Would it be terribly rude to ask that you excuse me?” He grimaced, a smiling one, an expression that indicated his regret at having to leave so soon. The waiter came by, and Stas paid him from a wallet he’d nicked the first day. ”You know what?” he said, turning back to the table. “How presumptuous would it be for me to ask you to dinner tonight, because I do believe I’m going to anyway.” He raised an eyebrow, lips quirking up to the side. “What do you say? May I drop by your cabin around seven?”

                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

                        As it turned out, the game may have been a mistake after all. Wealthy man with starched cuffs and a stiff collar, who would have pegged him for the ‘prone to anger’ types? Not her, clearly. She didn’t even have the time to refute his claim before he was gripping the front of her shirt and yanking her towards him. She winced, less from the pain and more from the shock. ”Ouch,” she hissed, ready to look back up and glare defiantly, but again was never given the chance.

                        ”Let go of me,” she said forcefully, but in a low voice, also careful to not draw attention to the two of them. Attention was never good. For a thief, having marks know their face was one of the worst things that could happen. ”I already told you, I’m no liar! Check for yourself, mate.” She clawed at his arm and dug her heels into the ground, but was unable to stop their steady progress towards the exit. ”S’hardly my fault you didn’t get the outcome you wanted, but look— the queen’s there! On the left!” Her verbal and physical struggle still yielded nothing. Damn, why did she have to be so small? And to top things off, this man was clearly no idle person, she could tell by the feel of his straining forearm under her grasping hands. Shit. She just had the worst luck, didn’t she?

                        In anger, she pursed her lips and growled deep in her throat. ”You got a helluva lotta nerve calling me the pathetic one when you’re the man going back on his word. At least I’ve got some semblance of honor.”

                        They were out the door and past the bouncer. Her time was running out. Wildly, she glanced around, searching for some form of anything that could help her out of her sticky situation. Finding nothing, she glanced down. Well, she had nothing to lose. Screwing up her face, she lifted her foot and brought it back down— hard. And on the man’s foot. She was ecstatically pleased to find that it had worked. From the shock or the pain maybe (she didn’t stay to find out), his grip on the collar of her shirt loosened enough for her to pull back and slip out of his hold. Without waiting around, she turned and took off, making a dash for the nearby deck of the ship and hoping that the throngs of people would provide enough cover to keep her out of his sight.