Titanic

by Imperator Chiashi Zane

Dinner, Part 1

Mossy Brown looked at Jack. He stood, wings outstretched in the middle of her suite, wearing fine suit pants and a white shirt with freshly hemmed wing-slits in the back. She carefully finished hemming the wing-slits in the back of a suit jacket, pulling the thread tight and tying it off with her teeth before swinging it over him. The Thestral shimmied his wings through the slits and slid his hooves into the sleeves, waiting for Mossy to finish getting him dressed.
She pulled a bow-tie out of a trunk and secured it around his neck before diving back in to root around for something else, “Since you don’t have feathers, I can’t really use these decorative gold feathers, but maybe…” she muttered through a mouthful of something and pulled her head back out of the trunk, smiling around a mouthful of ink-pot and quill. Setting the two down, she carefully uncapped the bottle and drew the quill from its protective case with a flourish, “Spread out your wings. And hold still. Fur dye is expensive.” She began carefully stroking the quill down his wings, tracing a pattern from memory, one she had seen years before, on a fire-dancer Thestral somewhere in Roam.
As she wrapped up the inking, Jack resisted the urge to shake his wings out, knowing that he had to wait for the dye to dry. “Hold still,” she gently touched one of the marks, checking that it was drying, before starting to clean up.
“Where did the wife of a rich pony get such good sewing skills from?”
“My husband. I’ve gotta constantly adjust his clothes, ‘cause I never know how much he’s been eating while I’m away. His clothes never fit just right.”
“Are you going to have to take these stitches back out and patch the shirt and jacket?”
“Oh, deary, that won’t be a problem. I learned a spell to re-knit fabric, so I wouldn’t be always buying more,” she indicated the needle and thread on her flank, “Besides, it’s my talent. It’s not difficult.”
She finished packing and turned back to him, making a final check on the dye, “Alright. It’s dry now. You can fold your wings up and look.”
His wings had almost Zebrican striping on them when folded, but as he stretched them wider, he saw the intricate patterns that looked almost like flames dancing along his wing surfaces. It was magnificent, and truly a shame only part of it would be visible, “How long will I have to show this off?”
“It’ll wash out in two or three days. More if you don’t wash it,” her face curled up in a wry grin. Almost like she knew how long it had been since his last shower. About an hour since she had scrubbed him so clean his fur had gleamed.
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She sky was lovely, just barely after sunset, and the rise of the moon. He glanced up at the figure painted on the surface, “Luna, watch over this night. Break your bonds just for this eve.”
He felt a caress through his mane that he swore wasn’t just the wind. In his magnificent garb, he strode up to the First-Class Dining hall, arm in arm with Mossy Brown, in a dramatic green and brown dress that blended with her fur and concealed a fair amount of her broad build.
A steward looked at the two as they arrived at the door, and nodded as he opened the doorway for them, “Good evening, Sir.”
Jack followed the lead of the other nobles he had seen, tilting his head in a subtle nod, with just the right amount of disdain to show his perceived status. His perceived dignity was suddenly lost as he entered the enormous Grand Staircase. Overhead, showing off the moon and stars in all their glory was a glass dome that Jack couldn’t have touched both sides of if he spread his wings all the way and stretched. Down below, the stairs curled six floors, the epitome of opulence in architecture.
Then there were the ponies. Mares in floor-length dresses, elaborate mane-styles, abundant jewelry. He saw several Pegasi who wouldn’t have been able to fly if they had tried, their wings and bodies adorned with so much finery that they probably couldn’t even make a proper stroke with them, let alone lift the weight. Gentle-stallions in suits like his own, one hoof tucked back in a ready, yet dignified position, talking amongst themselves.
As Jack moved down the stairs, careful not to extend his wings too far, several stallions nodded to him. He nodded back, a simple greeting, without any real interaction. He felt like a spy in their midst, like one of those bit-store novel heroes. Which made him have to suppress a grin.
Kale strode down the stairs as Jack reached the bottom, arm in arm with Truth, who wore enough jewelry to keep Jack in food and sketch-pads for life. He said nothing as the two passed, only nodding in response to the unwitting Kale’s nod of greeting. Neither noble knew it was him. And as Mossy was otherwise distracted by the crowds, he had been settled on his own in the midst of the rich and powerful. Decade old instincts told him to start carefully pocketing watches and wallets, then make his way out of there, but he forced them down.
He managed, just in time to see Rose, adorned in red and black, her low-cut dress showing off her neck and shoulders, her arms sheathed in white stockings that went up nearly to her chest, and terminated in a pair of silver clad shoes. Beneath the trailing edge of the dress, he spotted glimpses of matching rear shoes. He felt himself being sucked in by her beauty, and his hoof rising of its own accord to settle behind his back. Imitating the pose of several Pegasi stallions from films he had seen, he flared his wings as he bent low and took her hoof, gently pressing his lips just above the shoe. Rose flushed, but her smile grew as her eyes attached themselves to Jack’s body, and his intricately patterned wings, “Saw that in a nickelodeon once, and I always wanted to try it.”
