Disinclined to acquiesce to your request

The door opens with a bang, blown against the wall by wind and water, and Elizabeth jumps through with Will Jr. on her hip, raising her sword as she turns to fight off someone trying to grab them. The look of surprise on that someone's face only grows when he finds himself stabbed in the chest. Elizabeth plants her foot on his stomach and shoves him back off her blade with a grunt before slamming the door behind her.

Gasping for breath, she lets Will Jr. slide down her body until his little feet are firmly on the ground. She crouches, looking him in the eye, and says, "Remember. Find Uncle Mike. Stay with him or near Bar. Or James, if he's here. Understand? Good. I'll be back." She quickly kisses his forehead. "Soon."

With that she storms back through the door, sword raised, letting out a loud piratical yell for good measure.

Time passes.

Elizabeth does return, if not precisely soon. Hopefully Will Jr. found Mike. First, however, she needs to wash the blood off her hands.

[OOC: A suitable amount of time after this.]

The decision is not final yet, not without Will's consent, even though they had discussed the name at length, but Elizabeth begins calling her son Will as soon as he arrives, wailing and kicking like he means to take on all the stormy waters of the world and live to tell the tale.

Will, Jr. is loud, irate, demanding some moments; quiet and almost thoughtful others. Elizabeth couldn't be more proud. Or more anxious to introduce him to his father. There's no telling how long the Dutchman will be able to stay, and once she starts wandering closer and closer to the door to check and see, Guppy and Demeter begin to teach her in earnest what to do with a newborn.

Eventually she is declared well enough for the short trip, and so is little Will. Without another word, Elizabeth scoops up her son -- it is only just beginning to be a thing that doesn't feel unnatural, or an ill fit for her -- and makes for the pirate ship in the lake.

It's morning. She hadn't realized that when she stepped out. The mist is beginning to burn off. Whispering to Will Jr., she tucks his blanket a little closer to his tiny chin. Quick glances spaced between a study of any possible obstacles on the ground give way to a hopeful, searching look in her eyes as she starts to make out details on the Dutchman's hull. Any minute now, she will see what she always longs to see whenever she turns a weather eye on the horizon: her husband, looking out for her.

It's late when Elizabeth steals back into the bar, eyes scanning the room for Raph.

The inevitable has come to pass. The crew knew, or at least suspected in increasingly loud whispers, and Elizabeth stole their thunder by casually mentioning the child with her best supercilious glare firmly in place.

Sometimes inevitability really irks her.

Sitting back and allowing events to play out as they will isn't her style, however, so here she is, ready to take preemptive action. Hopefully Raph has had time to study the plans and formulate some of his own.

A hat should be a simple enough thing to find in Nassau, but Elizabeth didn't want just any hat. She'd promised Stitch a true pirate hat, and that's what she plans to deliver.

Eventually, when she'd almost forgotten her task, the perfect hat lands in her lap at a tavern one night.

Literally.

The pirate who'd been wearing it wouldn't want it for a time, judging by the enormous bump in the dead center of his skull. Rum is all well and good, but the bottles can definitely leave a mark.

Elizabeth smiles at her good fortune and tucks it away. The very next time she's in Milliways, the hat is left with Bar, along with the following note:

Stitch,

A truer pirate hat you'll not be able to find. Enjoy it.

-Captain Elizabeth Turner

It's a bit large, a bit smelly, but all pirate.

"That's settled, then."

Elizabeth doesn't look particularly unhappy or angry as she steps around the groaning man at her feet and sheaths her sword. Her jaw is set and her expression is firm, but there's a sparkle in her eyes. Remorse is noticeably absent.

It hadn't been a fair fight, something else that doesn't appear to bother her, and the man had paid an appropriate price: not his life but his dignity, which is just as apt to further her reputation, she feels. There's certainly no shortage of laughter coming from the other men.

Tai Huang walks at her back. She keeps her head turned just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye as she takes the last few steps to the tavern door. Once inside, she nods to her man to have a look around and strikes a watchful pose against a pillar while she awaits his return.

The Empress and her crew are back in Tortuga, this time with a purpose.

"Still nothing," Tai Huang informed his captain. "No sign is found of the pregnant woman."

