Author's Note: So things are moving quickly, I know, but I'm trying to make it fit nicely. I really wanted to make this in ten chapters or less but it's looking like it may be fifteen or less. I own no newsie, no titanic passenger or the ship itself, and no historical figures as such. I simply own Helen, but not her surname haha, and the various, nameless people you will encounter here. We are on the third day aboard the titanic, meaning 13 April 1912. I'm really going to get Spot, Racetrack, Skittery and Kid Blink evenly placed once the iceberg hits.
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Skittery
After we kissed I took her back up as far as I could go. I felt badly for not being able to walk her back to her room like a proper gentleman, but her father would probably have a fit if he saw her with the likes of me.
There was something about her. She was beautiful, and that angelic look reminded me of my mama. I wanted to protect this girl; Helen, although she seemed to be in no immediate danger. My mom had been blond like her, petite, curious and funny when she wasn't frightened of my father. Helen was a woman who I respected, so even when I wanted to give her another kiss I didn't. Even when I wanted to ask her to see me again I didn't. She was the beautiful rich woman, and I was the poor servant below her. I had no business with her. However, as usual, she had the courage to say something that I wouldn't.
"Let's meet up tomorrow, you and I." And then she leaned in, pressing her lips against mine. I was hesitant at first, knowing that we could be seen at any moment. With the sound of the sea lapping against the ship, though, I couldn't help but fall into a calm state. Before I knew it we became a mixture of tongues and teeth and lips – I was being too rough with her and she didn't seem to mind – but I had to stop myself before we went too far. I assumed she had her virtue still. "Tomorrow then." And so I left the woman wanting more.
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RacetrackI couldn't believe I'd seen Skits with the likes of a Whitney. I would have paid her to sleep with me, just to say I'd been in a Whitney. She was a pretty girl, but unlike my comrades Blink and Skittery, I wasn't looking to get laid on the ship of dreams. I was looking to make the most money I could. Thus far, it being the third day and all, I'd made two hundred dollars. Everyone wanted to play against me! They thought it'd be fun to see if they could beat the Titanic champ. Well, they couldn't, and that was a little too bad for them. Some times they got angry; most of the time someone calmed them down, but I'd earned a shiner from one bastard and given him a kick right between the legs for that. I was still handsome as the devil, for the record.
I received an odd invitation from a man who claimed to be a Mr. Wendell's valet. He told me he'd let his master know about my skills. Mr. Wendell, apparently, loved to gamble. He said he would bet me for everything I had. Now, I know that wasn't the best move to make. I only had about two hundred, and this would be chump change to Mr. Wendell if he had a fuckin' valet and was sitting in the high life up in the first class rooms. But I was never intelligent when it came to gambling, or the situations at least. I never knew when to stop, which was why in my twenty-seven years I've been broke much more than once.
I came up to the first class accommodations, led by the valet, to come to the man's room. I wondered why a fancy pants like him would want to play cards in his bedroom, but as I was led in the valet gave me a bit of a sneak peek. He told me about how the first class passengers had sitting rooms and some times even dining rooms to themselves. The tall, pale valet explained that his master had his own bath tub, sitting room, and bedroom. We would be playing cards in the sitting room. I took a seat and a glass of brandy, but I didn't drink. I'd never developed a taste for it, myself, and I never drank when dealing with cards. That was one rule. You could make silly mistakes in a poker game even a little bit tipsy. The maid took over the valet's job and asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink. I told her to get me a cigar and she brought the finest kind – the kind I used to steal from rich men's pockets when I was a kid.
I gladly accepted, lighting up, when a man came in. He was dressed in a neatly pressed suit, black, nothing out of place. His shoes were shined and his undershirt was as white as white could be. "Mr. Higgins, I presume?" he asked, and I noted a British accent. I wondered what business he had in America. The man held out his hand and I took it, shaking it as if I knew what I was doing. We didn't shake hands much back in my old town.
"Racetrack, if you'se don't mind. Nice ta meet ya, mista Wendell." I smirked at him as he pulled out his deck of cards. No way would I be touching those. "Uh... if you'se don't mind, I gots a lucky pack a cards here. I'd prefer ta use dem." I explained.
"Lucky cards? Would you mind if I checked them to make sure there isn't anything... untoward... about them?" he asked. I shook my head, knowing he thought I was trying to cheat him. He checked them and seemed to be satisfied. I never cheat, I got pure skill. Poker is the only game that I feel super confident about, thought. Sure, I think I'm good at the race tracks but there's about a 45 % chance I will pick the wrong horse. I'm 99% sure I will win a poker game. So we sat down on his fancy, plush chairs and I dealt the cards.
It was a difficult game, I give the guy credit. He had pure skill. "Well, this has been a good game, my friend, but unfortunately for you..." the man set down his cards, a pair of queens and jacks. I didn't make any sort of face at all. I was sweating. "I'm afraid I'll be taking your precious two hundred." he smirked, reaching to grab the cash in the middle of the table.
"Actually, sir, you neva bothered ta see what I got." I said. He sat back, spreading his hands as if to invite me to set down my cards. I did so, and his eyes widened. I got a flush. See, not many people understand poker. There's no way to be good at poker. There are just people that God smiles down on more than others. It's all about luck, see, and some people got it, and some people don't. I got good luck, that's for sure. "So.." I went ahead and took the four hundred which was probably chump change for him, though it was everything to me.
"You sure you didn't cheat, boy?" the man asked, his voice turning dark. The maid stepped out of the room and I could tell she was frightened.
"Yeah, positive." I looked at him straight in the eye. I didn't fancy being called "boy" as if he were my superior or something.
He steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, looking at me consideringly. I knew he was my kind of man when he said the next words; "A rematch," and this time he dealt his own cards. I won this game – we each bet four hundred and wow, I was up to eight hundred dollars! I was on top of the world. I had one more day of this, before tragedy would strike.
