The Explorer's Apprentice

42:Reason Number One

I don't own these people.

Rose Dewitt Bukater

Rose is walking, not completely breathing or thinking of anything too terribly important, like feelings. She lets herself be lead around Titanic by the caption and the ship's main architect as they proudly explain the true geniousness of Titanic's design. During this time she lets her mind wander, and she keeps her thoughts limited to almost nothing. It's as if she's not even there, inside of her own head. She feels so empty, so hollow. Like a zombie--a ghost of her formal self.

But at least the hollowness inside her chest is better than lonliness.

The day is cold and her skin prickles with goose-bumps. The distant sun peaks from behind puffy clouds, but the amount of warmth it's able to give is about as comforting as her mother's overbearing presence beside her. And Rose wishes, with all of her heart, that her mother would just stop talking. Even the shrill sound of her whiney voice makes Rose's skin crawl. It's as if she's asking so many pointless questions only because she's in love with her own voice, or because she knows that Rose hates it.

"Now, are the elevators always with operators?" She'll ask, or, "What karat gold is that ornament?" So many questions, and it makes Rose's head nearly explode.

The captain and the architect seem nice enough, though. Keeping her mind off of the big things in her life certainly gives Rose a lot of opportunities to notice little things about people, things that she wouldn't pick up on otherwise. Like Mr. Andrew's, the architec's, smile. It's big and bright and reminds her of the father she never had, one who plays with his children and cooks waffles for breakfast, just as Rose has read about in books and has witnessed in marketplaces. Mr. Andrews also has huge ears, Rose took note of that almost immediately. But she thinks that they make him look cute, in a comical sort of way, and they remind her of the kind little elves in stories.

"And why are there two steering wheels?" Asks Rose's mother.

Mr. Andrews beams. Rose can tell that he absolutely shines in the spotlight, especially when it comes to anything Titanic-related. The ship is like his baby. She knows he absolutely adores it, he's practically gushing with well-deserved pride. Rose supposes that she would be, too if she designed an unsinkable ship. At least someone here takes joy out of Mother's questions.

"We really only use this near shore--"

"'Scuse me, sir,"  A young man no older than twenty-five comes strolling towards the captain and hands him a warn sheet of paper. From where Rose is standing, the intelligent writings look like that of a child's drawing. So many squiggles, numbers, and lines.  "Another ice warning. This one's from the Nordon."

"Thank you Sparks," says the captain, nodding the boy off. Then he turns back to Rose's family and he keeps his eyes right on her. "Oh, not to worry." His bright eyes skim over the sheet very briefly before folding it up and placing it into his pocket. It isn't important. His eyes still shine and his cheeks are still red with cold and joy. He's got snow-white hair and a beard that reminds Rose of Saint Nicolas.  "Quite normal for this time of year."

Rose almost asks, 'worry about what?' Because it isn't like she caught a word of what the boy said. She was too busy fantasizing about Santa and toddlers' coloring. But she figures just a simple nod would be the better alternative.

"In fact, we're speeding up. I've just ordered the last boilers to be lit!"

As the tour continues, Rose's feet seem to be the only things that are functioning properly. They follow when necessary and stop when everyone else does. Her ears, pink from the raw wind, are only half-working, and she only catches bits of what's being said. Just the unimportant things, like how the fourth pillar on the Titanic is useless, and the exact number of the ship's passengers. Numbers, features, and useless facts. That's all she lets herself take in.