“Kale, surely you remember Mr. Darkson?”
Kale snapped his head around to the gentle-stallion he had just greeted, shock evident on his face, “Darkson! I didn’t even recognize you,” he studies the patterning and the clothing for a moment, “Why, you could just about pass for a gentle-stallion.”
Jack just grinned, pulling his wings in just enough that they would be out of the way, while still displaying the pattern.
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As they reached the dining hall, Mossy Brown sidled up to Jack and nudged him, whispering, “Ain’t nothin’ to it, is there Jack?”
“Yeah. You just dress like a pall-bearer and keep your muzzle up,” he raised his muzzle mockingly high in the air before lowering it back to acceptable.
Mossy suppressed a giggle, “Remember, the only thing they respect is money, so act like you’ve got lots of it, and you’re in the club.”
He responded with a broad smile, raising a hoof clasped around several high denomination bills, “Why act?” At her shocked expression, he tapped Kale on the side gently, “Sir, I believe you dropped this.”
Kale looked at the loose bills, and patted his breast pocket before taking the money and returning it to his pocket. Mossy laughed silently, lips struggling to stay together, to hold it in, “I didn’t even see you take that…”
Jack indicated Rose with his wingtip, “An accomplice is always welcome.”
Rose overspoke him, leaning in and whispering as she pointed, “There’s the Countess Rothes. And Shorn Acorns, the richest man on the ship. His little wifey, Madeline, is my age and in a delicate condition. See how she’s trying to hide it. Quite the scandal…”
“So, should I return that bottle of pills then?”
She looked at him, eyebrow questioning him about when he would have done that.
“Kidding. You can see the bottle, tucked right there in her right fore-hoof.”
She contined showing him the audience, “Sir Cosmo and Loosy. Lady Muff-Gordon, she designs lingerie, amongst her many talents. Very popular with the royals.”
“I see,” Jack poorly concealed his sarcastic cough, “Actually, come to think of it, I know some of her designs. A few made it into my sketch-pad.”
Rose redirects him away as Kale and Truth become engrossed in their own conversations, “And over there is Been Guggenheim and his mistress. Mrs. Guggenheim is at home with the foals, of course.” Another poorly concealed cough, with a hint of choked laughter.
Kale, in with his crowd, busily accepted the praise of his friends, who are looking at Rose like a winning show-pony, which she could be, if she wanted to.
“Hockley, she is splendid.”
“Thank you, Cosmo.”
“Kale’s a lucky stallion, I know him well, and it could only be luck,” Lovejoy spoke, his voice still carrying the measured tone of an unrepentant gambler, but with a hint of respect.
Rose stepped back over at that, tugging Jack along, “How can you say that Spicer? Kale Hockley is a great catch,” her tone was both joking and theatrical at the same time, and Jack almost lost his composure.
“Shorn, Madeline, I’d like to introduce to you Ratchet Jack Darkson.”
The stallion nodded, “Good to meet you Ratchet. Are you of the Boston Darksons?”
Jack shook his head, “Just Jack, please, and No. Chippewa falls Darksons, actually.”
A nod, like the stallion had any idea who those were, then a puzzled look crept across his face. Madeline leaned in to Rose and whispered in her ear, “It’s a pity we’re both spoken for, is it not?” Rose snickered.
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Like a ballroom at a palace, the grand Saloon lit up with a constellation of chandeliers, none that could match Luna’s night, full of elegance and lovely orchestral music. Rose and Jack moved across to the table, Truth and Kale right behind them.
He must have been nervous, but he never faltered. ‘cept for that little trick with Kale’s wallet. They assumed he was one of them…A young captain of industry perhaps…new money obviously, but still a member of the club. Mother of course, could always be counted upon…
“So, Mr. Darkson, tell us of the accommodations in steerage. I hear they’re quite good on this ship.”
Jack, without losing a moment, responded in kind, “The best I’ve seen Ma’am. Only seen one rat since I got on board,” he didn’t mention it had been on a griffon’s plate.
Rose tugged Jack’s napkin off his plate, and dropped it on his lap.
“Mr. Darkson is joining us tonight from Third Class. He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night,” turning to Jack, Kale spoke as if to a foal, “This is foie gras. It’s goose liver.”
Whispers spread around the table. Jack became the center of attention, subject of furtive glances. Now everypony felt terribly liberal and dangerous.
Guggenheim looked to his mistress, “What is Hockley trying to prove, bringing this…Bohemian…Up here?”
A waiter walked up, “How will you take your caviar, sir?”
Kale answered for Jack, “Just a soupcon of lemon…” turning to Jack he added, “It improves the flavor with champagne.”
Jack turned to the waiter, “Sorry, no caviar for me, thank you.” He indicated a plain salad, “Could I get a little extra dressing on this salad?”
At a nod, he turned back to the Kale, “Never did like that fish-bait very much.” Hook out, he gave Rose his brightest, most deceptive poker face. She smiled back.
Truth was the net to question the Thestral, “And where exactly do you live, Mr. Darkson?”
Jack pondered for a moment, “Well, right now, my address is HMS Titanic. After that, I’m in Celestia’s fine hooves, and good humor.” His voice carried just a hint of anger. After all, he was a Thestral. The moon was practically a part of him, and having Luna trapped up there…He could still feel the lunar Alicorn’s presence, brushing against his mind, encouraging him.

Author's Note:

Sorry about the late update. Overslept.