13. Fractures in Porcelain

The second day felt different from the first. The nerves were still there, yes simmering under Ruby's skin like a low-grade current but this time they weren't rooted in fear. They were a kind of excitement. Butterflies.

She stood in front of the tiny cabin mirror, adjusting her uniform with shaking fingers. Her crisp white polo was tucked neatly into her slacks. Her red hair, usually wild and free, was tied back in a ponytail, a few loose strands falling around her temples. She felt ready.

No desk today. No scowling guests or awkward stumbles behind a computer screen. Today, she would be where she belonged, in the heart of the action, helping run events, making people laugh, bringing energy and warmth to strangers on vacation.

Jada grinned as she passed by, coffee mug in hand.

~ Jada: "Big day, huh? Pool games, right?"

~ Ruby: "Yup. Morning shift. Finally get to do something fun." she smiled, bouncing a little on her feet

~ Jada: "Good. You'll kill it. Just don't trip and fall in the pool." .

~ Ruby: "Noted." she snorted

By the time she made it to the activities office, the sun had begun pouring through the tall windows of the ship's upper decks. The sea outside shimmered like melted glass. It was the kind of morning that made everything feel possible.

Inside, Carla was already in motion, flipping through a printed schedule and juggling two conversations at once. Her bracelets clinked as she waved Ruby over.

~ Carla: "Perfect timing, Ruby. You're with me for the cultural engagement slot this morning. The 'Welcome Mixer' on Deck 7. Not the pool games yet, change of plan."

~ Ruby: "Oh? Is everything okay?" Her voice faltered just a little.

~ Carla: "Totally. We just had a VIP group come on board late last night, and the captain wants them to have a warm welcome."

The redhead's pulse quickened. VIPs. Already?

~ Carla: "They're Taiwanese. Extremely high-profile. We're talking corporate philanthropy money. The kind of people who donate to museums and own private jets they name after their kids."

The green-eyed woman blinked.

~ Carla: "So, keep it polished. No cheesy jokes. No American slang. No assumptions. Got it?"

~ Ruby: "Got it." She nodded, absorbing each word like it was gospel.

Carla handed her a sleek tablet with the event rundown already loaded.

~ Carla: "Here's what they asked for: light refreshments, instrumental background music, no lyrics, and something subtle and respectful to reflect their culture. No dragon dancers, no firecrackers, nothing performative. They requested elegance. Taste. Low-key."

~ Ruby: "Okay. Subtle. Got it. No touristy stuff."

She looked at Ruby, her gaze narrowing slightly in that way that always felt both maternal and dangerous.

~ Carla: "I mean it. No winging it. Stick to what's on the rundown. No surprises. These aren't just guests. They're the ship donors. The company's been building this relationship for years. We don't get to screw it up."

The young woman felt the words land like a pebble in her stomach. She smiled anyway, determined.

~ Ruby: "I won't. Promise."

~ Carla: "Good. I want you helping manage the flow, introduce yourself, make conversation, keep the energy warm but respectful. I'll handle the formalities, you just be your charming self."

As Carla turned back to organizing the space, Ruby slipped out to begin setting up the terrace. The playlist was already cued: soft, traditional string music drifting through the ship's quiet morning air. Small, artful arrangements of tea and fruit were being placed along polished white linen tables.

It all looked beautiful. Peaceful. And Ruby was ready. Or so she thought.

🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️

🛳️ 🛳️

🛥️ 🛥️

⛴️ 𝑵𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒓 ⛴️

🚢 🚢

⛴️ ⛴️

🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️

Thin white curtains billowed gently in the ocean breeze, framing the open-air space like something out of a luxury travel magazine. Everything had been arranged just as the tablet described: low tables, floral arrangements of pale orchids, small ceramic dishes of fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and a tea bar staffed by one of the ship's specialty crew.

It felt serene. Elegant. Exactly the kind of moment Ruby had imagined when she applied for this job.

She moved carefully between tables, checking napkins, adjusting chairs, smoothing wrinkles from the linens that didn't really need smoothing. She wanted everything perfect. Today mattered.

Carla appeared at her side without a sound, holding a small clipboard and scanning the layout.

~ Carla: "Nice work. Keep that smile ready. They're almost here."

~ Ruby: "Got it."

~ Carla: "And remember what I said: warm, but formal. They're not here to party."

~ Ruby: "No winging it, no surprises. I remember."

The manager gave her a small nod and stepped aside just as the doors opened.

Ruby straightened as a small group of people stepped onto the terrace: men and women in tailored clothes, expensive watches, polished shoes. Their movements were quiet, almost ceremonial, and the air shifted the way it did when powerful people entered a room. She couldn't explain it, she just felt it. A difference in presence.

