A parody of a one Captain William Turner - before he sunk into the sea and returned without a heart and sporting a dashing bandana and some definate new mascara.

Written from the POV of dear William himself... and starting in Curse of the Black Pearl, during our first encounter with the blacksmith after the flashblack.

Today is the day.

Oh yeah, I'm ready. I'm keen.

Sword practise is out the way, I'm pretty sure I'm looking my best – Mr Brown seems to think so anyway…

Mr Brown: Will?

Me: Yes, Mr Brown?

Mr Brown: Will I thought you were out?

Me: I told you I was getting changed to take the sword up to the Governor and… and Elizabeth….

Mr Brown: But you told me you were getting changed four hours ago.

Me: Well I didn't know what tights to wear, and then the buckle didn't match my belt and so … oh it's been a disaster, it really has.

Mr Brown: … You've been dressing for four hours?

Me: No, I did three hours of sword practise – have to keep in shape you know, have to be, you know, ready and aggressive…

Mr Brown: Did you fall of the pier?

Me: …. No?

Mr Brown: Why's your hair all… wet?

Me: It wouldn't stay flat!

Mr Brown: Oh. Well. It just looks a bit. Wet.

ME: OH GOD! NO! PLEASE DON'T SAY IT LOOKS BAD? OH WOE! WHAT WILL SHE SAY! OH MR BROWN SAY IT ISN'T SO!

Mr Brown: It isn't …. so?

ME: So, you think I look good right, you know, sharp, sophisticated… the kind of lowly, generally handsome guy that could woo a girl like…. Elizabeth….

Mr Brown: You look… fine…

ME: Is that fine as in 'Yeah, right, but he's a lemon that will never get the girl he wants' or as in 'He's a FINE piece of manhood'?

Mr Brown: Um. Both?

So now, with such clarification under my frilled cufflinks, I'm off to the Governor's house.

It's taken me three months to finish this sword. Not that I mind, of course, but it does impede a little on my time for hammering odd bits of iron late at night and writing poetry. It's such a release. Sometimes I find that the sword practise just doesn't do it. All these pent up feelings of loss for a father I never knew and …. And Elizabeth….

Oh that dove of heavenly light. That damsel to which I do pledge my undying soul. How I long for thee and thy touch …. Thy love and grace….

If you saw her, you'd understand. Everyone would. Anyone would. You'd see why you have to make every effort to be a man.

You'd see why I have to make extra effort. I have to beat him. I am the bigger man.

I must beat James Norrington.

The hyped up ice-cream headed Christmas decoration. You should see him, you really should. I mean, the other day, Elizabeth was riding past in her carriage, - looking like a sculpture carved by the angels themselves, if I may add – and I was, you know, gazing with unabashed commitment from my lowly abode, when MARCHING past, like he's some – like he's some KING, is that MAN (if indeed I can stretch to call him that) with so many ringlets it was hard to distinguish whether it was an exceptionally talented sheep or a human.

And do you know what he said to me?

DO YOU KNOW?!

He said, and I quote:

'Good day, Mr Turnsford.'

Mr TURNSFORD. MR FUCKING TURNSFORD?! The man is meant to be of some educational and military standing and he can't even remember a NAME. And I'm making his sword for him. What gratitude.

I hope it snaps in half, the bastard.

Well no. No I don't hope it snaps in half. Because if it does Elizabeth will think I am the weed her father thinks I am. Oh yes, I know what that Governor thinks of me. He's just a curiously sly bully, THAT'S what he is. There's a lot of deceit buried under those buxom locks I can tell you now.

It's the coughing. He says it's the 'dust'. Yeah. I bet it is.

WELL HOW COME IT'S ONLY EVER DUSTY WHEN I AM IN THE VACINITY?

The thing is who would ever believe me. I'm certain Elizabeth thinks I roll around the floor of the Blacksmiths every morning just to make myself into one gigantic DUST PILE so I can scurry around causing the Governor pain.

If only she knew the truth.

NOONE coughs like this:

'WILLYOUWEED'

He thinks I don't know but OH – oh I am far smarter than my tights and buckled shoes and slightly feminine voice would have you believe.

But Norrington? Oh he's worse. If that's possible. He's besotted with her. With my Elizabeth. With my shining ray of hope.

I mean how disgusting is that? He must be about ninety-seven years old! He says it's only a wig but by all accounts he is just trying to hide the fact that he is an elderly gentleman.

I see things.

Well. I'm here.

In the hall.

Shaking.

Sweating profusely.

This is a good look. Oh yes, I must look the very picture of manhood. I can see it now. She's going to run down those stairs like some fresh maiden and will find me at the bottom, unconscious, having slipped over in my own pool of sweat in a blind attempt to escape embarrassment. Hair everywhere. Sword stuck in right buttock cheek. Buckle print in face where the Governor 'accidentally' stepped on me.

He's doing this on purpose. That Governor. He knows exactly what I'm like and he'll do anything to make me suffer. GOD I hate having to be nice to him. But he is Elizabeth's father and she loves him and I love her … Its really just one big, complicated circle of romance.

Apart from me and the Governor. There's no romance there. And I hope there's no romance between the Governor and Elizabeth.

Its in no way like a romantic circle.

Besides being scandalous, it is also wrong.

It's the Caribbean heat. It just doesn't agree with me.

I'm going to have to move about a bit. Keep the nerves down, you know.

WHY, WHY, WHY did I wear these tights? I think my legs are melting. Oh GOD. That's an even more fitting scenario.

