Rose Petals in a Bowl:

Dance of Mischief

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Everyone knows a tad bit of mischief will come to no harm; that a surprise or two will cause only laughter instead of vexation. At least this was my train of thought one instance…

Mischief, merely the word itself, jogs my memory to a time when Will and I were children: we would secretly sneak to the Bakery, in an attempt to filch sweets and all sorts of other delectable concoctions. Of course I believed that we never once got caught, and I prided myself on my cleverness. This was short-lived however, for after sneaking out for some time, upon returning home, Estrella would grab my hands, which happened to be dirtied with either crumbs or icing from whatever I had naughtily indulged myself in. Oh, how I learned never to be clever again! And I wasn't—I was obedient and I trained myself to control my 'spicy temper', so that after only several times of being caught, and subsequently, being punished for my wicked behaviour, I stopped sneaking about altogether.

I really haven't the faintest idea how Will got off so easily. It baffles me, and I believe he knew so, though he never cared to inform me how he managed to slip away after our escapades.

So, it was just when I was thinking of 'mischief'; the thought of that childhood event, with one eyebrow raised—my envy resurfacing at the fact that Will got off scot-free, when I realized that it had been years since I had committed something truly mischievous. And now, as a woman, I've no reason to be punished. So 'twas my logic.

I lay in bed as William readied himself for work, pretending to have my eyes closed out of sleepiness. I laugh to myself at the notion that he hasn't yet realized how closely I watch him of mornings.

He bid me farewell with a kiss, firm yet soft, to my cheek and muttered that he had a demanding day ahead of him. As he administered the kiss, I failed to resist in raising my hand, and I remember the soft feel of his untied dark locks.

When the sound of his boots upon the wooden floors faded and the door shut with a 'click', I dashed from the covers, and with a grin overplaying my features, for the mischievous story still swirled in my thoughts, I began to sift through our wardrobe.

Having none of those busywork errands to keep myself occupied whilst my husband toiled away, I decided upon something more entertaining, and certainly, more worthwhile, to spend my time in doing.

Passing over the horrid corsets with disgust, I came across a ruffled, sea-blue blouse, which was somewhat larger than my size, but would work splendidly to my cause.

I managed to scrounge up a pair of cropped black slacks, which I tightened with a belt, and topped off the ensemble with laced black boots.

As I approved of myself through the looking glass, a laugh I cried out, thinking of the reactions I would receive—Elizabeth Swann clad in men's attire!

With that in mind, I pulled my long tresses back into a braid, and decided I appeared un-ladylike enough to go out in public without the worry of being pestered.

Feeling particularly daring and with an air of exhilaration about me, I flounced out of doors into the steadily busying streets, and with my lashes cast down, so as to not draw attention to myself, I hurried onwards until my eyes met a sign which was engraved with 'Turner Blacksmith & Jeweller Co.'

I opened the door, which rang as I did so, but not before taking a sly look about my surroundings. My ears were immediately preyed to the sounds of drilling, welding and hammering, and I passed my hand over my eyes, wondering how these workmen could survive the sweltering heat.

On the very other side of the room, I found whom I had ventured for. There he was, standing at the counter, apparently doing some sort of paperwork. I slipped past the workers disregarded, keeping my back pressed against the wall, until I stopped just short of a few feet away from him. His back was towards me, but I was pleased, for that was my desired position.

I am not able to conceal my pride regarding his accomplishments—owning both a Blacksmith's and Jeweller's. Such eminence he now has as a result of his affluence.

I stepped quietly towards him; so close that I felt the warmth emanating from his body, but not close enough to touch him.

'Sir, have you a moment of free time?' I asked, biting back the grin and subsequent laugh that threatened to reveal me.

He muttered a phrase which was indiscernible, or perhaps I was concentrating far too much on his actions, before he turned round, and a look of pure shock lighted in his eyes as he gasped my name.

I am sure my eyes must have been dancing in merriment, for his look of astonishment disappeared into one that was taunting.

I focused solely on him; his dashing appearance nearly throwing me off track.

'What can I do for you, Mrs. Turner?'

I smiled, and reached forward to take his hand, eager to have his attentions.

'Because you know I've so much work to do'

I heard him softly mutter these words, but they were left unheeded as I swept my hand across my forehead, and replied,

'Please just come with me—I can't stand this unbearable heat'

I admit my words to be a ploy in order to steal him away (How, in the past, I would be scolded for such impishness)—regardless, the high temperature of the room was quite unpleasant; drops of perspiration shown themselves upon Will's forehead, and I could feel my blouse sticking to my back.

Will let out a sigh, muttering his protestations, which I paid no attention to, and thereupon led him through to the back door and into the shed of the shop, where finished weaponry were stored.

Ah; I turned heel towards him, relieved that we were finally left to ourselves, and he lifted the corner of his mouth into a smile.

'To what may I owe this encounter, Elizabeth?' he asked. The glint in his eyes made it clear that my surprise visit had piqued his interest.

Innocently, I lifted my eyes to meet his, and drew a little closer, and softly, I requested a dance.

