The Voyage of Titanic -

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Southampton, England, April 10, 1912. The gleaming white superstructure of Titanic rises mountainously beyond the rail, and above that the buff-colored funnels stand against the sky like the pillars of a great temple. Crewmen move across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer.

The morning sun rises just above the horizon, glowing upon the crowd of thousands who blacken the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich.

At the pier, horsedrawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries move slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere is one of excitement and general giddiness. There are people embracing in tearful farewells, waving and shouting bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

Waiting in one of the second-class lines, there is Sophia, alone in her loose ragdoll dress and her brunette hair curling down her neck. She lets her bag of luggage on the ground, only picking it up as the people ahead slowly advance.

Her tummy giggles. She'd woken up so early in the morning, when she could still see the stars in the sky, and she had to stuff herself with a loaf of stale bread before departing forever to America. Titanic is the ship of dreams which would carry her there, and she had taken great pains to have a ticket for herself.

Aboard, she imagines they will serve a hot plate of eggs and muffins, along with some tea. Oh, anything sounds so appetizing to an aching stomach!

Looking up at the ship's deck towering above her, Sophia sees the waving hands of the voyagers, bidding goodbye to this land, to Europe, and she can feel herself quaking to be amongst them. She'll grin, shout to strangers, "Goodbye! I will miss you!" and she will enjoy it.

Then she hears the distant call of the boarding officer, "Next!"

She picks up her worn leather bag, heavy in her hands, with a dress sleeve slipping out.

edited 30th Jun '11 10:23:17 PM by QQQQQ

Alexia wiggled her fingers on the handles of her luggage bags as she stepped on the pier.

The crowd ahead of her covered the pier, and moved as slowly as a boat drifting at sea. A few seagulls flew ahead, swooping in the air. The Titanic was stationed at the end of the dock, ready for its maiden voyage. An aura of majesty projected itself from the ship, making Alexia's stomach feel all tingling.

She grinned in excitement. She had never left England before, nor had she been alone. But both was necessary, as it was time to start a new life. Maybe the other side of the pond would grant the freedom she wanted. All she had to do is to enter the Titanic and let it drift her away.

A twinge of sadness stayed in her mind though. Alexia looked back at Southampton. Once she left England, she might not return for years. But yet, if she stayed, she wouldn't have her freedom.

So Alexia just stayed in the line, waiting to go on board the Titanic.

A few minutes later, she approached the boarding officer with her ticket. She kept the rim of her hat down, letting the white flower on the rim show her status and distract the officer.

Alexia gave the officer her ticket. As he stamped it, he said. "You're awfully young to be by yourself, miss."

Alexia hesitated, trying to remember the exact manner to speak to the officer. She then said. "But I am old enough to board the ship by myself, sir. I'm meeting my father in America." Her voice sounded quiet and mellow.

The boarding officer waved her in without another word.

Alexia let out a sigh. She couldn't let her nervousness make her slip up.

edited 1st Jul '11 10:43:08 AM by chihuahua0

edited 1st Jul '11 10:16:51 AM by Lasty

Cry for the moon!

As soon as William gets on the boat, he pushes past everything and everyone to get to the second class cabins. He doesn't feel like waving to people that don't know him, and he wants to be among the noise and people less than he wants to be beaten to death with a chicken. Inside the cabin, he sets his suitcase down on the mahogany table and straightens out his light brown hair and glasses.

Shrewd hazel eyes inspect the cabin. The bed is nice and clean, unlike the one in the room he rented for the past month. The walls have white enamel panels and the furniture is fine mahogany. There's probably a wash basin in the cabinet there, and the chair next to the table where he set his suitcase is even cushioned. Very nice, so what do the first class cabins look like? William remembers hearing someone mention a Turkish bath and he rolls his eyes.

His last meal in England, meat pie and boiled cabbage, churns violently in his stomach. Seasick before the boat even moves. How pathetic. He still has the letter in his suitcase, so he takes it out and reads it again, finding comfort in his brother's untidy block letters somehow.

Phillip said he found a decent job for him. William could stay with him and his wife until he could find as own lodgings. He even offered to introduce him to some nice girls, pretty ones that could make him forget Bianca. That comment almost made William turn him down.

But how could he refuse his brother when he already sent him money for a ticket? Phillip's earnest face and wide grin floats in front of his eyes. He means well. He always does.

