Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews. As usual, I do not own the newsies, the titanic, or any historical people or events or... anything at all in this except the random passengers that you see. If they're on the passenger list, though, I don't own them. Also, if you read my other story (Bizarre Affections) you'll note Skittery there and Skittery here have mommy issues and are essentially the same. This is because he's the same guy, all grown up, without Anna. Also, this is a bit more like the Titanic film than I thought it was going to be, but it's still not a crossover.
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This is Just the Prologue
The whole ship ride was a crazy experience for me. I would never regret going to Europe, and I would never regret the ship. I know Spot and Racetrack did as soon as we heard it was sinking. It looked as if the life had been stamped out of them. Blink and I, well, we were scared. Of course we were scared. When you're told that a ship is sinking, doesn't have enough life boats for everyone, a rule of "women and children first" has been set up, and you're a third class male, of course you're going to be scared. It's almost natural that I automatically assumed death. That night, Blink and Race went to the priest to confess their sins. Spot didn't make any smart remarks about their confession or belief in God that night, either. He and I stood there, waiting for our doom out on deck. Years later they would say the third class passengers were locked down below. This is not true. Third class passengers often had a hard time with reading – whether it be because they'd never learned or because they didn't speak English. Some of the gates were locked, because we were meant to be away from the first class passengers. The White Star Line says they opened as many doors as they could, but there was a panic. I don't blame them, but I still think about those kids drowning in their cabins. But that's not what you want to hear about, at least not yet. This is my story.
This is How it Happened
I allowed Spot to drag me around the ship our first night there. I'll admit, I was completely nervous when he took a bath in a rich man's bath tub and put on his clothes. I refused to do any such thing; honestly, if the rich man... well, if he came back what if they imprisoned us or something? I was pretty sure there was something illegal about bathing in a man's tub. Eventually, Spot was so convincing with everyone that I wanted to be apart of it, too. I found something nice to put on and seemed to be part of the crowd. Everyone asked us where we were from and Spot had all the smooth answers. Originally, we were born in Queens. We're twins, you see, he would say. No, we're not really. I'm about five inches taller than he is, but we both have blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe that's what made everyone believe it. My hair, though is a bit curlier and more unruly. Spot's seems to be perfect all the time. Yeah, you notice these things over the years. The entire time I was sure a pretty little number was staring at Spot. He was the one that ladies loved to stare at, after all. But eventually, I realized it was me she was staring at. I wasn't used to these things happening.
See, everyone always wondered why I was single. I was twenty-eight, and that was an age in which I should have had two or even three kids. I was the perfect example of a perfect husband. I had outstanding morals; I would never cheat on a woman or harm her in any physical or emotional way. I was great with kids; I had taught the children at the lodging house, back when I was a newsie, to read and write. I was someone you could count on for money and to pay bills; unlike Racetrack, I wouldn't gamble away any small fortune I had. I had never been to jail and hadn't committed a crime since I was a kid; I stole bread and other such foods from time to time as a child, but had stopped that behavior once I could afford it. So why wasn't I married? Why hadn't some woman come and scraped me up in fear that someone else did? Well, believe me, they did try. I don't mean to sound arrogant or anything, but that's the honest truth. Women have tried to date me, tried to get me to be more than just their erm... sleeping partner, but I've never answered. I guess since the sinking of the ship occurred, why not say it aloud, why I've never had a wife? I'm damn afraid. My dad beat my sister, my mother and I until I was about eight. My sister was ten and my mother left us one day without warning. I took my sister out to help her find a laundress job, and then... I suffered a few months. Eventually I found the newsies and was able to make my own living. I haven't trusted women since then.
