I'd just like to say thank you real quick to everyone who has read and reviewed. It means a lot to me.
Disclamer: I own nothing. James Cameron owns Titanic. Julie Plec, Kevin Williamson, and L. J. Smith own the Vampire Diaries.
Billowing clouds of slate colored smoke rose up from the fawn-colored smokestacks. A mountain-like structure sat a float in the cerulean waters. It was the tenth day of April of 1912 in Southampton. As the clock neared the twelfth hour, the pier became blackened with throngs of well-wishers and passengers alike.
A burgundy Renault was lifted into the air by a crane and lowered towards hatch number two. A collection of horse drawn carriages, motorcars, and lorries littered the piers as they slowly made their way towards the boat. Meaningful farewells, tearful goodbyes, and cries of 'Bon voyage' could be heard moving throughout the crowd.
A white Renault lead the silvery Daimler-Benz made way through the crowd, pressing a hole though the cramped pier. The commands of the White Star Line officers could be heard as they checked quickly though the people.
The Renault stopped and the driver rushed to open the door for his employer. Helping a stunning young woman dressed in a dark purple and white traveling suit with a large purple hat out onto the pavement, he rushed to help the other passengers down.
The gorgeous young woman had straight, dark brown hair and piercing chocolate eyes. Her large cream-colored hat covered smooth olive skin and cool eyes that showed nothing as she took in the scene before her.
"I really don't see what all this fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania," the girl, merely seventeen-years-old age, remarked. A man stepped down from the other side. Thirteen-years the girl's senor, the man was often called Pittsburgh's most handsome and eligible bachelor up until a little over a year ago when he became engaged to the beauty before him. Niklaus von Swartzchild ll was the heir to a prominent steel fortune. His father, Niklaus von Swartzchild I, had built many factories upon his arrival to America, ensuring that his eldest and only surviving son would live a well off life.
"Oh Elena, don't be ridiculous. The Titanic is over a hundred feet longer than the Mauritania and it is simply far more luxurious," Niklaus, or Klaus as he was known, told his fiancé. Elena Flemming Gilbert made no acknowledgement of his comment, but rather studied the mob and the ship.
Elijah Smith, Klaus' personal valet and ex-Pinkerton, stepped forward from the Daimler-Benz that was carrying a multitude of steamer trunks and Bonnie and Emily Bennett, Elena and her mother's maids.
Klaus turned to Isobel Flemming Gilbert, Elena's mother, and held out a hand to the society empress from Philadelphia. As she reached the ground, he offered her his arm and whispered conspiratorially to her, "Your daughter must be the hardest woman to impress, Isobel. Do mind your step." He nodded to a puddle and led his soon-to-be mother-in-law around it.
"So they say this ship is nearly unsinkable," Isobel said with an equal amount of detachment as her daughter. Klaus laughed.
"It is unsinkable. God himself could not sink this ship," he told her with pride as if he were the designer of the ship himself.
This was a quintessential example of the Edwardian bourgeoisie. They were a title short of being aristocrats, mostly due to the fact they were Americans, however, this was as close to royalty as the few privileged Americans could get without marrying into one of the European monarchies.
A White Star Line porter rushed to them as if he were called by name. "Sir," he called to Klaus, "you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, round that way-"
Klaus causally handed the man a fiver, letting the idea of the five-pound tip rush through his head. "I put my faith in you, good sir," Klaus told him. He gave a nod towards Elijah, "See my man."
"Y-Y-Yes sir," he stuttered slightly intimidated, "My pleasure, sir." Elijah pointed at the cars.
"These trunks here, and then the twelve in the Daimler. We'll have this lot up to the rooms." The White Star man wore a comical look on his face as he saw the pile of trunks and suitcases that seemed to rival the ship in height. Wooden crates and a steel safe were placed beside the luggage and he whistled frantically for some cargo-handlers to come.
"We'd better hurry," Klaus told his two female companions in a nonchalant tone as he checked his pocket watch, "This way, ladies," he said, leading them towards the first class gangway and Bonnie Bennett and her mother hustled behind them, laden with the bags of their mistresses' latest purchases of items far to delicate for common bag handlers to touch.
Klaus led his fiancé and future mother-in-law through vehicles, handcarts, steerage and second class passengers, and well-wishers. Above, several first class passengers avoided the grime and smell from the coarse wool and tweed-clad steerage pushing against each other as a health examiner check for lice through the scalp and eyelashes.
