Chapter Text
“Mr. Ackerman, thank you so much for having us,” the woman says, her eyes bright and honest and she takes a seat on the offered chair and dusts off her skirt. Her assistant fiddles forward and hands her a block of paper. The woman takes it, though she doesn’t look up when she says her thanks.
“My name is Petra Ral,” she introduces herself with a smile, tucking a stray lock of amber hair behind her ear. “I’m the one with whom you spoke on the phone yesterday. And as you know, I’m a journalist for the local newspaper.” She grabs a ballpoint pen and points as she introduces her three colleagues. “These are Eld Jinn, Gunther Schultz and Oluo Bozado. All will be assisting today, but I will be the one conducting the interview itself.”
Levi leans back in his chair and hums, eyeing each of the young men currently in his office skeptically. They all fidget under his hard glare, and one of them even bites his tongue for no apparent reason. But surely, they’ve interviewed people far more threatening than Levi and in far more intimidating settings than this one. Levi can think of countless things more dangerous than an old man in his own home.
When his eyes finally lock back onto the red-haired woman in front of him, she eyes him expectantly.
Ah, yes - he’s supposed to introduce himself, is he not? Though he’s certain they all already know his name and outlines of the story he’s about to tell them. Hell, they probably even know his shoe size and favorite tea, too. Maybe even when and where and how he likes to sleep, eat and shit. Journalists have no honor these days.
The minutes tick by, betokened by the loud grandfather clock next to the mahogany cabinet. Levi lets his eyes roam over the paneled walls with the burgundy colored wallpaper. Covering the back wall are several towering bookshelves filled to the brim with classical as well as modern literature. The light is dim in the room; the curtains drawn to shield Levi and his office from the sharp morning rays of the sun.
Levi prefers it that way.
He sighs.
“Southampton,” he says so suddenly it makes the interviewer and her colleagues jolt. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and allows himself to recall the day where it all began. “April 10th, 1912.”
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On the pier motorcars, lorries and horse drawn vehicles moved slowly through the dense crowd, the shouts of complaint and annoyance drowned out by the chatter of the many people stifled together under the cool spring sun. It was a chilly day with temperatures a degree or two below the April average, but despite the brisk north-westerly wind, the atmosphere was one of excitement and general giddiness.
As Levi moved through the masses alongside his friend Isabel, he witnessed people who embraced in tearful farewells, or waved and shouted bon voyage wishes to friends and family on the decks above. It was a day of sorrowful goodbyes, but also a day of new beginnings.
Carrying everything they owned in the world in the kit bags on their shoulders, Isabel and Levi marched toward the front of the pier. Despite their small statures, they ripped through the throngs of people milling around the terminal with fierce perseverance and jostled both slow-moving gentlemen as well as well-dressed ladies. Shouts of complaint erupted behind them, but neither Levi nor Isabel paid them any mind.
“I think I see him!” Isabel suddenly exclaimed, grabbing on to Levi’s arm and dragging him along as she sped up her steps, stomping through the masses with newfound determination.
Levi had to concentrate not to fall as she dragged him along like a child behind its impatient mother, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her off when he saw how broadly she was grinning every time she shot him a look over her shoulder - though most of the time her big, green eyes, full of wonder and awe, were locked on the gleaming white superstructure of the Titanic.
The great ship rose expansively beyond the rail, and above it the dijon-colored funnels stood like pillars of a great temple against the blue sky. It was impressive - no, so much more than that - but Levi lacked the words to properly describe it; he was neither educated nor naturally eloquent, so words didn’t come to him easily. Though he knew, without a doubt - and he did not use said word lightly; he was not easily impressed - that the ship he saw before him was nothing short of extraordinary.
Others, however, did not seem to share his opinion of the Titanic.
“Damn!” Isabel suddenly cursed, screeching to a halt so suddenly Levi slammed into her back. “I lost him! Give me a moment.”
She stretched on her toes to look around for their destination, and as he waited, Levi randomly tuned into one of the voices around him.
“This is it?” a low, evidently skeptical voice scoffed incredulously.
Levi turned his head to locate the owner, curious to see who would not be impressed by such a marvelous ship.
His eyes fell on a tall, young man who stood watching the Titanic with his hands in his pockets, face pulled into an unimpressed scowl. Though the man wore the latest fashion - a gray novelty style suit, double-breasted, a stark contrast to Levi’s own rumpled clothes - his hair was a little long for the standards of the times. Shadowed by the brim of his Panama hat were vibrant green eyes narrowed in apparent distaste.
Levi figured this was the owner of the voice. He certainly had a frown to match the unimpressed tone.
Moments later, his theory was proven correct.
“It doesn’t look any bigger than the Mauretania to me,” the man said in that same foreign accent, scrunching up his nose further as he took in the sight before him. He looked like he smelled something bad.
Another man, blond and bespectacled, exited a visibly expensive white vehicle and came up behind the brunet, putting his arm around him and grinning broadly.
“Oh, mein Bruder, ever the worrywart! Allow me to disagree with your sentiment - das Schiff ist wunderbar!” he exclaimed, laughing. His accent was equally evident and similar to the burnet’s. Though he was by no means an idiomatic expert, Levi’s previous landlord had been German-born, so Levi recognized that particular accent easily.
Were the two German men friends? Colleagues? Family? They didn’t look much alike.