He reached out to take my hands, and with a fanciful edge to his voice, murmured to me,

'Oh, so it is a dance you covet?'

Tiny sparks of mischief, which progressively grew into explosive sparks, ignited throughout my body, and with a click of my tongue against my teeth, I responded,

'At the point of a sword'

Will lifted his eyebrows in mystification, but recognition soon flooded over his countenance. How often we had parried in the years preceding our matrimony; all of Will's idea, of course, as a means to ensure that I was able to defend myself.

So, as a way to keep our liaison in fencing under wraps, we resourcefully deemed our training as "dance lessons."

I deftly drew a sword from its sheath round my waist; a sword Will had personally fashioned for my use.

Satisfaction filled me as a playful spark flickered through his eyes, and he drew his own blade.

'I've been looking forward to our dance again, Mrs. Turner' he murmured as we leisurely circled, he keeping his eyes locked with mine.

I felt the blood course excitedly through my veins—oh, if he was aware of his own seductive powers…!

With a flash of daring, I made the first move, swinging my arm delicately; a blow which Mr. Turner met with equal grace and agility.

And so our dance began: circling, circling; the excitement continuing to build up inside of me to the point of exhaustion as our blades clashed together. The dance was mesmerizing—through our years of training, my body had adapted to the strenuous movements, and now my muscles had grown accustomed to the extra exertion.

With our heavily panting breath, and perspiration practically drenching our skin, we slowed, and I relaxed, letting down my guard as Will lowered his sword.

He licked his lips and stepping closer, he praised,

'With what grace you perform the dance, my dear'

I looked up at him; one hand resting on my hip, the other still holding the sword at mid-level and my breath released in gasps, when, of a sudden, I felt myself tilt backwards, and no sooner, I had fallen back into a pile of dirt and hay.

I gasped, open-mouthed, back up at him; he had his sword pointed at me, and to top off the act, a malicious smile charming his features.

'I won', he said simply, sheathing his sword—a regrettable move.

'You did not, you cheat', I exclaimed in indignation as I scrambled to my feet, unwillingly to have been unfairly defeated.

'Well, how might we settle this, then?' he asked. I was partially annoyed at the fact that his enjoyment at this was great—his eyes were completely giving him away.

Feeling mischievous once again, I sauntered over to him, and placing my hands upon his chest, I whispered, 'Perhaps by admitting that you're wrong'

With a forceful shove, I landed him on his back, which emitted a cloud of dust swirling into the air.

He gave me a bit of a cross look, but the devilish smile could not be kept hidden.

I smiled back—one of deep gratification—as I brushed the dirt (or at least, endeavored to do so) from my face and dusted my hands on my breeches.

A tad tentatively, I reached out my hand for Will to take, which he did, and we both stood, facing each other—both looking, as a matter of fact, like naughty children who had been tousling in a game of snap.

'So, Mr. Turner', I said, smiling at my cleverness as I did when I was a little girl. 'Are we square?'

He seemed to ponder for a moment, and then drew me close, so that I felt his breath against mine, and the little sparks began to go off again.

'We're square' he murmured, as my heart was hopefully racing, when he abruptly pulled away and began cleaning the dust from his face with a handkerchief.

Oh, how I just wanted to scream in vexation! Of all the things that man does to me…

I called out his name in ire as he approached the door, and he glanced back at me, his dark eyes piercing through mine.

'As I said, I've work to finish, so you'd better get home before I change my mind '

I cocked an eyebrow, still irritated. Without another word, he walked out, back into the shop, leaving me standing alone in the shed.

Utterly filled with aggravation, I too went to the door and into the shop; not bothering to catch his eye as I walked past him and the remaining workers, and entered the streets. I was surprised that it was already late into the afternoon.

Mischief, indeed' I was thinking angrily—mostly angry that my husband was better at my own game than I was. 'Just like when we were children' was my added thought.

I must not have noticed where I was going, for before I knew it, I had already reached the house, and with a tired sigh, opened the door, to which I was most viciously assaulted!

The attack upon my lips by whose lips I knew so well was most fervent, as was the foray against my rib cage as a pair of deft, blacksmith hands weaved themselves in caressing movements.

As I pushed away from him—that wicked blacksmith, looking so roguish at that moment—I was desperately clutching my hands to my abdomen in my fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Noticing my physical appearance in the mirror which hangs by the fireplace, my mirth only increased—dirt was smudged all over my face; it was covering my arms and hands—oh, what an absolute mess I looked!

But that blacksmith, my mischief-maker in crime, gathered me in his arms, and whispered words I'll not forget,

'Missie, you're very clever at mischief, but you can't beat a pirate'

I was immediately transported back to when Will and I were children, during the time of our sweet-filching, and during the time when we were playing pirates. It was those exact words said then, that he said now.

'Oh, Will', I breathed, completely touched, and as we shared a kiss, I thinking him the most handsome man in the world despite the dirt—it was only us two, alive in our dance of mischief.

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A/N: This will be my last update for a while since school is starting. From now on, I'll be posting on weekends only, if that.