Two tons of Oxford marmalade in large wooden crates passed by the entourage as Klaus stopped short. Elena stared up at the great iron wall that was the hull of the Titanic. From here, even she had to admit, the ship was impressive. In fact, she wondered how such a thing stayed afloat. An overwhelming sense of dread flooded her body as Klaus pressed a hand into the small of her back and guided her forward onto the gangway to the D Deck doors.
This was the ship of dream. Everyone one knew it, including Elena. And yet, she somehow doubted that it would bring her one dream, to free her from the chains of society who expected far too much from her, to be free of Klaus. Any casual observer would see a girl with dark hair and a perfectly serene look upon her face. Inside, Elena was screaming.
From the pier, a man sat in a blue A.L.F.A. 15 HP. His boss was late. He knew it would happen. It was just like him too. The man, Alaric Saltzman was a German born prince who had been sent to England for the summers to spend them with his distant cousins' rich grandmother (Victoria, the Queen of England) who taught him English. Now, he was hired by the Marchese di Toscana to watch his son, Prince Damon Francesco DeSangue, Conte di Toscana, and be a translator. Officially, this would be the first time he met the Count.
Unofficially, he had met Damon at the University of Florence as Damon Salvatore, where the Count had taken his grandmother's maiden name in attempts to be normal. Alaric had been studying there from Germany, and he and the Count became great friends.
Alaric snapped his pocket watch closed again, glancing up toward the first class gangway. There was a small group. Two maids, a first class man, and two first class women. It was the older of the two well dress, first class women that caught his eye. She had black hair and porcelain skin and beautiful, womanly curves.
"Ric?" a voice asked. Alaric jumped and turned to see none other than the Count himself. "Whom are you staring at?" The Count was a handsome man. He had thick, dark hair and bright, icy blue eyes. He had a light, clear complexion and a smirk. But for a man who had more money than what he knew to do with it, he was dressed rather shabbily. He had on simple, worn brown clothes that he had been known to wear while playing American football, a game Alaric had learned on a trip to America to visit a distant cousin or aunt, complete with his hat. "I'm having Noah and Henry check in the luggage," he explained, waving towards the red Rolls Royce Silver Ghost behind him that was being unloaded by the two men dressed in uniforms.
"What are you wearing?" Alaric finally asked Damon, getting over his shock.
"Like it?" he asked with a smirk, and if it weren't for the accent, Alaric would have thought Damon to be an America, "I hear it's all the rage in the proletariat world." Alaric rolled his eyes, stepping out of the A.L.F.A. 15 HP just as the Titanic's final warning whistle blew.
"Come on. Your father wanted me to watch you and make sure you get to America safely, so let's get to America safely." Damon gave him a smirk, pulling money from his jacket and tucking ten pounds in each of his helper's hands.
"Make sure this stuff gets on the ship and that pile into our rooms. Grazie," he told them before walking to the Deck D gangway.
"Excuse me," one of the ship's crewmen holding the doors opened said to Damon, "your people are on Deck E." Alaric looked at the man in his eyes.
"Do you know who this is? This is Count DeSangue. He nearly got attacked on the way here. I'm his security guard. In order to keep him safe," Alaric lied, "we had to dress him in these awful clothes." The man gulped as he met Damon's eyes, before seeing Stevie and Slater trail behind him with "fragile" items that hardly left room for them to see above or around them.
"Put those in my room, gentlemen," Damon told the men, unaware of Alaric's conversation with the crewman, as he tucked five pounds into each of the two British men his father had hired from his coat's front pockets.
"I'm so sorry, um, Count DeSangue. Please, um, uh, continue. Enjoy your trip," the crewman stuttered, clearly confused. Damon turned and gave a nod.
"Of course," he told the man, passing him and entering the ship. The mooring lines dropped into the water as Damon and Ric walked up to the deck. Seven tugboats were pulling the Titanic away from the wharf as they reached the rail. Damon waved at familiar faces in the crowd. William Tanner was glaring at him. Vicki and Kelly Donovan were waving frantically at him. Mason and Jules Wolfe were shooting glances of daggers at him. Damon just smirked, waving in a wave that suggested him to be more than just a count, rather implying he held some relation to royalty.
"You know someone?" Alaric asked.
"But of course," He turned to the crowd, "Good-bye! Good-bye! I will never miss you all!" Alaric grinned.
"I'll never forget you!" He shouted to the cheering well-wishers. The crowd on the pier ate up the goodbyes of the miniscule people at the railing as the Titanic began to gather speed as it headed toward the English Channel.
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