The blond man turned his head towards the other and raised his voice, probably to make sure he was heard over the deafening crowd. “Do you not know that the Titanic outdoes the Maurentania by over a hundred feet?” he asked, sounding as dazzled as Levi felt.
But then, as if he could feel Levi staring and eavesdropping, the green-eyed man suddenly turned his head and locked his gaze right onto Levi’s. His emerald eyes were blazingly intense but looked into Levi’s gray ones only shortly before they tore away to look Levi up and down.
A condescending smile slowly spread across the man’s face, as if he was looking at a half-drowned cat and wasn’t sure whether to feel pity or amusement.
“Still not impressed,” he informed the blond man, eyes yet on Levi.
Figuring those words weren’t only directed at the ship, Levi clicked his tongue and looked away.
He heard the voice of the blond man - the impressed man, the nicer man - shortly after, his tone displeased but no less passionate as if the two of them had had that very conversation countless times before. “Ach komm! Wirklich? I don’t see why you have to be so…”
Levi was yanked forward and pulled out of earshot when Isabel started walking again. He turned his head to look where he was going, not sure he trusted her to lead him through the dense throng without bumping into someone or something given how people were packed like sardines on the pier.
Though they were outside, Levi felt like he was suffocating with how he was being squished between bodies, all taller than him and blocking his view. It was a mystery to him how Isabel had even spotted Furlan in the first place, but she seemed to be on a set course. Levi would just have to trust her on this one.
They swerved through stacks of crates and groups of people, Levi trying his hardest not to knock someone out with his luggage. Suddenly, Furlan was right in front of them. Isabel let Levi go and collided with her beloved with a happy squeal.
Levi took a moment to regain his footing at the sudden halt, sticking one arm out for balance. Then he stared at the ship’s hull, which was suddenly so much closer than before. It rose seven stories above the wharf and was terribly long; Levi did not even have an estimate for its length.
The Titanic was monstrous.
“How was the inspection queue?” Furlan inquired when Isabel let him go, though he still kept an arm around her waist.
Isabel groaned and stomped in place a few times like a hysterical child. “Ugh, horrible!” she complained, pouting. “They checked me for lice twice! I know they have to be thorough to prevent sickness and all that, but they didn’t check anyone else more than once!”
“Can’t blame them with the haircut you’re sporting,” Levi muttered, still looking at the ship in front of him. He tuned out Isabel’s complaining and drawn-out whines of his name, too busy taking in the people rushing to board the ship around the many expensive vehicles and stacks of luggage as well as the hustling seamen, porters and White Star Line officials barking out orders. All were dwarfed by the steamer’s astonishing size.
“Look there,” Furlan said, elbowing Levi in the ribs. Levi grunted in annoyance at the jab but followed Furlan’s line of sight, watching with avid fascination where the gorgeous burgundy Renault hung from a loading crane. It was swung around gently, then lowered toward HATCH #3.
“Is that a Coupé de Ville?” Levi asked Furlan.
The blond nodded eagerly. “It sure is! There are big-shot people on this ship, Levi.” He turned toward the raven with eyes as big as saucers. “I even heard Rod Reiss will be there!”
“Is that so?” Levi muttered, though the name didn’t mean anything to him. He moved a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.
He fought to take it all in; crewmen hurrying around the deck, stokers fighting their way through the masses with determined expressions, families saying their goodbyes, promising calls and letters. The entire pier was buzzing with activity and expectations. The hundreds of voices meddling together into an undefinable blur; a constant hum.
Though he didn’t look it, Levi Ackerman was excited himself. He had never been on a ship before, much less something so big and extravagant. He wouldn’t be about to, had he not offered up his savings and sold nearly all of his belongings like his two friends, all to seek happiness in America.
“Remind me again where we are located, Furlan,” Levi commanded, tearing his gaze away from the ship before him and leaning over to take a look at their tickets, which Furlan was holding on to. At a sudden gust of wind, Levi grabbed onto them while Furlan also didn’t let go - understandably. If they lost these tickets, they had nothing. Their entire lives - futures, hopes and dreams - all depended on these letters printed on flimsy pieces of paper in black ink and marked with the White Star Line burgee.
TITANIC, the ticket read. THE FINEST STEAMER IN THE WORLD.
On the ticket, right beneath their names, was a printed picture of the steamer as well as some general information; how the ship weighed an astonishing 48,326 tonnes - though the number in itself meant nothing to Levi, he knew it was a lot - as well as how the Titanic was declared unsinkable. That in itself was easily the most impressive thing of all; Levi had not thought it possible to build an unsinkable ship, but alas, here he was, about to board one himself.
“We’re stopping in France?” Isabel suddenly yelled right into Levi’s ear, and he flinched away from her with a curse of complaint, side-eyeing the redhead. Her eyes were trained on the tickets and she was nearly foaming around the mouth in excitement.
“Yes,” Furlan confirmed with a smile. “Later today. And tomorrow, we’re stopping in Queenstown - the last port before New York.”
Levi readjusted his luggage where it hung over his shoulder. “Let’s board already,” he grumbled. Looking up, he scanned the side of the ship for their entrance, and he soon spotted it. He wasn’t about to wait till the last minute to board; that would be tempting fate, and he did not feel like gambling today. And so he set off, leading his friends toward the third class gangway aft - toward their new life.