try_corsets: (Peeking)
Somewhere, a door slams.

One moment Elizabeth is holding a doorknob at the end of the universe and the next she's sent reeling. A sharp pain radiates from her hip where she seems to have crashed into a long table laden with candles and jars of things she'd rather not think about at the moment. She sprawls sideways to prevent a lit candle from rolling over the edge and slowly pulls herself upright.

The heavy, humid air is the first thing she notices; it smells of incense and makes it difficult to breathe. Squinting in the dim light, Elizabeth turns in a circle. Her mouth drops open as realization dawns: Tia Dalma's shack.

A wide, triumphant smile takes the place of the puzzled frown, and Elizabeth darts toward the doorway she remembers from all those months before. It's really just an arch between two rooms, and she cautiously waves a hand in the open air on the other side before boldly stepping through.

Nothing happens.

Will.

"No," Elizabeth mutters, stricken. "No, no, no!"
try_corsets: (Sunlight)
Summer at the end of the universe, in an environment magically created to mimic Scotland, is a decidedly more mild affair than summer in the Caribbean. Normally the difference bothers Elizabeth, but as she leaves the bar on another warm, breezy day and turns her face into the sunlight, she has to admit that it's nice not to worry about burning or sun sickness.

Singing an old favorite under her breath, she makes for the paddock. She had arranged to meet Mal outside yet failed to specify where, so she decides to look at the horses while she waits.

There's a pistol stuck in the waistband of her trousers near her right hip and two more behind, at her back.
try_corsets: (Never say die)
It started with the wind. Smelling of salt and the wide open ocean, it played havoc with her long hair and pulled her out of the hard chair she had been sitting in, just outside the bar. Like a woman enchanted, she stepped sideways into the wildness of it, closing her eyes, and stumbled against a tree when the earth trembled beneath her feet. When it was over, she opened her eyes and did not smile.

And now Elizabeth has come to a realization: sometimes you can't wait around for the answers you seek. Sometimes it's better to take action and rely on your instincts; otherwise you'll be waiting forever.

Jack hadn't answered her question, but Elizabeth is bone weary with waiting and ready to get on with her life, even if the path ahead is not clear. Her will is, as ever, strong, and if she has to fight Davy Jones himself, so be it.

Her first step is to knock firmly on the door to the Tonks-Wrangle flat and stare at the wood as if silently commanding it to open.
try_corsets: (Default)
Enough is eventually enough.

It wasn't a lie, Elizabeth thinks to herself as she crosses the short stretch of beach, boots sinking into the sand. She ignores the soft hum of conversation on the evening breeze, too intent on her purpose to be annoyed at the way the fine weather drives many patrons outside. Not exactly.

Will had been busy in the forge all day, forcing them to wait until evening for their practice session. Swords had been followed by a tense supper, and when Will offered to read aloud or find some other amusement for them -- anything to get her actively engaged in their time together -- she pled exhaustion and a headache, a move as unlike her as her recent silence. Elizabeth had stayed in her room a total of thirty minutes before sneaking outside, unable to bear inaction another moment.

Eyes trained on the Pearl, Elizabeth considers her options. Uninvited boarding hadn't gone very well last time, so she opts for the more polite route. Mostly.

"Captain Sparrow," she calls out, a curious mixture of request and demand. "Jack, are you there?"

The trick is to get on board before anyone gets close enough to notice.

It was a lie.
try_corsets: (To sleep perchance to dream... of rum.)
Elizabeth Swann is sulking. Nothing is as it is supposed to be, and each day is more intolerable than the last. It's as if the warmer weather has thawed her heart and resolve. She and Will should be married, and Jack should be sailing the Caribbean, confounding the EIC at every turn. That's what she wants, she tells herself. She doesn't know how to reconcile a world in which she cannot bring about such a satisfactory conclusion.

Doubt is a slow poison, threading its way through her determination, making her question the future and her place in it. This can't be all: this place, these people, these circumstances.

Partially empty rum bottle in hand, Elizabeth buries her face in her pillow and falls asleep thinking dark thoughts. And it is a well-known truth that dark thoughts usually lead to dark dreams.
try_corsets: (Serious)
It's an honest assumption that most people might find life at the end of the universe to be full of adventure and intrigue, or, at the very least, satisfying conversation on a daily basis. Not so for Elizabeth Swann. Indeed, she finds most days dreadfully dull, especially those that see Will having some sort of love affair with his forge. On such days, she does a great deal of sighing and wondering if her fiancé would really just rather marry his sword.

Today is such a day, but Elizabeth is bored with sighing, bored with her room and bored with staring at the bar's fireplace. And although she's not bored with thinking about Jack and their predicament, it's far too chilly outside for a good brooding session in front of the Pearl.

Her thoughts turn to a certain invitation issued on the only day Elizabeth will admit to enjoying herself at Milliways. Thus, at the customary time for tea in the governor's household, Elizabeth enters the staff corridor and goes about finding the flat belonging to the barman and his friendly wife, Nynphadora.

It's not difficult to locate, and she's soon knocking on the door: two firm knocks, precisely.
try_corsets: (Dancing with rum)
I am bored and exhausted, therefore I meme:

Ye ole' ask my characters anything meme!