William visited the graves one last time yesterday. Not leaving flowers, only thoughts. Asking a few questions. If they minded if he left, if they agreed that it would be worth it.

He thinks they lied when they said no. Especially Bianca. She'd rather die in childbirth a thousand times over again than to never feel his presence again.

Or so he liked to fancy.

edited 2nd Jul '11 6:52:02 PM by snowfoxofdeath

Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey Bitchfest

April 10th, 1912. The set date of departure for the gargantuan steamship, RMS Titanic. And boy was it the spectacle. Hordes of people, common folk and upper crust alike, gathered on the sea-slicked piers to gawk at this marvel of modern technology. Children pointed and men whistled at the giant which towered over them, dominating the horizon. It was almost reminiscent of worship. Man clinging to their false god of pride at their new altar, the Titanic.

Jacob didn't mind though. Let them pray. Prayer kept the mind at ease and the soul in peace. Besides, he liked crowds. Walk right in, sit on down, and soon you were just another part of the scenery. The anonymity was comforting. No one knew you, and no one cared. It was freedom, from both judgment and the prying eyes of your fellow man.

As the crowd moved, so did he. Shuffling along like a flock of sheep, the passengers were herded one by one up the ramp to face security. Jacob clutched his boarding pass, not bothering to make a last fleeting check to see if the information was in order. It was always in order. Always had been, always would be. They didn't make mistakes where he came from.

He absentmindedly flashed his boarding pass at the door. With a courteous bow and a flourish, the door man let him through, no trouble at all. After having his luggage taken from him and his coat removed and hung up to dry, he sipped a glass of complimentary wine and wondered just what had been on that innocuous slip of paper to get him such lavish treatment. He pulled it out of his pocket. The name printed on it read: Thomas Byles

He scowled. Just another giant bloody altar.

edited 1st Jul '11 10:58:46 AM by KSPAM

I've got new mythological machinery, and very handsome supernatural scenery. Goodfae: a mafia web serial

Will probably be joining in as of now.

Jesse Calthrope weaved through the upper decks with the utter lack of difficulty that came with being easily recognizable as the scion of England's elite. His family stood out in a crowd, he and his brother as well as his mother and uncles all bore flaming red hair and wide blue eyes as badges of honour, proof of their family dragging themselves from the dirt of Ireland almost only one hundred years ago to become merchants in a time of cut throat business.

It also helped that he was six feet and four inches and grinning broadly, making his way to the deck with an air so self assured that it suggested people simply had to move out of his way. They didn't really, he knew that, his height was impressive but his width certainly was not, but they did, and so he was able to make it to the railing with plenty of time to try and pick out his brother and his accompanying nursemaid.

With their matching red hair, Jesse was easily able to locate his brother, the three year old waving his obnoxiously coloured handkerchief wildly. The toddler had spent the entire train ride from Ely sobbing inconsolably, and Jesse's lapel was still noticeably damp. Smiling even wider Jesse carefully set his one bag of luggage in front of him, having refused to part with it earlier, and pulled out his own obnoxious kerchief. Careful not to hit any of the surrounding crowd he waved it, smiling fondly as Maggie, the nursemaid, hiked his brother up higher so the toddler could better see Jesse.

Jesse wasn't so focused on his waving he couldn't survey the crowd, and so he started looking about, listing off likely associations as he saw them and wincing at certain familiar faces. He wasn't meant for this life, he knew it. At twenty three he didn't want to go into business or continue his schooling. He'd gone against his mother's and father's wishes by doing this, but America seemed a dream to him. He wanted to build his own name, hence the one bag of luggage, and he was going to do it without help or die trying.

edited 1st Jul '11 10:34:58 AM by AwayLaughing

At the first class line, a man was attracting stares. Edmund Clark Jr. was a muscular giant, at six and a half feet tall. He was a very handsome man, with a distinct square jaw, charmingly scruffy black hair, and features suggesting he was either a swarthy white man or perhaps a pale mulatto. The truth was the latter, but to Edmund's perpetual relief and amusement, most people assumed that it was impossible a man of his descent could have amassed the wealth he so clearly displayed, and so made the simpler, and for his purposes, more useful assumption. His suit served to attract almost as many stares as his face and height, consisting of a purple jacket and pants, with a gold waistcoat, a black shirt, and a red tie. The materials suggested vast wealth, and the color scheme, a blatant contempt for the fashion of the day. On his ring finger was a thick, impressive wedding band, inscribed with Chinese symbols for long love and good fortune.

