Chapter Text
Florence couldn’t believe it. They had won the bet, and the two of them now held tickets for the most coveted voyage of the century. America was the land of opportunity. She and Robert knew that if they stood any chance of making a living with their music, the United States was the best place to do it.
They had to hurry, as they were running terribly late. They both wore suits, and Florence had her long red hair tucked up into a grey newsboy cap. She had found that posing as a man helped their chances of securing gigs. She would never definitively reveal or announce her gender, but as soon as she sang and released her flowing, fiery locks, it was more than clear. However, by that time, she would have already won the audience over, and her employer could hardly object. In England though, perhaps in part due to the time period, it was mostly frowned upon. Perhaps the U.S. would be more accepting.
Robert led the way, his wooden acoustic guitar in hand. Florence stayed slightly behind, carrying a bag of their shared belongings over her shoulder. She preferred to let Rob handle the ticket exchange since her voice tended to be a giveaway, especially if they were already being scrutinized.
They made it on board just in time, and Florence hopped onto Rob’s back as they both yelled in excitement, running on deck and toward the rail to wave goodbye.
“Goodbye!” they yelled, and Florence laughed melodically every once in a while. As the boat was pulling away, she felt particularly daring and threw off her cap, shaking her red hair free.
“Flo, what’re you doing? You wanna get us caught?” Rob whispered, turning his head to glance up at her, half-grinning in spite of his concern.
“I don’t care!” she yelled, laughing and hugging his neck tighter. “Don’t you know what this means?!”
He laughed in response, one hand still supported under her knee to steady her on his back, the other waving at no one in particular.
“The dog days are over!” she sang, raising a hand in the air, throwing her head back and letting the wind blow her hair wildly.
And with that, the Titanic began its journey across the Atlantic.
~
Isabella and Malcolm entered their stateroom a few moments after boarding. Isabella wished to watch the departure from the deck, but her dark-haired, mustached husband reprimanded her for such a request, with a sharp, “What’s to see?”
They had been married for two years, and any feelings that were there in the beginning had faded, at least for Isabella. She wasn’t sure what had caused it, whether it be his distaste for her love of the piano, his condescending glare, his roughness and quick temper. Perhaps it was a little bit of everything.
He was an oil tycoon whose family resided primarily in the United States. He had gone to England for business negotiations where he and Isabella had met. They married, and he extended his stay in the United Kingdom for her sake. But he felt now that it was time to return home so that they could purchase a mansion and truly begin their life together. Isabella’s hands trembled at the thought.
Later that evening, at dinner, her humiliation and frustration grew. He showed her to his friends as though she were a piece of jewelry or property. She was expected to keep silent and look pretty. She knew this would only get worse once they reached the states. How would she ever escape?
That’s when she decided. She made up her mind when the men retired to the smoking room after dinner. She kissed him goodnight, assuring him she would return to their room to get ready for bed. But that’s when she slipped away, her mind fixed on the arms of the ocean, the crashing waves. She had a plan. It was the only way.