Disclaimer: This all belongs to James Cameron and his merry mob of magic
movie makers (Ooo.alliteration!). If only Jack belonged to me. *sigh* Oh,
and Midsummer Night's Dream belongs to Will Shakespeare.
Author's Note: First of all, Emma, you would be wrong about the black & white thing, as I've explained to you. Auburn, Emma, auburn. Next, thanks to all you guys who've reviewed: Yay! No flames! Except for that whole much- too-short issue.ah, we'll fix it.
****************************************************************************
December 24, 1912
"And you know, that Timothy Smith.". Elizabeth dropped to the floor in a dead faint, before rising, giggling hysterically. Rose smiled at her friend.
"I've seen handsomer.". Rose trailed off, thinking, of course, about Jack. Her attention returns to her golden haired friend. Elizabeth Harman was her best friend at the theater. Tall, thin, graceful, she commanded the attention of the young men working at the theater. Elizabeth shook her head ruefully.
"Why won't you tell me about this mystery boy? What ever happened to him?" Rose sighed. It wasn't a story she was willing to reveal yet. Elizabeth eyed Rose's stomach curiously.
"Is he the baby's father?" Rose nodded solemnly, and returned to painting the tree at hand, saying no more. She eyes her work remorsefully; Jack could have done better. Needless to say, he'd have been proud of her work anyway, but still.Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Zwilling's thunderous voice:
"I want the scene we've been having trouble with rehearsed. Everyone, to your places." He surveyed scenery suspiciously.
"Anna isn't here today, out sick. Rose, fill in." She rose awkwardly, striding inelegantly over to the stage. Rose already knew the lines by heart, she'd seen the actors rehearse so many times. Mr. Zwilling looked over the actors with approval.
"Ready? And start with 'Why do you think.?'". Mr.Zwilling stopped, only for the line to be continued by Andrew, who was playing Lysander. "Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?" boomed Andrew. Rose stepped up beside him, playing Helena. "You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: your vows to her and me, put in two scales, will even weigh, and both as light as tales." Rose glared at him, obviously getting into the role. "I had no judgment when to her I swore!" promised Andrew/Lysander. "Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er," retaliated Rose, curls flying. Mr. Zwilling watched, utterly amazed: the pregnant girl from backstage was a fabulous actress! "Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you!" shouted Andrew. The scene continued until its end. Rose came out of her daze, almost surprised at her knack for this. Elizabeth stood up, whooping and clapping, followed by the whole theater. Rose curtseyed awkwardly, before going back to her tree, a little stupefied. Mr. Zwilling sat in his chair, thinking. Next play, Rose would have the lead. She had the talent, and the work ethic to become a star, and a star was just what the theater needed. ****************************************************************************
Today was Saturday. Jack yawns widely, rising slowly from his warm bed. Course, he could afford a bigger house, servants, cars, the works. But, Jack preferred the basics. Although, he thought, pulling off the thick blankets and slipping into clean, warm clothes, being affluent wasn't too bad.
His new apartment was right in the center of the town, and it was nicer than anywhere he'd ever stayed.well, Titanic didn't count. Of course, the added benefit was his new workspace, inside an art gallery.
Placing some paper and art supplies in his worn pack, he shrugged the knapsack onto his back and exited his apartment, carefully locking the red door. Jack started off towards the park, his favorite place to spend a day.
He stopped at his bench, settling down with a piece of paper and began to sketch the young girl playing next to her father. Quickly, he lost himself to the picture, until he saw a dark haired man striding along the path, looking quite uncomfortable.
A young, blond woman hung onto his arm, and Jack could catch the words "slumming" and "unwashed swines" from their conversation. The woman was slim, with masses of platinum blonde locks pilled atop her fine-featured head. The man was tall, wearing the most expensive clothes, and looked a lot like.no, it couldn't be. Jack shook his head mournfully.
As fate seemed to have it in for Jack today, the woman brightened visibly when she saw the young, blond man sitting on the park bench, tools of the artist trade in hand.
"Darling, don't you think it would be auspicious to have this young.man do a little portrait of us? You know, to commemorate our engagement?" Her voice was high, and nasal, kind of like a gnat. It was already ready beginning to grate on Jack's nerves, and he'd only heard her speak once.
She walked up to him, thin hips swiveling atrociously. Jack glanced up at her, eyebrow raised.
"Yes? Can I help you?" he inquired warily.
"My fiancé and I would like a portrait done of us. You know, something to remember this vacation?" she purred, long, painted nails extending towards him with money. The man chortled uncomfortably.
"Angela, sweet pea. You know this isn't a vacation. We live here now, and we won't be going back to Philadelphia. You know why." The familiar stranger seemed anxious to get off the topic. He turned back to Jack.
"Make sure you get all of her in the picture and.I'd like more of a porcelain doll look. None of that risqué stuff, understand?" Jack nodded stiffly. He could do the corpse look.it just took more effort.
The couple posed rigidly, as Jack worked on the portrait. The gentleman looked at his watch.
"Great Scott! I'm late for the meeting! Angela, darling, let him finish you up. Then, come back to the apartment as soon as possible." He kissed her cheek, then stood up to go.
"By the way, my name is Hockley. Caledon Hockley. Pleasure to meet you." He left as suddenly, in the same bustling manner as he came. As soon as he was gone, Angela reached for Jack's hand.
"Come on." Her tone had gone sex-kitten on him. Jack pulled away, looking confused.
"What are you talking about?" She attempted to look pathetically innocent.