He looked at the other passengers warily, attempting to separate those who had worked for their money from the spoiled aristocrats who had tried, and failed, to keep him down time and time again. It seemed thus far he was surrounded by the latter, and he prayed some competent company to free him from their gossip and awkward stares. Nobody bade him farewell; his was a homecoming, an end to a miserable business trip, and most on this side of the ocean were happy to be freed from the terrifying presence of the dark giant whose ambitions and beliefs threatened to topple their old order as a wave crushed a sandcastle.

To be fair, there had been some good times. Once they realized he was a kindred spirit, scientists, artists, and other such individuals had made his trip tolerable. He had argued heartily and honorably with Marxists and anarchists, some of whom had made excellent points, even though he disagreed with their most fundamental beliefs. He had spent time admiring the work of brilliant artists unafraid of offending the old-fashioned critics. He had discussed the politics of the day with dangerous, controversial thinkers. But in the end, he had always looked forward to this day, when he would begin the voyage, leaving behind the decaying ruins and pithy aristocrats of Europe for his beloved America.

Distracting himself from his present company, he calculated business figures in his mind, trying to determine which his competitors to focus his attentions on next. Finally, his turn came. Breathing a sigh of relief, Edmund handed over his ticket to a slightly incredulous man, then strode aboard. He immediately began watching the line below from the railing, hoping to pick out men and women like himself, those who looked to the future rather than rotting in the past.

edited 1st Jul '11 7:46:33 AM by KillerClowns

Perhaps I should have chosen the first class after all.

While waiting for his turn, Adrian regretted for the first time his decision. His father had insisted that he should travel in the way that was appropriate to a man of his standing, but Adrian, he wanted to be humble. "Our family is unheard of at the other side of the Atlantic." "I would not make a good impression to your friend if I acted like a spoiled brat." Excuses, and pathetic ones at that. But Adrian had been taught to be humble, to live like an average citizen when he could. And his teachings came first, always. This was the right way- the only right way.

Still, he couldn't help but regret it. This was not where he belonged. The men and women around him would not stop talking and their irritating, meaningless chatter was driving him mad. It was mostly about money, and how each one would make a fortune in America. Some people were talking about the "wonders" of the foreign land. Others were boasting about their connections there- apparently, most of them had a rich relative that was waiting to welcome them with open hands.

Lazy, pretentious, self absorbed, half educated and rude. These were the men he would be travelling with. Or not- Adrian knew he was being too hard on them, judging them from appearances. But then again, could he be blamed for if they didn't know how to act?

He was greatly relieved when he handed over his ticket- from that point on, it was at least not crowded as much. He wondered what he would do during the voyage. Stay at his cabin, most probably, reading the books he carried with him. Or explore the ship; it was, after all, quite an impressive vessel.

"Erin, look at that man over there. He looks funny." Cuddling her beloved toy seal in one arm, Marla held her mother's hand as she watched the myriad of people around her, the man in the purple jacket especially. Though she was tiny, she could easily see him towering above even her more conservatively-dressed father.

Sophia followed her daughter's line of sight, then quickly looked back down at her. "Honey, don't stare." Clothed in the latest fashions like any other woman of aristocratic standing, she and her husband barely attracted attention among the other first class passengers. Adrian was tall and well-built compared to other men, occasionally intimidating potential business associates. Sophia, through her hobble skirt and cream-colored tunic, had a simpler air about her, making the two of them almost feel like a strange match.

Keeping his hands in the pockets of his expensive-looking black morning coat, he and Sophia met eyes for a moment, both relieved and happy to finally be able to spend some time together after all of the hours that he spent poring over sample after sample, tome after tome. To, for once, not have those viruses on his mind and simply relax with his wife and daughter. He spent moths getting everything ready so that they could vacation safely on the unsinkable ship, buying train tickets to take them here all the way from Vienna.

Already, they looked at peace as Adrian handed the three tickets off to the boarding officer. Giving the officer a polite nod, he and his family headed towards their room, where their bags were likely to be waiting for them already.

edited 1st Jul '11 10:21:01 AM by CrystalGlacia

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."

