try_corsets | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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'Dora's lighting little blue fires everywhere she can think of, poking her wand irritably here and there. The flames cast an eerie aqua light over the staircase, making them both look well and truly frozen.

Finally she sighs and eases herself down next to Elizabeth, huddling up next to her friend for extra warmth.

"This is bloody shite," she grumbles.

Grateful for the extra body heat, Elisabeth sighs and offers half of a patchy blanket.

"I remember complaining of the heat in Port Royal once," she says, teeth chattering. "I must have been mad."

Nymphadora pokes her wand at the 'blanket,' which could perhaps more aptly be called a 'medium-sized and mouse-eaten dishtowel,' and mutters another warming charm. "Bloody pirates aren't supposed to go where it's bloody cold," growls the witch. "It's against type."

'Dora's been... testy, since Singapore. She's worried about Mal, but saying so reminds her of the possibility that he might be dead. Because of her.

And that's not something she's especially eager to face.

Elizabeth has noticed, though she doesn't worry overly much due to her own sulkiness.

"If we're close and this is what it's like where Jack is," she says, glumly, "then I hope he won't argue much when we use the Pearl for firewood."

This is, of course, completely ridiculous, but Elizabeth reflects that it's very difficult to argue when one is unconscious, and spends a moment contemplating the myriad ways to tell Jack he's rescued before hitting him over the head.

Surreptitiously, she moves her hand under a spot of blanket recently made warmer by a spell.

"I will gladly hold him down whilst you do the honors," she deadpans.

One of 'Dora's hands settles on her belly, rubbing in a slow circle.

A breath. "On the other hand, I hope we are close. How long've we been gone? I've lost track."

The haze of misery gives way to startled concern, and Elizabeth casts a sharp glance at 'Dora's stomach.

"So have I," she mutters, distracted by thoughts of new complications. "How do you feel?"

A wry smile. "I've felt better. But I've also felt a lot worse." She looks down at the bump. "Think I've missed a few appointments with my Healer. But I guess this is where I remind myself that women did this for millenia without doctors, right?"

An apology hovering on her lips, Elizabeth almost laughs at the thought that at least 'Dora wouldn't be hanged.

As that isn't a terribly reassuring thing to say, she gives a faint nod.

"Tia Dalma might be able to help," she suggests, but her words are laced with uncertainty.

At that, Nymphadora starts wheezing with near-silent giggles. "Yeah, but she scares the living daylights out of me. And I'm a witch."

Her reaction coaxes a small smile from Elizabeth.

"I see your point."

Hopefully: "Perhaps Jack will be able to tell us a way to send you home."

"Yeah, maybe."

Her giggles peter out into a small sigh.

"In any case, at least I can be helpful whilst I'm here." She slants a look at Elizabeth. "And before you start in on any apologizing, it's not your fault I'm here."

Mouth tightening into a thin line, she nods again.

"No. And it's neither of our faults that Mal went missing."

Information about his disappearance has not been easy to come by, a fact made worse by her continued silence around Will.

Nymphadora's expression tightens, her gaze focused on a rotting timber above them. "I'm too tired to really argue properly on that score, just now."

Expression remote, Elizabeth watches her friend for a long minute. Then, handing over the blanket, she stands.

"I have something for you."

Without any further explanation, she turns and walks away. It's hidden, wrapped in a cloth, in a stack of crates near where they sleep. But it's a small ship, so she isn't gone long.

"Don't let anyone else know you have it," she says, holding the bundle behind her back with a stubborn expression. "A little extra protection wouldn't be amiss."

"I won't," replies 'Dora immediately, and holds out her hand. "What is it?"

Elizabeth puts the long-barreled revolver in her hand, and peels back the dirty cloth.

"Mal's gun," she says quietly. "I took it from Tai Huang before we left Singapore."

A quick breath, and her eyes widen. Nymphadora checks to see how much ammunition there is, double-checks the safety, and then carefully tucks it into her belt, blousing her tunic out to cover it. Then she reaches out to tightly grasp Elizabeth's hand.

"Thank you."

It's not as good as being able to deliver the man himself, but Elizabeth hopes it will be a small comfort, and says: "He would want you to have it."

There are other pistols she can locate for herself. Squeezing 'Dora's hand, she returns to her former spot and gives a full body shiver.

"Firewood," she grumbles again.

Nymphadora silently blesses Elizabeth for not using the past tense, and squeezes her hand in return. "Why wait for the Pearl? I could have this whole place alight inside of a minute..."

Elizabeth firmly believes that Mal is still alive. And if he isn't... well, death isn't quite as final as she'd once assumed.

"Yes, but then we'd be left floating in ice water with nothing but charred driftwood," she points out, smiling slightly. "I'm not sure it's worth the temporary satisfaction."

Almost sure, at any rate.

She'll see how she feels in a few hours.

She hmms softly. "I've never been one for delayed gratification."

Then 'Dora sighs, wraps an arm around Elizabeth, and thinks fiercely of home.

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