Well met was a chance encounter between the Flying Dutchman and the Empress. And their captains would make the most of it.
The light from myriad lanterns and candles flicker in the captain's cabin, gleaming off the old wooden floor, casting a warm, golden glow around the room. A large space has been cleared, the chairs moved to one side, his navigation table pushed up against the far wall.
Will stands in the middle of his quarters, patiently waiting for his wife to appear. He is dressed in dark breeches and a white lawn shirt, his hair free of its confining bandana. He idly watches as the latest member of his crew, a musician who actually knows how to play the massive thing, takes his seat at the organ. The first strains of music are soaring into the air when Elizabeth enters the cabin.
She's dressed in a fine gown, one he'd salvaged from a shipwreck, in part because it reminded him so much of what she used to wear in Port Royal. Her hair is casually pinned up, a few curls lying against her shoulder. Effortlessly elegant, she takes his breath away; she always will, he thinks.
Will hurries to her side. With a flirtatious little smile, and a coy tilt of her head, Elizabeth offers him her hand. He performs the respectful bow of the old days as he raises her fingers to his lips. The warm caress against her knuckles has her dropping into a deep, graceful curtsey. When she rises, he pulls her into his arms.
And the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and the Pirate King, their eyes only for each other, begin to dance.