"Yes, I know I said my name was Nafuna, ya bampot. It's Francis Nafuna Grey, just like it says there on the ticket."

At the top of the second-class gangway stood a girl, garbed in a grey duster. Her hair, hanging just below her shoulders, was the same colour despite the fact she was not any older than twenty. She stood at 5'8, eye level with the ticket-taker, her hazel eyes fixed on him as he studied the piece of paper she'd handed to him. Eventually, he spoke up.

"Of course, ma'am, but -"

"No, I will not be needing my bags taken in. I've only got two and I am perfectly capable of carrying them in myself, thankyaverymuch."

With that, she gathered her things and pushed past the man and into the ship.

Once inside, she could barely contain her excitement. A name change was only one of the things that awaited her in America. Once the ship reached port, she'd no longer be Francis Grey, daughter of that stunning war hero, she'd be Nafuna Grey, the most successful entrepreneur in the world! She had no illusions that it'd be hard work, but it would be exciting work, and it would all pay off in the end.

She strolled off to her cabin, content.

Cry for the moon!

A massive hand landed on Jesse's shoulder. "You," Edmund said, in a thick American accent, "I have a good feeling about. Or maybe you're just an overconfident fool." Edmund circled Jesse, offering his hand, and said, with a wide, jovial grin, "Edmund Clark. Founder and owner of Western Amalgamated Farm Supplies, and sick and tired of all these high-born lowlifes." He glared over at the well-dressed crowd that included Adrian, Sophia, and Marla, although he wasn't picking them out specifically as he simply hadn't noticed them. He continued, "so, did you get sick of the rich and inbred, or did they throw you out?"

edited 1st Jul '11 10:43:24 AM by KillerClowns

Jesse blinked once before laughing, still waving his handkerchief so Maggie wouldn't have to put up with a sobbing Fabian. "Mother hates that I'm leaving, father is just happy I haven't run off to the orient. I'm Jesse Calthrope try not to focus on that second name too much."

With that he followed Edmund's glance, unable to contain his grin for them as well, simply in too good a mood. "I may well be an overconfident fool though," he warned the other, "it's what I'm told, my father says no one makes a fortune in America. He gets rather upset when I tell him that's not why I'm going." As he spoke he gave Edmund a once over, not at all phased by the large man's dress. After all he had a three year old brother who, on the days Jesse was left with him, Jesse took great pleasure in letting dress himself and then taking to public, upscale places. "Are you heading home?" he asked, "or simply ending up at home while fleeing the drudgery of The British Empire?"

Andrew Steele took a deep breath full of sea-salted air. That he would be here, at South-Hampton, waiting to enter the biggest ship in the history of man as a first-class passenger, was something that his father, the respectable and dirt-poor rancher Abraham Steele, never expected. Not that the old man thought his son would become a renowned journalist, though.

The cow-like lady and monkeyish old man were busily complaining to the ticket taker. No, he could not bring their luggage to their cabins; he had to let in other passengers as well. Yes, he was aware that this was surely beneath the standards one would expect with first-class. Yes, there will be lots of people on the ship to help them. After a little mumbling from the line behind the couple finally caved and left the poor man alone.

The American journalist showed his ticked and walked up the metal walkway, holding his leather suitcase in his left hand while letting the metal chain slither through the right.

edited 1st Jul '11 11:14:11 AM by honorius

If any question why we died/ Tell them, because our fathers lied -Rudyard Kipling

Edmund laughed jovially and said, "friend, what they say about America is true: a bastard like me can go from scraping out wheat on a miserable farm to running rusty patricians out of business left and right!" He shook Jesse's hand, perhaps a little too heavily, then said, "Me, I'm heading home, back to dear America. Purple mountains' majesty, amber waves of grain, and all the other wonders of a nation that isn't starting to turn gray." Then, looking him over thoughtfully, Edmund added, "so, if isn't fortune sending you to our fine land, what is it?" With a knowing grin, he quietly said, "it's a woman, isn't it? I might be wrong on that, but a young lad like you — if it ain't a woman, I'm sure you'll have no trouble picking one up."