"Why do I think I chose you do our portrait, and not that peg-legged man over there? I picked you for a reason" Angela smiled coquettishly and put her arms around him.
Author's Note: First of all, Emma, you would be wrong about the black & white thing, as I've explained to you. Auburn, Emma, auburn. Next, thanks to all you guys who've reviewed: Yay! No flames! Except for that whole much- too-short issue.ah, we'll fix it.
****************************************************************************
December 24, 1912
"And you know, that Timothy Smith.". Elizabeth dropped to the floor in a dead faint, before rising, giggling hysterically. Rose smiled at her friend.
"I've seen handsomer.". Rose trailed off, thinking, of course, about Jack. Her attention returns to her golden haired friend. Elizabeth Harman was her best friend at the theater. Tall, thin, graceful, she commanded the attention of the young men working at the theater. Elizabeth shook her head ruefully.
"Why won't you tell me about this mystery boy? What ever happened to him?" Rose sighed. It wasn't a story she was willing to reveal yet. Elizabeth eyed Rose's stomach curiously.
"Is he the baby's father?" Rose nodded solemnly, and returned to painting the tree at hand, saying no more. She eyes her work remorsefully; Jack could have done better. Needless to say, he'd have been proud of her work anyway, but still.Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Zwilling's thunderous voice:
"I want the scene we've been having trouble with rehearsed. Everyone, to your places." He surveyed scenery suspiciously.
"Anna isn't here today, out sick. Rose, fill in." She rose awkwardly, striding inelegantly over to the stage. Rose already knew the lines by heart, she'd seen the actors rehearse so many times. Mr. Zwilling looked over the actors with approval.
"Ready? And start with 'Why do you think.?'". Mr.Zwilling stopped, only for the line to be continued by Andrew, who was playing Lysander. "Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?" boomed Andrew. Rose stepped up beside him, playing Helena. "You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: your vows to her and me, put in two scales, will even weigh, and both as light as tales." Rose glared at him, obviously getting into the role. "I had no judgment when to her I swore!" promised Andrew/Lysander. "Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er," retaliated Rose, curls flying. Mr. Zwilling watched, utterly amazed: the pregnant girl from backstage was a fabulous actress! "Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you!" shouted Andrew. The scene continued until its end. Rose came out of her daze, almost surprised at her knack for this. Elizabeth stood up, whooping and clapping, followed by the whole theater. Rose curtseyed awkwardly, before going back to her tree, a little stupefied. Mr. Zwilling sat in his chair, thinking. Next play, Rose would have the lead. She had the talent, and the work ethic to become a star, and a star was just what the theater needed. ****************************************************************************
Today was Saturday. Jack yawns widely, rising slowly from his warm bed. Course, he could afford a bigger house, servants, cars, the works. But, Jack preferred the basics. Although, he thought, pulling off the thick blankets and slipping into clean, warm clothes, being affluent wasn't too bad.
His new apartment was right in the center of the town, and it was nicer than anywhere he'd ever stayed.well, Titanic didn't count. Of course, the added benefit was his new workspace, inside an art gallery.
Placing some paper and art supplies in his worn pack, he shrugged the knapsack onto his back and exited his apartment, carefully locking the red door. Jack started off towards the park, his favorite place to spend a day.
He stopped at his bench, settling down with a piece of paper and began to sketch the young girl playing next to her father. Quickly, he lost himself to the picture, until he saw a dark haired man striding along the path, looking quite uncomfortable.
A young, blond woman hung onto his arm, and Jack could catch the words "slumming" and "unwashed swines" from their conversation. The woman was slim, with masses of platinum blonde locks pilled atop her fine-featured head. The man was tall, wearing the most expensive clothes, and looked a lot like.no, it couldn't be. Jack shook his head mournfully.
As fate seemed to have it in for Jack today, the woman brightened visibly when she saw the young, blond man sitting on the park bench, tools of the artist trade in hand.
"Darling, don't you think it would be auspicious to have this young.man do a little portrait of us? You know, to commemorate our engagement?" Her voice was high, and nasal, kind of like a gnat. It was already ready beginning to grate on Jack's nerves, and he'd only heard her speak once.
She walked up to him, thin hips swiveling atrociously. Jack glanced up at her, eyebrow raised.
"Yes? Can I help you?" he inquired warily.
"My fiancé and I would like a portrait done of us. You know, something to remember this vacation?" she purred, long, painted nails extending towards him with money. The man chortled uncomfortably.
"Angela, sweet pea. You know this isn't a vacation. We live here now, and we won't be going back to Philadelphia. You know why." The familiar stranger seemed anxious to get off the topic. He turned back to Jack.
"Make sure you get all of her in the picture and.I'd like more of a porcelain doll look. None of that risqué stuff, understand?" Jack nodded stiffly. He could do the corpse look.it just took more effort.
The couple posed rigidly, as Jack worked on the portrait. The gentleman looked at his watch.
"Great Scott! I'm late for the meeting! Angela, darling, let him finish you up. Then, come back to the apartment as soon as possible." He kissed her cheek, then stood up to go.
"By the way, my name is Hockley. Caledon Hockley. Pleasure to meet you." He left as suddenly, in the same bustling manner as he came. As soon as he was gone, Angela reached for Jack's hand.
"Come on." Her tone had gone sex-kitten on him. Jack pulled away, looking confused.
"What are you talking about?" She attempted to look pathetically innocent.
"Why do I think I chose you do our portrait, and not that peg-legged man over there? I picked you for a reason" Angela smiled coquettishly and put her arms around him.