try_corsets | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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"Coming!" calls a voice from deep inside the flat, and after a moment there are footsteps, followed by the door flinging open.

Nymphadora stands across the threashold, Anthony on her hip. The baby's wearing a nappy, a tee-shirt, and one stripey sock. 'Dora's holding the other sock and his trousers in her hand.

Looks like another day at the circus.

But the witch's face lights up. "Elizabeth! Hi, it's brilliant to see you, come in!"

Elizabeth hesitates, eyes taking in every detail with a quiet seriousness. They linger on Anthony, and she can't help a small, wondering smile. Already this is like nothing she has ever known.

"Are you certain I haven't come at an awkward time?" she asks, but it's clear she hopes the question will prove to be nothing more than a necessary observance of manners.

"No, of course not... this is Anthony. Say hullo, Anthony."

Anthony grins up at Elizabeth. "Hi!" he chirps, and 'Dora laughs. "He's getting pretty good at that."

Charmed, Elizabeth gives the boy a tentative smile and nods approvingly.

"Aren't you the clever gentleman." She takes a step into the flat, then another, chancing a quick look around. "How old is he?"

"Just about fourteen months," replies 'Dora, shutting the door behind Elizabeth and waving her onto the couch. Anthony, she sets on the floor. "Have a seat, I'll put on the kettle. Anthony, please entertain our guest."

She disappears into the kitchen.

Anthony grins again, pulls off his other sock, and offers it to Elizabeth.

There's a moment of panic at being left alone with Anthony, and Elizabeth lets out a nervous laugh, keeping her eyes glued to the child. She sits stiffly.

The sock, when offered, is solemnly accepted.

"Thank you ever so, Mr. Anthony," Elizabeth says, quite unable to help smiling, bewildered though it may be. "It is the finest sock I have ever encountered."

It is rather nice. Elizabeth likes the stripes.

"Cream or sugar? Lemon?" calls Nymphadora from the kitchen, the sound of clinking china drifting out into the living room.

Anthony pulls himself up using the lip of the coffee table and slowly edges his way along its side, his pudgy feet taking deliberate steps towards Elizabeth.

"Lemon, please!" Elizabeth answers, watching Anthony like a hawk.

He looks very determined, she thinks. Perhaps she should return the sock.

"Hello," she repeats, offering another smile. "Would you-"

Struck by inspiration, she slips two fingers into the small sock and walks it across the couch, toward Anthony. When her arm is stretched as far as it will go, she waggles her fingers.

Anthony's small mouth drops into an O, and his eyes go wide. "Yuh!" he shouts, sort of flinging himself over so that he's clutching the couch cushion, instead, and watches the sock-thing with rapt attention.

Elizabeth laughs in surprise, delighted that she hasn't inadvertently upset him in some way. The more she relaxes, the less she thinks and the easier it is to play. The sock-thing does another dance, this time accompanied by a whistled lively tune. It dances directly in front of Anthony, then in a wide circle, finishing by lightly nudging one of his fingers in a sort of bow.

Laughing his big baby belly laugh, Anthony siezes the fingers-within-the-sock and attempts to devour them.

Thankfully, he's unsucessful.

'Dora emerges from the kitchen with a tray, and snorts when she sees her son. "Anthony, you have such a way with the ladies." She sets the tray down on the coffee table. "There's some lovely macaroons there, too. Bernard's quite a whiz with baked goods."

Only when her fingers become necessary does Elizabeth extricate them from Anthony and his sock, smiling, waggling them a bit before reaching for a macaroon.

"Bernard made these," and it's a little startled. "He's very interesting."

Quite unlike most men of her acquaintance.

"Uh-huh," replies 'Dora cheerfully, scooping up Anthony and pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling him on her lap as she sits beside Elizabeth. "He taught me how to cook. I reckon it's a lot like making the bombs; it's all chemistry, really, though he raises both to an art form."

Elizabeth takes a dainty bite. The next is far less dainty.

"Please, give him my compliments." She nods and smiles, as if lending weight to her words. "I don't know how to cook. There are a few things I can manage, I suppose, but it was rarely considered proper for me to be in the kitchen."

There's an eyeroll, but a small one.

"I will," she grins. "And cooking's not for everyone, regardless of propriety. Took me ages to get to the point where I wasn't actually setting anything on fire."

Nymphadora takes a sip of her tea and then a bite of a macaroon, which Anthony makes a grab for. She pinches off a tiny bit and hands it to him, which results in a large quantity of crumbs down both their fronts.

"That must have been eventful," Elizabeth remarks.

Imagining her father's reaction to Elizabeth starting a fire in the kitchen brings a new smile to her face.

She watches Anthony makes short work of his piece and blurts out, "It's a shame I can't show him Mr. Cotton's parrot. I think he'd like him."

"Mr. Cotton's parrot?" 'Dora raises an eyebrow inquiringly. "Who's Mr. Cotton? Another of your pirates?"

Anthony looks up at Elizabeth with rapt attention, eyes wide.

"Another of Jack's pirates," she answers softly, "yes. He's mute, and near as we can tell, the parrot speaks for him. Sometimes it even makes sense."

She nods seriously at Anthony.

"He's as colorful as your sock."

"Suh!" he agrees, and Nymphadora laughs. "I think you're right about Anthony liking him -- he's quite his own little parrot, these days."

Anthony crawls over to the cushion between his mother and their guest and commences playing with his toes. This is the kind of distraction that could, if left uninterrupted, amuse him for hours.

'Dora looks up at Elizabeth again, her smile fading a bit. "Are you finding it any less... confining, around here?"

It would be foolish to lie, Elizabeth feels. And, she realizes, she has no desire to do so.

"A bit," she answers, finally. "The chill isn't as terrible."

Another pause.

"Have you ever been certain of a task before you, but been unable to carry it out due to... circumstances?"

'Dora laughs softly, and there's a touch of weariness in it. "Sure," she replies, smoothing a hand over Anthony's dark head. "Did I mention the war, last time we met?"

"No," Elizabeth says with a shake of her head. "You did not."

As if he is a pleasant buffer between them and potentially distressing conversation, Elizabeth lightly pokes Anthony's foot and retrieves his sock.

"I'm... sort of a soldier," explains Nymphadora, looking down at her son and watching as he tries to catch Elizabeth's fingers. "And for several years, an evil dark wizard and his followers were persecuting anyone who wasn't a pureblood wizard."

Magical law enforcement. That's all she had said, Elizabeth remembers. Soldier is easier for her to process, truth be told, and she finds herself studying Tonks with a mixture of sympathy and chagrin.

Distracted, she lets Anthony capture her fingers.

"How horrid," she says at last. It doesn't feel adequate. "Was he caught?

"Caught?" She laughs again, though it's more genuine this time. "More like... destroyed. You can't catch a wizard like Voldemort. It's all or nothing, with him. Anyway." Her smile fades. "The war didn't end until well after Anthony was born. There were plenty of times when I was afraid, when I couldn't do what I knew I should have been doing, 'cause what if something had happened to him? 'S one thing to risk yourself. Something else to risk your unborn child."