Jesse grinned sheepishly. "Not a woman," he admitted, "though I admit it occurred to me. I just, I want to be me. I don't want to be my father's son until the day I die. I want to see purple mountains and amber grass and feel water that's so warm it could be a bath or go to a city where I can walk past a bank and not have someone say 'aren't you Hugh's son?'." He gave Edmund a grin, "money is just a bonus. I've had it my whole life and the only time I've been happy is when, well," he glanced back to where Fabian was clambering onto Maggie's head, hands no doubt making grabby motions. "I'm leaving that behind actually."

After a few minutes, William becomes bored.

Locking the cabin behind him, he looks up and down the hallway. The carpet and polished wood panels are of better quality than any ship he had ever been on, almost as nice as Bianca's old home. William takes out the piece of jerky in his pocket and chews it meditatively, slowly walking down the hall. Don't want to run into too many people, or he might get trapped in a conversation.

It shouldn't be too hard to brush them off, though. William happily meanders through the halls, up and down stairs, until he finds the dining room. More mahogany furniture here, with crimson upholstery.

A grand piano in the corner?

This is too good to be true. As if afraid someone would beat him to it, William runs.

For nearly six months, he's had to make do with a beat-up spinet in the back of a pub, and he's delighted to have something this good again. William settles on the velvet-cushioned bench and plays a few chords. The piano is bright and responsive, like the one he played for Bianca's family before they fired him, and well in tune. And a good excuse not to talk to anyone.

Something slow and calm to get started, perhaps. William always did like Chopin.

Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey Bitchfest

Everyone asserted to Karl Miller that third class would be the bane of his life; there'd be no sleep, the food would make his stomach either rupture or shrivel, he'd be murdered. Those pub-crawlin' schmucks knew what a guy he was, and still they thought that some Englishman would cheat him, or some first-class ponce would take offense at something and have him tossed off the ship covertly. now the latter could happen if he found some aristocrat with a particularly fine wife, but he'd handle that as it came.

Another reason to take third class: he was unnoticed, just another working drone to shuffle through into a small bunk. He headed to his room with the suitcase, changing the clothing that marked him irrevocably as a member of the working class to something that would be slightly less recognizable. Everything was the worst of the best, just enough to make him seem like an impoverished, but once-glorious man, or someone on his way up. People appreciated the effort, or the social mobility, or something else, but the outfit got him more free drinks. He pulled a hand down his face in a futile attempt to smooth away the wrinkles around his eyes, more of a customary gesture than a serious attempt, and walked out to meet the world.

It was certainly pleasant to stand and watch the people below, waiting in the line while he was already atop the ship. With a mocking wave, he headed off, looking for excitement inside. Fortunately, his careful choice of outfits made it much easier to get around without being questioned, and he was soon in the dining room.

"Posh," Miller said to no one in general, relaxing on a chair to the notes of a piano. "And no doubt quite expensive." He waved away the thought of nicking a chair (too long to disassemble) and instead closed his eyes, letting the ship wash over him. Wait and see.

This is this.

Down near the loading area, Gabriel Rockwell glared at the vessel before her. Normally, this would not be that interesting to the average bystander, but considering the fact that said woman was dressed in men's clothes, stood six feet tall, and was glaring so hard she seemed to be attempting to bore two tiny holes into the hull, well, most would consider that an interesting sight.

After a few moments, a large man slightly taller than her walked up. "Ma'am, I've been told that your luggage has be brought aboard for you." Ignored, the man continued, "Look Gabriel, you can't still be mad at the rest of the board, can you?"

"You mean I can't be mad at the men who decided I needed to leave the country after my fathers death because they think I'm unfit to take the reigns of the armory? Why, Bryce, I consider that grounds to stay stay mad as long as I want."

Bryce chuckled, "Don't repress your feelings. It's bad for you."

"Well, if you wanted subtlety and elegant language, look elsewhere," Gabriel said. "I have as much tact as a person without tact!" Giggling at her own (admittedly bad) joke, she continued. "But in all seriousness, thank you Bryce. I was convinced that the Old Men would have just dumped my bags out here without a second thought. I was surprised enough at the fact they let me choose second class! It's nice to see a friendly face before I must go."

Bryce smiled, "Better hurry then,they won't be boarding forever."

Giving Bryce a quick hug, Gabriel headed onto the ship.

Well, at least this promises to be interesting trip. Now on board, she smiled. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough to find myself a handsome man before the journey's end!