So when this girl stared at me with a look of fascination in her eyes, and when I realized it was I she was staring at, I looked away immediately. Some women had the common decency to remember the ways of how it always had been; men went up to women, not the other way around. Increasingly, though, women were coming up to me and asking me for a date. Apparently the woman's name was Miss. Helen Whitney. Her family was famous for being involved in thoroughbred horse racing, and her father was an amazing business man. Racetrack probably would have fallen head over heels in love with her, it was a pity he hadn't been there to be gawked at. Spot went on, telling them his name was Wesley and mine was George. Why he'd picked out such a boring name for me, I would never understand, but he kept going. We were twins, apparently, and our father was a businessman who was involved in the oil company. He had invested wisely, and we had all lucked out. We moved out of Queens quickly, of course, and moved to Central Park in Manhattan. This was starting to get difficult to remember. Our father was William, and our mother was Mary. They were both very religious people, especially mother, who was so god fearing she took everyone in the family to church every Sunday without fail, no matter how sick any of them happened to be.
So the night began to end and the women and men separated. "Would you like to join us for some political talk, Misters Wendell?" a tall man asked us. I shook my head but Spot nodded.
"I think, dear brother," I said the last part a little too sarcastically, "That I will be heading back to our room now. I suppose I'll see you later." It was difficult to have this faux voice without any sort of accent, but it was there. It was odd to pronounce every syllable and not mess up once with a 'da' instead of 'the'. Spot seemed perfect at it, though. I was done for the night, though, and as he left with the other gentlemen I thought of my warm bed waiting for me. Smiling, I went towards the grand staircase – there was a place behind that would lead me to the decks. However, I was caught by the angel who had been staring at me previously. She was gorgeous in her lace and silk white dress, looking like a perfect, untouched maiden. "Excuse me, ma'am, I'm off to bed for the night. But it was very nice to meet you, Miss. Whitney." I was good at remembering names. And manners. I kissed her gloved hand and tried to get passed her, but she stopped me.
"You have the oddest accent, did you know?" she asked, curiously, a smile on her face. Helen was a beauty. She was a little taller than the ideal girl would be, around five foot seven. That was perfect for me, though, being about six foot altogether. Her blond hair made her look like an angel, for some reason. I always pictured angels with blond hair, probably because of church propaganda. Her eyes were brown, though, usually that was undesirable in these fine ladies. Women were so harshly judged, I found her eyes beautiful.
"I did not know, ma'am, but how rude of you to point out," I gave her a small smile, "Now, if you don't mind, I will be heading to bed now. I've had a very long day."
"What is it like in steerage, Mr. Wendell, and how in the world did you get up here?" She had figured me out. Just as I was about to ask why, she answered my thoughts. "I saw you board the ship in steerage, I saw them check your hair for lice. I suspect your – ah – brother is quite the same. So I suppose you have some explaining to do, don't you?" she smirked. "I've arranged for us to have a bit of time to talk, so why don't we take a stroll around the decks? If you don't mind, you ought to return those clothes. It's quite rude to steal, you know." she added.
Well, I really hated this woman. Who did she think she was? "Of course I was going to return them." I said coolly, and, with her in tow, I went to the room where I had taken them. I changed in the bathroom while she waited outside and I came back looking like myself in my trousers and beaten up shirt. I pulled my suspenders up. "What is it to you, Miss. Whitney, if I have a bit of fun or not?" I couldn't understand why she'd taken such time to notice a steerage passenger.
"Well, one, I don't think you're having one bit of fun. That was why I let your friend there go unharmed." she smiled. "He certainly was having fun. But you? You looked so uncomfortable. Like you, Mr. … what may I call you?" she asked him.
"You can call me Skittery. It's the only name I've got." I added the last bit when she raised her eyebrow at my name. I didn't go by my original one.
"Alright, Mr. Skittery it is, then. Two, I would like to have a bit of fun myself. I want to see how the other half lives, and I believe you can show me." she added.
So, with that, I had to take the dame down to the third class quarters. Nobody saw us at this late hour, and she seemed intrigued by everything. She was blackmailing me, but somehow, she knew I didn't mind her company too much. She would turn out to be the reason I wouldn't regret coming onto this ship, and she would play a big role in my life in the next five days.