Carla greeted them in carefully measured English, a tone she had never heard her use before: smooth, low, respectful. A man stepped forward as their unofficial leader: mid-fifties, calm, composed. The others flanked him like instinct.

Carla gestured toward Ruby with practiced ease.

~ Carla: "This is Ruby Walker, part of our activities and guest engagement team. She'll be making sure your experience today runs smoothly."

The redhead smiled. Not too wide. Just enough.

~ Ruby: "Welcome aboard. We're so honored to have you here."

The man gave a polite nod. His gaze was unreadable.

The manager moved to introduce the rest of the staff, and Ruby took her cue to begin helping guests find seats, offering tea, engaging in light conversation, all of it very controlled. She complimented a woman's scarf. Asked one guest if it was their first time sailing with Ocean Odyssey. Gave a brief overview of the tea selection when asked.

~ Ruby: "We've prepared a subtle tasting selection based on Taiwanese oolong and floral infusions. We wanted to honor your roots while keeping it light for the morning."

A woman smiled at that, just a small curve of her lips and the young woman felt a flicker of relief. It was going well.

She drifted between conversations, offering napkins, refilling tea. Everything was calm, measured. Almost too quiet.

It wasn't until she overheard one man at the edge of the group quietly ask the lead guest, in Mandarin, if they'd noticed, that Ruby's spine tensed just slightly.

She didn't understand the words. But she caught the glance that followed toward one of the flags on the small display table. Her heart thumped once, slow and uncertain.

She turned subtly, pretending to adjust a tablecloth, and saw them: three miniature flags arranged neatly next to the flowers.

One was the cruise line's own branding. One was an American flag. Her breath caught when she saw the third one. One was the red flag of the People's Republic of China.

And suddenly, she understood what the man had noticed. She felt cold rush her limbs. No Taiwan flag. Not even a neutral gesture. Just China. Bold. Central. Dominant.

Her mind scrambled. She hadn't set that table and she didn't noticed that when she was checking either. She didn't know how to fix it. Or if she should. Or if it was already too late.

The lead guest, Mr. Wen, hadn't said anything yet. But his posture had shifted, subtly, but unmistakably. Less relaxed. More guarded. His eyes flicked briefly toward Ruby, then back to Carla.

Carla hadn't noticed yet. The young woman swallowed hard, her pulse kicking up. She didn't move. Didn't touch the flags. Didn't speak. She just stood, frozen, tea tray in hand, smiling, nodding, playing the part of someone who hadn't just realized they'd stepped into something sharp and political and very, very delicate.

Something had shifted.

She could feel it in the air. Like walking into a room where someone had just had a fight and was pretending nothing happened.

Mr. Wen hadn't spoken again. But his smile had disappeared, replaced with a tight, unreadable mask. The other guests followed his lead, their voices softer now, their expressions dimmed.

She glanced once more at the table with the flags. Still there. Still wrong. She should say something. Should she? She could mention it to Carla. But Carla was busy charming two guests near the tea bar, oblivious to the growing tension.

So she did what she always did when she wasn't sure what to do, she kept going. Stayed polite and smiled.

She stopped beside the small table of guests sitting closest to Mr. Wen, trying to break the ice again.

~ Ruby: "Would anyone like to try our lychee jasmine blend? It's imported from Shanghai, very delicate, very refreshing."

One of the women stiffened. The man beside her shifted in his seat. He looked at her like she'd just told a joke in a funeral home. The redhead blinked, confused.

~ Guest: "No, thank you." he said, curt, clipped.

The redhead's cheeks flushed. She gave a quick nod and moved on, trying not to show how much that small exchange rattled her.

It was just tea. Wasn't it?

Behind her, a low conversation began in Mandarin. Tones quiet but quick. She didn't understand the words, but she understood tone. It was a Disapproval tone. She tried to ignore it. Tried to focus.

Two women spoke in hushed English, mid-sentence as the young woman approached.

~ Guest 1: "...Did you see her face? She has no idea."

~ Guest 2: "Honestly, I'm not surprised. They think we're all the same."

Their eyes slid toward the young woman. Not unkind. But not warm, either. Her throat tightened. She smiled anyway.

~ Ruby: "Is everything alright here?"

The women smiled back, but their expressions didn't reach their eyes.

~ Guest: "Everything's fine."

Ruby nodded a made her way to the tea bar and asked one of the culinary team members, a young man arranging the next tray about the Shanghai blend.

~ Ruby: "Do we have anything else? Like… oolong from Taiwan? Or maybe something less... regional?"

He looked at her, puzzled.

~ Crew: "It's on the second cart. You're holding the Shanghai blend now."

She looked down at the pot in her hand. She had already offered it. Already used it. The one tea that might carry implications and she had brought it front and center like it was nothing.