While making his report, the pirate stared openly at the changes wrought upon the cabin in the last several days. At his suggestion, the captain had divided Sao Feng's effects among the men, keeping only his maps, books, instruments and alterable pirate garb. (Most of Sao Feng's weapons had gone to Tai Huang himself, and though he made gruff protest, it hadn't been sincere.) Silks graced the walls again, furniture had been replaced, and Chinese influences were interwoven with the material remnants of her life in Port Royal.

The chest was at the foot of the bed, atop a lushly dyed coverlet the rusty color of fresh blood. Looking from it to the dark circles under her eyes, Tai Huang wondered if the heart kept her up at night.

Elizabeth felt his curious regard and stifled a sigh. She'd come to accept that deference would be earned through experience, not given on the basis of title alone. It would be a long time before she felt secure enough in her position to sleep long and well, with or without the thump, thump of her husband's heart making rest difficult. And she'd be even less likely to rest without it, in all honesty. Wherever Elizabeth went, the chest followed.

"Very well." She ceased her examination of the new, lighter planks of wood patching the jagged hole left by that one murderous cannonball, and turned to face him. Eyebrow arched, she asked, "Do you go ashore?"

"Tonight, yes. One day, maybe two. All repairs will be finished," he said, eyes betraying his pleasure. Soon, the Empress would once more be worthy of her name, the jewel of the South China Seas.

A wry smile curved Elizabeth’s lips. "Best enjoy yourself while you can, then."

"You stay behind?"

"Yes," she answered quietly, shifting her gaze to the map spread out on an intricately carved table. It fascinated her, the way the fluid designs became part of the delicate looking legs themselves. Will would like it. "One evening in Tortuga’s taverns was enough for now."

Both pirates smiled knowingly, at that.

"Leave enough men to protect the ship," continued Elizabeth. "The rest have my permission to do as they like."

Tai Huang started to say something, thought better of it, and gave a quick nod before exiting. Elizabeth watched until he was out of sight, wondering what suggestion or information he had withheld.

Lips pursed, she retrieved the silver and black tunic from the back of her chair and slowly wrapped it into place. Buckling her sword belt, she smiled grimly as a cheerful shout went up and a loud splash signaled the lowering of a longboat.

I'll sleep when we're at sea she thought to herself as she hid the chest and stole up the curved staircase, pausing to wipe dust from the wood paneling. Until then, she would search for Tonks... and keep a weather eye open.

It's cold.

Really and truly freezing.

Elizabeth sits on the stairs below deck, systematically wiggling each of her fingers and each of her toes, and thinking that perhaps the winter in Milliways hadn't been such a waste of time after all. She'd grown accustomed to, if not fond of, harsher weather than one finds in the Caribbean.

Of course, her hair had never developed frost, either.

The governor's mansion sits on a hill above Port Royal like a silent, authoritative sentinel.

In her former life as lady of the house, Elizabeth had rarely appreciated just how high that hill could seem traveling on foot and not in a fine carriage, especially when one's movements are, out of necessity, furtive. Twilight saw Elizabeth, Tai Huang and a small group of pirates moving through town like shadows, and after their lengthy, tense climb, they arrive at the wall to the side of the house slightly out of breath, momentarily safe in the growing darkness. The herb garden on the other side smells achingly familiar. Elizabeth closes her eyes and breathes in the scent, then issues a sharp order and motions to her second in command.

Silently, the pair moves several paces to the left and scales the wall with the help of a tree and its low hanging branches. She'd often studied the tree and plotted how it might be of use; never had Elizabeth considered that she might one day use it to gain entry, not escape.

A large, dark and rectangular object is passed easily between them, as if they've practiced the maneuver, and Elizabeth presses it into her companion’s hands with a meaningful look before leading the way toward the house, the soft soles of her boots quiet on the garden path.

It's absurdly easy. A wave of resentment washes over Elizabeth at the need to sneak into her own home. She knows the schedule, knows the movements of the staff who still live here -- she presumes -- and there's an arrogant, angry tilt to her head as they approach the northwest corner of the house. Raising a hand to halt Tai Huang, she peers around a tall hedge; dying, she notes absently. "Wait here. I'll get what I need from the study first," she whispers, knowing they'll have better access to the second floor from another point of entry.