Elizabeth, hair falling about her face like the blossoms of spring, arrives downstairs and finds me as a STUMP because I have melted. Propped up by my new sword. Buckle shoes pressed to face.

Why are they taking so long?

That is a nice lamp.

Brass fittings, clean finish, slight tilt to the left side though – fixable – in fact – I could do it now …

Oh Shit.

SHIT.

I'VE BROKEN THE FUCKING LAMP.

Oh GOD what do I do? I can't hide it. Its not going to look right in my tights is it?! A headpiece? Could I make it into a headpiece? A festive garment perhaps?! SAY I FOUND IT SOMEWHERE?! BLAME NORRINGTON –

Oh God. Someone's coming. That's it. I'm dropping it.

GOVERNOR WEATHERBY SWANN: Ah, Mr Turner! Good to see you again! Oh yeah. Yeah I bet you are pleased you stupid wig wearing POMPOUS DUST SNEEZING…

ME: Good DAY Sir. What was that? What was THAT? That was pathetic. I sound like I want to lick him or something. Could I have been more eager? Oh the shame of it all. That's it. I'm giving him the sword and getting out. Before I drown us all in perspiration. I have your order.

Here we go. This is it. This is my 'moment to shine'. I have a speech. I've been practising it for weeks now. The wording is so perfect.

God I can almost feel the loathing behind his smile.

ME: The blade is folded steel. That's gold filigree laid into the handle. He could at least ATTEMPT to look impressed. You know, a smile, perhaps. A REASURRING GRIMACE FOR GOD'S SAKE?! If I may …

Come on Will you can do it. YOU CAN DO IT. Flip and switch FLIP AND SWITCH.

ME: Perfectly balanced. Not for bloody long if my hands don't dry. The tang is nearly the full width of the blade. Heh, HEH stick that in your WIG, GOVERNOR.

Oh GOD that was a fine manouver. I'm actually brimming with pride. No one can flick a sword quite like the Willmeister is all I'm saying…

GOVERNOR SWANN: Ho – Impressive. Very Impressive. … You kid me. He LIKED IT? Commodore Norrington will be very pleased, I'm sure. I would be very pleased if the sword was accidentally lodged in his ringlets, but we can't always have what we want can we. Do pass my compliments on to your master.

And there it is.

THERE'S THE PUT DOWN.

That BASTARD.

'My MASTER'?! My fricking 'MASTER'?! He must know Mr Brown does nothing but drink all day? He thinks the donkey is his wife half the time, how the bloody hell could he produce something as astoundingly astonishing as THAT sword?

If Mr Brown had DONE it, he would have BLOODY BROUGHT IT UP HERE.

Moved away from the subtle sneezing now, have we Governor and we're RIGHT in with the general comments.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

ME: I shall. A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated. Yeah. YEAH. A craftsman. Not a WEED.

Oh good Lord. Oh god. Its here. She's here. She's never actually looked more beautiful. That dress – seriously – seriously do they make clothes, just for her? Do they employ fairies, or something to make her clothes? She's a goddess. A GODDESS.

And the sweating has returned. And my legs won't stop shaking.

I'm going to collapse. I'm going to collapse and she's going to stand on my face and that's the closest I'm ever going to get to her.

GOVERNOR SWANN: Elizabeth! You look STUNNING. She does. I'd have to agree.

I could just stand here and watch her all day. She glides, she doesn't walk. She's like some princess of wonder.

Why is she looking at me?

Oh god.

What's happened?

Please say I didn't forget to shave a bit of my goatee off this morning.

Is it the tights?

Oh it's the tights. It has to be. And the buckles. Women don't like buckles, why do I never learn –

GODDESS (ELIZABETH): Will! WHAT?! It's so good to see you! WHAT?!

ELIZABETH: I had a dream about you last night.

I hope she knows she's not only made my day and my life, but my entire existence.

ME: About me, Miss Swann? I have to check. She must be kidding. Governor Swann must've put her up to this.

GOVERNOR SWANN: Elizabeth, I hardly think…

Or not!

ELIZABETH: Yes, about the day we met, do you remember?

Do I remember? DO I REMEMBER? I act it out every single day. Molly, our donkey, has to act as Elizabeth, but it usually works out quite well. NOT that I think Elizabeth is a mule, of course, no – but Molly is more physically astute than Mr Brown. Oh that day. Her face. Her shining face of sunlit radiance brought by angel kisses.

ME: How could I forget Miss Swann.

ELIZABETH: Will, how many times must I ask you to call me 'Elizabeth'?

I would actually willingly sacrifice my soul for such an opportunity. I would cut off my own foot and serve it as an appetizer to James Norrington.

But judging by the look Mr Swann is giving me that is not going to be an option.

Well perhaps he would agree to the whole foot thing. He'd probably ask for the other one.

ME: Once more, Miss Swann, as always.

I am a pathetic, weak-minded fool.

GOVERNOR SWANN: There, see at least the boy has a sense of propriety. Oh SHUT up. Feeling the dust today, Mr Swann?

GOVERNOR SWANN: Now, we really must be going –

Oh. Oh she's stopped smiling. She doesn't look terribly impressed. She thinks I'm a weed. I agree. I am. I can't even stand up to a glorified poodle.

ELIZABETH: Good day, Mr Turner.

That was slightly harsh, I feel. Especially to someone like me with an evident backbone deficiency.

Quick! Follow her! Declare your love! Run away with her!

Or just stand there.

Yes. Just stand there. Suave, Will, suave.

ME: Good day…. Elizabeth.

Just shoot me now.