She glanced back toward Mr. Wen who was sill silent.Still composed. Still watching. The tension sat heavy now, a weight pressing between her shoulder blades.

She set the pot down and excused herself under the pretense of checking the schedule. Her hands trembled slightly. She had tried. She really had.But something had gone wrong, and she didn't know how to stop it.

🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️

🛳️ 🛳️

🛥️ 🛥️

⛴️ 𝑵𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒓 ⛴️

🚢 🚢

⛴️ ⛴️

🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️🌬️

The event was nearing its peak. Plates cleared, tea flowing, soft string music curling through the air. On the surface, everything looked pristine. But Ruby could feel it, the tension hadn't gone away.

And she was trying. Smiling. Refilling cups. Checking napkins. Being present. But she was still offbeat, a degree too cheerful for a room growing colder by the minute.

Carla passed behind her, whispering with a crew member near the back. Ruby caught her eye, hoping for a signal, anything but the manager didn't seem to notice.

At Mr. Wen's table, the conversation had grown quiet. The redhead didn't know exactly what had gone wrong. Just that she was the reason. She hadn't meant to insult anyone.

And then, she made the worst mistake of the night.

Something Carla had casually mentioned earlier that week came to mind, "If you have time to fill at an event, keep a slide show queued up. Culture stuff. History. Guests eat that up."

She wanted to help. She wanted to prove herself. So she'd taken the initiative. Pulled a few slides together using the ship's presentation templates, borrowed photos from a shared folder, added a few cheerful captions. History, geography, natural landmarks. A little "visual flavor," as the training packet had called it.

She hadn't run it by anyone. There hadn't been time. So when the lights dimmed and the projector clicked to life near the end of the tea hour, she took a deep breath and stepped toward the front of the room.

~ Ruby: "Before we close out the event, I thought I'd share a little something special. A short visual tour of Taiwan's cultural treasures temples, cuisine, traditions and a quick look at the island's unique history."

The screen behind her flickered to life. Images of night markets and coastal cliffs glowed across the wall. There were polite murmurs from a few guests, some nods. But the tension didn't ease. If anything, it grew heavier.

She clicked to the next slide. A map appeared. Labeled in bold text at the top:

"Taiwan: Province of China, Cultural Roots and Influences"

She didn't pay attention to the phrase at first. Not until the air shifted. Not until a sharp intake of breath sounded from Mr. Wen's table.

She froze. Her mouth halfway through her next sentence. Her eyes darted to the map, then to the room.

The words "Province of China" stared back at her, glowing on the screen in a font far too large to ignore.

She felt the silence roll in like a wave. Then a chair scraped back.

Mr. Wen rose slowly, napkin falling from his lap onto the floor. His face was thunderous not shouting yet, but worse somehow. Quiet. Controlled. Rage pressed into every line of his jaw.

~ Mr. Wen: "Excuse me. What did you just say?" she said calmly but with a hint of venom

~ Ruby: "I..I was just introducing...it's just a slideshow about..." she turned, blood draining from her face.

~ Mr. Wen: "Province of China?" he repeated the words flatly, like they tasted foul in his mouth.

~ Mr. Wen: "Is that how the Ocean Odyssey understands Taiwan? As property?"

Gasps fluttered around the room. Some guests shifted in their seats. Others stared straight ahead, refusing to move, to breathe, to be caught reacting.

The redhead's throat closed up. Her pulse was a deafening roar in her ears.

~ Ruby: "It was just a...I didn't mean to offend anyone. I thought the file..."

She looked toward the back of the room, helpless.

Carla who noticed what happened had already moved, fast and light across the floor, her smile strained, voice warm as she cut in.

~ Carla: "Mr. Wen, I'm so sorry. This was not an approved presentation. We'll shut it off immediately."

~ Mr. Wen: "You will not shut it off. Not until someone explains how a luxury cruise company hosting international guests can be so astonishingly ignorant."

He turned back toward Ruby.

~ Mr. Wen: "Is that what you believe, young woman? That our history, our identity, is a footnote in someone else's story?"

Ruby opened her mouth but nothing come out. She felt like she was under water, like nothing would come out.

~ Carla: "Mr. Wen, again, our deepest apologies. This was a mistake, an oversight. I assure you"

But he cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand.

~ Mr. Wen: "No. This is not a mistake. This is disrespect. This is uneducated, lazy propaganda. And if this is the quality of understanding your staff has, perhaps your institution is not as refined as you like to pretend."

The words hit hard. Dead silence. The screen behind Ruby was still glowing. The slide still there. Still wrong. Burning in the dark.

~ Mr. Wen: "Bring your director. I want to speak to him. Now."