[livejournal.com profile] a_lioness -- Alanna Young of Olau, formerly of Trebond, or maybe just the Lioness.
[livejournal.com profile] try_corsets -- Elizabeth Swann, she of the oh so placid nature.
[livejournal.com profile] doc_evil -- Dr. Evil, a lover not a hater, although possibly a player.
[livejournal.com profile] turtle_wexler -- Turtle Wexler, teenage entrepreneur extraordinaire, although slightly ignored.
[livejournal.com profile] princess_thayet -- Queen Thayet of Tortall, whose username is no longer accurate.

Does Puff count?

And, although it is a different, possibly defunct game:

[livejournal.com profile] stubborn_squire -- Alan of Trebond, squire of Prince Jonathan, because I continue to love the username.

It's probably really sad that I miss the Zoggling, isn't it?
try_corsets: (Peeking)
No one has told Elizabeth just how many guest rooms Milliways has, so when she sets off to find Will's after a rather exciting evening, it doesn't occur to her to take more sustenance than a bottle of rum and a few pieces of chocolate.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

...and really good chocolate.


Clutching the bottle, she nibbles the chocolate and spins in circles at random intervals, humming whenever the mood strikes. After she has passed 10 or 15 rooms, she frowns and looks about, knocking on each door she sees.

"WILL," she yells. "WILL TURNER! I know you're here somewhere."

Ah, the dulcet tones of Elizabeth Swann.
try_corsets: (Face forward outside)
Mid-morning at the governor's mansion is surprisingly quiet after the bustle of activity that accompanies the dawn and the governor's departure every day. The garden is quieter yet. Having planned the daily menu with Cook early, Elizabeth retreats there to await Will. It might be that she simply wants a moment or two alone before he arrives.

Or it might be that she is currently clad in a pair of white officer pants and one of her father's shirts.

All the better to shock her fiancé.
try_corsets: (Will and Elizabeth at TD's)
His ship? It was never his ship. The Black Pearl was Jack's

(freedom)

ship.

And what's become of Jack's ship? Well, that's a question Elizabeth is not yet ready to answer honestly.

It's hot, too stuffy in this small cabin filled with pirates and sorrow, and Elizabeth longs to dive into the clear, blue sea and wash away the memory of cool iron and a knowing smile.

She wants to be somewhere, anywhere but here, where the candles in the swamp are lit in remembrance of that which she wishes to forget, at least for a while. This woman, this strange witch, sees entirely too much. Elizabeth wants out from under her watchful eye.

The surprised silence doesn't last long, and Elizabeth can feel Will watching. She doesn't want to look, doesn't want to have that conversation.

(You long to do what you want to do because you want it.)

Elizabeth wants time to think.
try_corsets: (Candlelight)
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me

"What are you hummin’, Miss? If you don't mind me askin’."

Startled, Elizabeth turns from the window, privately mourning the last few minutes of sunset. Her lips part as she hesitates, briefly, before replying, "a song I heard once, nothing more."

"It sounded familiar," hazards the smiling young maid.

Elizabeth lifts her head, watching the girl closely. "I imagine it did," she says with a faint hint of humor. "Is everything ready for tomorrow?"

The maid nods, gathering linens. "It is, Miss. It's your wedding day."

"I'm not likely to forget," Elizabeth laughs, crossing to where her dress hangs from the wardrobe; it had been too heavy and fine for the screen. Lifting the satin hem, she imagines Will's reaction for the tenth time today and smiles, not bothering to say goodnight when she hears the bedchamber door open and shut.

We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
try_corsets: (What rum through yonder window breaks?)
As soon as she returned home, Elizabeth began searching for a way back to the curious tavern at the end of the universe. If Jack could arrive from one spot in the Caribbean, and Commodore Norrington from another, surely she could discover her own entry point. The servants began to think her mad as one by one, she combed the rooms in the Governor's mansion, opening and closing doors and muttering to herself.

When only the dining room remains (it's hard to find a time when servants aren't polishing the silver or setting up for a meal), Elizabeth takes a deep breath and throws open the doors. This has to be the room. Much to her chagrin, she is confronted with nothing more than the same room she has dined in for eight years. Frustrated, she sinks into a chair, stiffening when her eyes land on two doors almost disguised by paint and wainscoting. Of course. The linen closet where she hid briefly during the attack on Port Royal.

Determined, she crosses the room and grasps both door handles. She absolutely refuses to be wrong about this and opens them quickly. Instead of candlesticks and tablecloths, she sees Milliways. Smiling smugly, she takes a seat at the bar and orders tea.

If her luck holds, Will is bound to return.
try_corsets: (Default)
Elizabeth paces back and forth in the foyer, her hands anxiously opening and closing her fan with a loud snap. Commodore Norrington is due to arrive at any minute. Earlier this morning, he had sent word requesting a visit, but hadn't provided any further detail. Wondering why he wishes to speak with her is slowly driving her mad. Governor Swann is at the fort, and Elizabeth intends to use her relative solitude to her advantage by pressing the good Commodore for details. Will has been suspiciously absent as of late, and she intends to find out why.

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try_corsets: (Default)
Captain Elizabeth Turner

June 2016

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