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❝ Chapter III. The Meeting ❞

・・・・

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰

POOP DECK - DAY
April 10, 1912

          Clutching Lizzy's leash, young Ivonne ambles through the crowd of people with such haste. She feels as though she might pass out because of the tight sensation on her chest, and that is not a good scene to make especially at an overly luxurious place. Beads of sweat trickles down on her temple before wiping them with a white handkerchief, her brown eyes darting the surroundings for a possible peaceful location to ease her nerves. Her siblings will be displeased and much more worried when they find her again locked up inside her room, so she opts to feel the breeze at what some calls poop deck instead.

           Living with social anxiety has never been easy for Ivonne. Even during her childhood, the idea of gatherings and people in general stresses her out, to which she unfortunately brought to her adolescence. A flaw that makes the teenager stands out from the rest of her siblings, though in a bad light. She is far too timid to be a Kline. Far too turbulent. Far too meek. It is not easy to grow up with such a huge burden and the need to live up to her surname's respectable image; a curse in a form of a daydream, as the brunette likes to call it.

            However, in every situation there is a positive aspect, and that is her love for her siblings. Ivonne looks up to all of them and is grateful for the mutual bond they have for each other, which is not exactly hard to form since humor is a part of her family's genes. They are her beacon of hope and peace in a world that her late parents, Alexander and Eliza Kline, left without their warm guidance.

           Ivonne closes her eyes in relief and let the air ease out the knots in her heart. With her chocolate brown hair billowing among the melody of the wind, she fantasizes herself up on a tree as the smell of her book and nature wafts the atmosphere like an embrace. The leaves brushing her bare feet ever so slightly, the chirping of mockingbirds clouding her ears. Somehow, amidst the darkness of anxiety, right there and then, Ivonne finds her serenity.

           A burning tingle interrupts the 18-year-old woman's train of thoughts, opening back her eyes in front of the vast ocean. Ivonne looks to her right to see a father and her daughter playing side by side, but catches no one staring at her. She starts to fidget with her fingers, and returns her sight ahead, thinking it is her paranoia acting up again. That is until she feels Lizzy's head perking up from her lying position down on the girl's feet.

         "What is it now, Liz? There are no squirrels here to--"

          Her breath hitching, Ivonne glances up to where her dog is fixated at to see the culprit of the eyes that are puncturing holes through her figure. It is a man, no older than twenty and obviously part of the third class passengers according to his longer than usual hair and attire. Their gazes meet and is held for a solid ten seconds, before the young lass, flustered than ever, averts her eyes from the blond lad.

           This is no rare occurrence for the girl, for men seem to be obsessed with consuming women with their never ending lustful glares, from head to breast -- pause, then further down to toe. Regardless, this man is an exception. From what the brunette saw at her distance, his ocean eyes wielded no kind of libido or insolence, but rather a hint of curiosity and fascination. A puzzling sight, Ivonne thinks. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and gulps, suddenly feeling conscious under the stranger's stare.

            Then, in a spur of a moment, the young woman finds herself being tug by none other than Lizzy. "What the -- Liz, stop!" Ivonne hissed, pulling back the leash. Though, to no avail, the bitch's strength overpowers hers as Lizzy frolicks from her grasp. Surprise contorts her face when she sees her heading the blond man's way, who finally turns his attention from the brunette to the approaching Golden Retriever, lips forming into a smile.

          Ignoring the incoming bubble of embarrassment, the least that Ivonne can do is glance away and close her eyes tightly. "Traitor," she mutters.

          "What's her name?"

          Just as she expected, a voice, that the girl is sure comes from the stranger, speaks out on her right beside her. Nevertheless, the brunette remains stubborn and unresponsive for what appears like forever, still eyes closed as she chants in her mind: go away, go away, go away.

         "You gonna open those peepers any time soon?

         "No."

          She hears him chuckle. "So you can talk, that's nice. I'm starting to get the wrong idea there."

         "My passiveness doesn't imply that I'm mute nor deaf," the girl snaps.

         He hums. "Right. Guess I'm gonna have to give Goldie here a trip around the ship. Her owner looks busy, you know."

         Hearing this, Ivonne cracks her eyes open, whirling to face the lad. She got a good look of the stranger; he has this boyish soft profile and an air of arrogance. "Her name's Lizzy, and I believe that's not necessary. Goodbye."

         The young woman grasps the leash from the man and begins to go the opposite way, back to the first class floor. She internally groans after she hears his footsteps advancing, attempting to quicken her pace, although her white-blue, long sleeved dress together with her heels prevent her from doing so. "Curse this dress, for Pete's sake."

        "Hey! Wait up," yells the blond, who now happens to be in front of her, walking backwards. "What's your name?"

         She gazes at him incredulously. "None of your business."

         "Well, I'm Jack Dawson."

         "I don't care."

         "Aren't you a charmer?" He snickers.

         "Do you ever stop talking?"

         "Do you ever start talkin'?"

         Ivonne halts on her steps. "Listen up, Mr. Darson--"

         "Dawson," he corrects with a smile, which further infuriates the lass.

          "--Mr. Dawson, what part of me ignoring your feverish efforts to strike up a conversation that I'm not interested do you not understand?"

          Dawson shrugs his shoulders, tucking a leather book under his armpit, before pointing a finger to Lizzy. "I'm not the one who came up to me first. Blame her."

          "But I'm not my dog," she rolls her eyes. The brunette has no idea why this man is so persistent, leaving her a blank verse to only assume some possible reasons. Sexual desire, thievery, and/or to bother her are the leading causes.

           "Alright, alright," he holds up his hands in a surrender motion, before putting a hand in his pocket, then extends a hand to Ivonne. "You might want this back, though."

            "What is it?"

            "You'll know if you hold out your hand. I don't bite, Miss blue."

            Suspicious, she obliges as he puts a violet hair comb with a butterfly ornament on her hand. Her eyebrows shot up and glances at the lad, clenching the object dear to her. "How did--"

            "I didn't steal it, don't worry." Dawson crouches down to Lizzy's height and pets her head. "Must have fallen when this fella's jerking you."

            Ivonne does not fail to notice how affectionate her dog is to this stranger, when she usually lunges at anyone who gets near to her owner. She nods before clipping back the comb on her hair. "Thank you, then. Come on, Liz."

            The brunette stops her forward steps again, whirling with an eyebrow raised. "Miss blue?"

            Dawson merely shrugs, combing his blond hair. "You don't wanna tell me your name. That can change if you want."

            "Goodbye, Mr. Dawson."

            "Oh, come on!"

            Together with Lizzy, Ivonne strolls back to her room with a smirk slowly turning into a smile.

・・・・

( gif edit! by soulofstaars )

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