Edmund decided Jesse would be worth his time after all. He said, "Well, I'm not going to loiter here all day. Instead, I think I'll head over to the first class lounge and force them to suffer my presence. That's always fun. Telling off-color jokes really loudly always seems to get a good reaction. Or maybe I'll find some do-nothing noble insulting the waiters, and teach them some manners in a way that makes 'em need new pants. If I'm really lucky, I might even find some old Southern traitor to torment!" Looking back at Jesse, he said, "Jesse, join me if you like. Or swing by later; I think Western Amalgamated could use eager young men like yourself, if you can pull your weight." With that, Edmund proceeded to the lounge, ordering the most expensive beer they had, in the largest size they had.

edited 1st Jul '11 4:12:09 PM by KillerClowns

Lieutenant Kyle Williams handed over his ticket with mixed feelings.

On the one hand, he was glad enough that his leave was over. Whatever anyone else had said about overwork, he did not want to spend another month away from Annapolis. It may have only been a desk job, but if there was one thing you needed to know in the navy it was that you made the best of the assignments you were given. Perhaps he'd return to sea one day, but until then he was content to do his duty ashore.

On the other hand, the British Isles had been pleasant enough. He had toured London, seen Nelson's Column, visited the Channel Isles, and it would have been nice to have stayed longer. And, perhaps more importantly, he was not looking to the voyage with a great deal of anticipation. It was never enjoyable to sail with civilians, much less hundreds of them. Some might call the boat luxurious, but in a way, if you'd seen one liner you'd seen them all.

He took his bag and checked his cabin location: B-Deck, first class. Shouldn't be that hard to find. At least he could catch up on his reading during the trip.

Whistling to himself tunelessly, Flinn stood in the third-class line. One callused hand held the strap of the bag he had thrown across his shoulder.

As usual, he thought to himself. Hurry up and wait.

He let his gaze settle back onto the Titanic. A bit difficult to avoid it, really, what with the ship towering over everything and everyone. It reminded Flinn rather a lot of a giant ant's nest, with people swarming in and around and on it. The Titanic seemed above them all, all those insignificant people. That was a decieving appearance, though, Flinn mused. Without the frantic activity of men deep in her belly and on her deck, this beauty was going absolutely nowhere.

He measured it with his eyes. Yep, fully as big as everyone claimed. Bigger than any he'd ever served on. Much bigger than the SS Etta he'd be hopping onto as soon as he reached America.

Here's hoping she doesn't spoil me for honest work, he thought, grinning to himself.

Be not afraid...

As he went through his beer, Edmund began to realize how tired he was. All this travel had taken a toll, and he'd slept little in the past few days. With a sigh, he decided to check into his room. He'd torment the inbreds later.

Translation:I'll be gone for a while — I'm leaving for my family's internet-less cabin sooner than I planned. The alternative involves swarms of small children, and nothing good has a plural form of "swarm".

Out of the corner of his eye, William sees a man sit down at the other side of the dining room. During a slow part of the song, he raises his head slightly so he can see the man through his glasses. He's too far away, though, and his left eye was always the weaker one, so he can't really determine anything other than the fact that the man is neither fabulously rich or poor. Hardly special, then. Perhaps Phillip's money would have been better spent on new glasses, and William should have bought a third class ticket.

As he returns his concentration to the piano, this time playing a simple but upbeat German dance, he wonders what he should do if for any reason someone were to speak to him. Say "Ich verstehe Sie nicht*

" and be done with it? If the person seemed intersting, however, it might be worth having a talk. He might find someone to play cards with after dinner. If he were to be distracted by a woman... German never seemed as useful as it did now.

If William is deep in thought at the piano, assume that I might be busy for a while.

edited 2nd Jul '11 12:05:36 AM by snowfoxofdeath

Warm hugs and morally questionable advice given here. Prosey Bitchfest

Alexia wandered through the Titanic. She had put her stuff in her room, and only had a small purse with her for emergency uses. She glanced around as people pass by. She felt uneasy on a surface that rocked every once in awhile. Boats had always made her feel unsteady, but not seasick.

She was also lost.

Should I ask someone? she thought as she travaised the halls. Maybe I should just go into a room? But this is the second class area. I'm not really supposed to be here.

A upbeat song came from one of the rooms. The sound of piano music sounded welcoming.

Oh, well. I should ask for directions. She swerved into the lounge. She had always knew her way in the city. The new world she was in was quite confusing.