try_corsets | (no subject)

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A pirate steals into the kitchen, stops in the shadows and looks around.

The Milliways kitchens are never fully asleep, but when it's so late it's actually early one can sneak in relatively undetected and snoop around. The refrigerators are large and fully-stocked, the aromas as appealing as during the busiest dinner hour. All a pirate has to do is ignore the rats and the rest is a veritable feast for the taking.

This particular pirate isn't after rum and something edible to chase it with, however.

Captain Elizabeth Turner, Pirate King and soon to be mother, simply wants some milk to ease the persistent burning sensation near her heart. It is one of many indignities she's been forced to endure lately, and she's not about to sit around and suffer on the Empress when relief can be had here.

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Elizabeth laughs sharply.

There's no way anyone will be boarding her ship without the Captain's say so.

"Why?" she says at last. "Why help me?"

Even as she asks, her mind is racing ahead to the possibilities. If it was someone secret, someone who worked in darkness and was back through the door before first light... it might work.

He shrugs. "Why not?"

Mike slowly flexes his shoulder backward, the resulting crackle of joints and tendons prompts a happy sigh.

"I mean, we ladies don't look out for each other, who will?"

"Right."

Nothing about this makes sense. Luckily, Elizabeth had learned long ago to stop seeking reason in this place and instead take advantage of what it offers. And what it -- or Mike -- is presently offering is very advantageous indeed.

"Very well, I accept. Do you have someone in mind?"

She can't deny that Mike looks about as lady-like as Elizabeth feels on a daily basis!

"I do in fact. Battle tested, discreet but lethal, and better still: I trust him with my life. My brother Raphael."

What? Raph can be discreet when he needs to be.
...
No really.
Stop laughing!

As Elizabeth has not had the pleasure of meeting his brother Raphael, she fails to see any humor in this suggestion.

"Discrete, you say. But could he move about a ship undetected?"

Though her hand settles on her stomach in a way that might be considered protective, there's a distinct calculating look in her eyes.

"As a master of both Ninjitsu and Shang, there isn't a doubt in my mind what so ever. If we phrase it right I bet we could even get him to leave little mints on everyone's pillows."

Damn it, now Mike's craving mint. His eyes start to dart around the kitchen for where the fresh herbs are stored.

Elizabeth is craving anything that isn't a dry biscuit, but that's neither here nor there.

She watches him, rather than follow his eyes towards where he's looking.

"Would he be willing?"

Judging by the expression on his face, Mike has spied what he's looking for on the opposite side of the room.

"Willing? To rattle some cages and possibly bust a head or two? Raph? Trust me when I say that that's like asking a fish if he likes water."

He turns towards her and smirks.

"Or a if a pirate likes rum."

"Vile stuff," she says, and cracks a smile. "Not everyone is so generous to people they've only just met."

And by that she really means nobody in her experience, which is perhaps why the words carry a hint of warning.

"See if you can find some sort of meat over there, will you?"

Elizabeth is already digging into the jar again as she asks.

Mike smiles and offers her a salute before he's off and rummaging through the kitchen.

"Yeah, but I'm not everyone, and because of that I can afford to be generous."

Mmm. Handful of freshmint. Yes, with the stems included. Actually...mostly stems. Damn cravings.

"Back where I'm from we're not...well, we're not really in circulation. Don't have many friends, but the few we do have are family. Do you want this meat of yours hot or cold?"

Slow down for change in topics? Not our Mike.

Elizabeth considers for all of two seconds before replying, "Hot. Definitely."

Another spoonful of Nutella disappears as she ponders his statement.

"I don't have many myself. Tonks, Plourr and of course Will. Mr. Gibbs, yes, but-" She purses her lips. "Truly a captain can not also be a friend."

"They kind of say the same thing about Ninjas. It's one of the reasons why I retired."

Mike's first thought was how badly Elizabeth needed a cheeseburger, but then he realized that while it would be satisfying to watch her eat it...the chances of her actually gleaning any nutrition from that grease laden meal is pretty slim to none.

A big whopping fillet, on the other hand, simply seared and seasoned with just a touch of kosher salt? That'd do her much nicer.

"How do you feel about mashed potatoes and maybe some green beans?"

"The mere thought of them makes me feel almost poetic," Elizabeth answers, looking more serious than she is. "A ninja is a type of warrior, correct?"

That's a GO on the green beans. Mike gives a meaningful glance to one of the closer wait rats to get the steamer prepped. Mashed potatoes are usually available under the lids of the random slowcookers. It's just a matter of finding the right one.

But first? The steak. The rest can be gathered while that's resting.

"It is. The type famous for flipping out of shadows and killing people before they even realized there was a ninja there to start with." He looks up and grins at her. "We're sneaky that way. Also cute."

"And modest," she adds, smiling slightly.

Standing, Elizabeth cranes her neck and catches sight of the steak. She doesn't quite drool, but it's a near thing.

"Will Raphael have to kill them or can he simply make them... disappear?"

"I try." His grin is shameless.

"Raph? Dunno. Either or, really. Kind of depends on how much of a fight they put up I imagine. That's something you could talk to him about, if you wanted."

Elizabeth nods.

"I do want."

She makes her way across the kitchen, investigating various food products along the way. An ostrich egg is subjected to extra scrutiny.

"When will you," and she pauses, searching for the best way to ask, "give birth?"

Edited 2010-01-01 22:28 (UTC)

"Bring some Sam, possibly some Jack. Things will go over like butter."

Again, shameless grin. The steak sizzles when turned, an even sear sealing in the juices.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he says with a shrug. "Don't think anyone really knows, to be honest."

After a moment's pause.

"Maybe Bar does."

"I don't know a Sam."

And the likelihood that Jack would follow her anywhere is slim indeed.

"You sound as well prepared as I am," she says.

He's not chuckling at her, he swears.
"Sam Adams. It's a kind of beer. His favorite brand." And then just to be safe, he adds, "And Jack Daniels is his favorite whiskey."

Mike makes a cut in the steak and watches for clear juices to run.
"Well...it's not like I've ever done this before. Guess we're on this adventure together, huh?"

That... makes a lot more sense. Understanding lights her face -- the face that is peering over his shoulder as he works.

"I'll need to see about finding it some clothes," she states, wearing a pinched look.

Elizabeth isn't a fool. She knows this baby will change things, and that she'll do what's necessary to keep it well and happy. For now, however, she's clinging to the way things are with everything she has and only seems pleased with the idea of motherhood when Will is around.

Which he's usually not.

Pleased with the overall doneness of the steak, Mike moves it to a plate to rest. This frees up his hands for the collection of the veggies and starch.

"How're you with a needle?"

Because Mike? Is kind of awesome at sewing, if he does say so himself.

"Unless you mean that in any sort of practical sense," she says, "I'm passable."

Beat.

"Though I can stitch sailcloth, of course."

Is he suggesting she make clothes?

He...miiiight be? Would that be wrong.

"Of course, but...can't really swaddle a baby in sailcloth....er, can you?"

Yes. Elizabeth can think of no surer way to lose her crew than to spend her time making tiny shirts for a baby they theoretically don't know about, rather than acting as a proper captain.

She laughs.

"I think it's more a matter of shouldn't."