“So cold. It's going to get so cold,” her accented voice had turned child-like as she spoke into the middle distance over Spike's shoulder.
He knew this look, this sound, when her voice changed and she seemed to be somewhere else.
“What's cold pet?” Spike asked, mild concern tingeing his voice.
She looked at him then, but continued as if he hadn't spoken.
“I don't like ice,” she shook her head slowly, almost as if she were moving with some unheard melody instead of showing her disagreement.
“Such pretties weren't meant for swimming,” she added turning her attention to the trunk of fancy dresses and jewels that lay open and awaiting someone to put them in their proper places, “we should put them in the little boat.”
“I'm the king of the world!” Spike shouted into the rushing wind that blew damp and fierce across the bow of the ship as he flung his arms open wide.
The death limp body that he had been holding against his chest over the railing plummeted to the roiling sea below.
"Oops," with a shrug he jumped backward from the rail and onto the shiny wooden planks of the deck below and sauntered off to find out how Drusilla had fared for dinner and maybe see about rounding them up some dessert from steerage.
Spike had just lured a pretty young red-head off into a private nook near the bow of the ship, where he had backed her against the rail and his game-face had her frozen in place with fear when Drusilla appeared, as if out of nowhere, grabbed him about the waist and began to dance them around and around in the cold night air. Spike wrenched himself away from her, but Dru simply continued to turn in wide spirals on her own with her now empty hands coming together in a show of child-like glee.
“What the hell Dru?” Spike wasn't able to hide his annoyance as he watched the girl who would have been dinner run screaming down the deck in the opposite direction.
“It's time to go swimming Spike,” she told him, still clapping her hands in frantic delight, her eyes sparkling with an insane joy under the dim light from the moon.
He didn't have time to say anything else or to question her ramblings as another cry, that of a crewman, rang out from above them.
“Iceberg, dead ahead!” the panic in the man's voice was practically tangible.
Spike spun around once more facing into the oncoming rush of winds. It didn't take his vampric eyesight to see the giant chunk of blue-white jutting out of the ocean's surface like the peak of a mountain and it didn't take seaman to know that there was no way they were going to avoid slamming into it like a cannonball.
“Bugger,” he growled under his breath.
Behind him he could hear Drusilla giggling like a five year-old at their first circus and he had just enough time to think 'well, at least she's happy again' to himself before the impact rocked him backward on his heels and sent him sprawling to the deck like an undignified sack of potatoes.
'And the Titanic had sounded like so much fun.'