(3rd Person POV)
Beneath the glow of the morning sun, the Titanic shimmered like a dream. The sea sparkled, and the extras wandered the decks, laughing and chatting—not as background actors, but as if they truly were passengers on a grand voyage.
But not everyone shared the same luxury.
Down in the third-class quarters on F Deck, the mood was far less cheerful. Extras cast as immigrants or laborers were starting to grumble. While the first-class extras lounged in tuxedos and silk dresses, sipping tea and strolling the Grand Staircase, third-class performers were crammed into modest rooms with little to do but wait.
"I saw one of those top-deck extras sneer at me this morning," one muttered bitterly. "Like I wasn't even supposed to exist."
"They're playing rich too well," another scoffed. "Might forget they're extras like us."
The resentment simmered quietly. First-class extras had better costumes, better lighting, and far more screen time. The third-class extras, meanwhile, were rarely filmed and forbidden from entering the upper decks during shoots.
But all that changed on the third morning.
News spread quickly: Arthur and Firfel would be filming a key scene below deck—inside the third-class party hall.
The energy shifted instantly.
"For real?" someone whispered. "They're coming down here?"
"We're finally part of a key scene?"
"Finally!"
The extras scrambled to prepare. They fixed their shirts, adjusted suspenders, and rehearsed their lines—even if most would be improvised.
This was their moment.
When filming began, the room came alive. Arthur, as Jack, spun Firfel's Rose through a crowded dance floor. Music played, feet stomped, and mugs clinked.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the extras chanted playfully, laughing as Rose took a bold swig.
Laughter echoed across the room—not forced, but real.
Arthur, watching them in the moment, smiled.
'Looks like the tension paid off,' he thought. 'They've internalized the divide. And now, this feels real.'
He had engineered this dynamic from the start. By keeping the third-class extras separated, he let them feel the sting of inequality. And now, filming the scene where Rose crossed into their world, that contrast would show naturally on their faces.
After the scene wrapped, the extras who played third-class passengers were buzzing with excitement. For once, they had been featured front and center. Though the moment was brief, they clung to it with hope. 'Maybe we'll get another big scene,' some thought.
Days passed. Filming continued on the Titanic, now five days into its voyage. Though the shoot had its intensity, much of the cruise felt like a luxurious holiday—only with cameras.
Arthur and Firfel had grown noticeably closer. Their chemistry on and off camera deepened, and Firfel was starting to come to terms with a future scene: the infamous nude drawing.
She was preparing herself. She would glance at her reflection in the mirror, studying her figure in quiet vulnerability. 'You have to be ready, Firfel,' she told herself, cheeks flushing. The thought of being seen like that by Arthur made her heart pound. 'Will he like what he sees?'
She quickly shook the thought away.
Unbeknownst to her, if Arthur saw her in that moment, he'd be the one overheating—too flustered to even speak.
Meanwhile, on the promenade deck, some extras pointed to the horizon. Several smaller luxury ships were sailing nearby.
"Isn't that the ship Hellfire turned into a movie set?" one passenger aboard a nearby vessel asked.
"Yeah, that's the one! The Titanic," another confirmed. "We're lucky to spot it. Quick, take my picture when we get closer."
Word spread among the ships, and soon, dozens of onlookers crowded the decks, trying to glimpse the legendary floating set.
Even their captains squinted from afar.
Arthur saw them too, but paid them little attention. His thoughts drifted elsewhere. 'When will the Fae show up? I've scouted the sea with my senses and still—nothing. Not even a whisper of a mermaid or a siren.'
He sighed, eyes narrowing on the calm blue. 'Maybe we're not far enough into the Atlantic yet. Captain Ollie needs to push the ship faster.'
Ironically, it was around this time that Captain Edward (played by Ollie) was ordered to increase the Titanic's speed—under pressure from a character eager to reach land faster.
Arthur steeled himself for the scene ahead. The moment was fast approaching.
Inside the dressing room, the stylist made final adjustments. As Arthur checked his reflection in the mirror, he gave a faint smile — not of vanity, but of quiet confidence. The mirror reflected Jack, not Arthur.
Just as the stylist exited, two familiar figures stepped in. It was Vivienne, tea in hand, and Apollonia by her side.
Arthur gave them a slight nod. "Come to wish me luck?"
Vivienne grinned. "Luck? No. I came to see if lover boy here can keep it together when the goddess disrobes."
"I'm calm," Arthur replied, amused.
Vivienne sipped her tea with a sly smile. "Calm before the storm."
Even Apollonia giggled at that.
Arthur rolled his eyes and turned away with a smirk. Soon after, a knock at the door signaled his cue. He left them behind and made his way to the set.
The room had been carefully prepared. Only the ghost cameramen floated around, silent and unobtrusive. The lighting was soft, natural. Cameras were arranged to ensure Firfel's modesty while preserving the intimacy of the scene.
Arthur stepped into character. He was Jack now.
Across the room stood Firfel — no, Rose. The transformation in her gaze, her posture, was immediate. She was no longer the poised actress, but a free-spirited woman reclaiming herself.
Then, without a word, she let the robe slip from her shoulders.
Arthur saw everything. Her graceful figure. Her fair skin. Her beauty—unapologetic and unhidden. His breath caught in his throat, but he remained still, stunned by her courage... and something more.
Firfel felt her heartbeat pounding, her body warm despite the cool air. She forced herself to remain composed, and when Jack told her gently—
"Go lie on the couch… over there."
—she nodded and moved.
She crossed the room with elegance, her nerves buried beneath a layer of performance. She reclined across the couch, tilting her body just right.
The silence in the room deepened.
He adjusted his drawing tools, projecting calm, though in truth, his body was running hot.
Thankfully, Arthur had enough self-control to stay in character. As Jack, he pressed charcoal to paper and began to sketch.
This wasn't just acting—Arthur was genuinely drawing her. His skill with illustration made it effortless.
In just a few minutes, the outline was complete. He captured her form with elegant precision. The necklace around Rose's neck added a touch of allure, but the true focus of the piece was her—every curve, every detail, a quiet testament to her beauty.
As the minutes passed, Firfel gradually relaxed. The nervous flutter in her chest began to settle. Her eyes, once hesitant, now calmly met Arthur's between strokes of charcoal. They held each other's gaze often, only breaking when his eyes dropped to the page.
But something shifted.
Firfel no longer felt just nervous—she felt warm, almost exhilarated. There was a strange, electric thrill in being seen this way, in this quiet intimacy between them. It wasn't just acting anymore.
Arthur, too, was visibly focused, yet beneath the calm, there was a flicker of heat in his eyes. A shared current pulsed between them.