Someone is obviously in residence, judging by the number of lamps lit. Elizabeth ponders who that might be, while darting like a ghost along the side of the building to the wide double doors and the study beyond -- her father's study, or perhaps already the study of another Company agent. The thought bolsters her resolve as she slips into the room and crosses to the heavy desk. Allowing herself a quick glance at the remembered bookshelves, paintings and maps, Elizabeth quietly opens a desk drawer and begins searching for the first item she means to repossess.

To Elizabeth's surprise, none of her crew elects to stay behind in Shipwreck Cove and sail with one of the remaining ships on a later tide.

She'd been certain she'd lose one or two. Tai Huang informs her there's some prestige to be gained in sailing with the Pirate King, and while she accepts his explanation as truth, Elizabeth is aware that the crew feels a certain loyalty to Sao Feng's dying wish. As much loyalty as a pirate can inherently feel, at any rate.

Additionally, her mid-battle marriage to the man now captaining the legendary Flying Dutchman hadn't hurt her reputation any. Will is an unknown force, but stories of Davy Jones are almost as hard to kill as the old pirate himself. Everyone on board knows well what is in the chest their new captain had stowed safely in her cabin.

Their first day at sea, Elizabeth stands beside Tai Huang at the helm and endeavors to learn as much about the Empress as she can in a relatively short amount of time. One by one, her first mate introduces the crew. They stare, wondering at the tall, willowy woman who had assumed command and given them pretty speeches, and Elizabeth returns their stares with interest, refusing to look anything but confident. Some sneer. Some approve.

When she sends Tai Huang to collect charts and solemnly walks to the prow, eyes fixed on the horizon, they let her be.

After supper, Elizabeth orders an extra ration of grog for all who want it. (Later she'll discover that the pirates help themselves whenever they wish, but it seems like a good-faith gesture.) She takes her cup to the quarterdeck stairs, content to watch the movements of the unfamiliar sails and let the deepening shadows slowly hide her from view.

She's not there long when voices raised in anger reach her ears. The words are rapid and entirely unfamiliar, and Elizabeth again regrets that she hadn't learned more Chinese from Mal. Sounds of scuffling follow, and before she has time to blink, she's up and pushing her way past several pirates avidly watching the fight. A moment later, she has her knife to the throat of one man bent over another. "Stop," she growls low in his ear.

But Elizabeth is too late. The man -- she's already forgotten his name, though she thinks he's one of the lookouts -- straightens, revealing a bloody knife in his left hand. The other pirate slumps to the deck, and doesn't move.

Elizabeth sucks in a breath, fighting uncertainty. She doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to say, and most of the crew is watching her expectantly.

(Pirate)

Suddenly her chin snaps up, and she glares at those assembled. "Listen to me!" she shouts, baring her teeth. "I will not tolerate such behavior on my ship! If you wish to kill each other off, I'll save my deck the bloodstains and leave the lot of you on a deserted island with only a single pistol to make one lucky person's death a bit more pleasant." Eyes narrowing, she jerks the man closer. He grunts as the knife nicks the vulnerable skin of his neck. "And if you even consider mutiny, I swear to you the results will be much the same.

"Tai Huang, take this bilge rat to the brig. I'll deal with him later." She shoves the pirate aside and snarls, "The rest of you, get back to work!"

It's not what you say, so much as how you say it.

Their audience slowly disperses, and Elizabeth, more shaken than she has any intention of letting on, crouches beside the fallen pirate and checks his pulse, then clasps her hands together. He's unquestionably dead.

At sea.

Elizabeth lifts her head and casts an appraising glance at the red glow of sunset on the horizon.

Singapore.

It's odd, Elizabeth thinks, how the name had once had a fairytale-like quality to it and had represented a place she was destined only to visit in books or the stories of officers who passed through Port Royal.

Singapore feels very real now, tangible and close enough that Elizabeth keeps a weather eye on the horizon, harboring hopes of at last seeing land.

Everyone on board is aware of how impatient she is to get on with things. A man -- or a woman -- would have to be blind to miss the way she's coiled tightly, dangerously, whether pacing the ship or sitting very still for long periods of time.

There's been too much waiting.