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And furthermore: Wow. You guys are AWESOME. I absolutely LOVE YOU.
*Chapter One*
Lilian Turner was bored out of her mind. The HMS Lariat was a lovely sailing vessel, and that was a fact that did not go unacknowledged by the young woman in the first class cabin, but she was hardly in a position to appreciate the ship as it deserved, for she remained below deck most of the time in a sort of self-imposed sequestering.
It was, in fact, only self-imposed at the surface. For the first three or four days of the voyage, Lilian had tried to involve herself in deck life, but she had found it as unbearable as any society gathering back in London. In addition to the captain, a blustering, painfully proper man who obviously resented having his ship used to ferry passengers, no matter how important they might be (and Lilian was certainly not considered important. She was only half-aristocratic, and a woman to boot, and while the captain himself was certainly far to civilized to allow such superstitions to take root, she made his crew nervous.)
She did make the crew nervous, actually, but that was more due to the influence of several young, new officers of Her Majesty's Navy traveling to their first employ in the Caribbean. Every time she even came close to conversing with a nervous crewmember, she was gently escorted away and the crewmember was chastised. Lilian, obviously the guilty party, and acutely aware of the injustice, retreated to her room, cursing officers in general and her's in particular. Her hopes of escape from society's propriety had been overly optimistic, she realized unhappily.
Officers, she decided, were like aristocrats in disguise. With morals. And uniforms. And a very disgusting power-to-intelligence ratio.
Two weeks into her voyage, she knew that her parents had already sailed from England and she could feel the change in the air--heat, humidity-that came with the Caribbean waters. Conscious that she was missing all the fun of ship life, of the stale air and the boredom and the gradually growing heat, Lilian sighed and stewed and sulked and waited to arrive at Port Royal.
"You oughtn't to skip dinner again, Miss," her maid told her. "And you'll want to start dressing now if you're to be ready."
Oh, dear, no. It would be terribly impolite to relinquish the captain's horrible, decadent food and miserable company, not for the third time in a week. Lilian was lounging on her narrow bead, sleepy in the unfamiliar warm weather and sort of half-reading a novel. She frowned at the girl.
"...and after all the favors your father called in to book you passage," she continued, ignoring her mistress's glare.
"Alright, alright. I rather doubt it will take me an hour and a half to dress for dinner, but I'll get no peace from you if I don't, will I?" Lazily, Lilian dog-eared her page, rose, and stretched, and began to dress.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, miss, if I was bothering you..." the maid said and continued to apologize without any attempt to sound sincere for some minutes before Lilian managed, also without any attempt of earnestness, that she was forgiven. It was typical of their relationship. Lilian despised the girl...(what was her name? Rosie? Daisy? something prissy and insufferable like that) and her maid returned the favor at least threefold.
In addition to her overstated pseudo-servile frame of mind, Rosie-Daisy was absolutely unmerciful when it came to corsets. Lilian had been right--she found herself washed and dressed, powdered and perfumed, and laced into iron and whalebone designed to break her lower ribs if she tried to sit too quickly with at least forty-five minutes to spare before the first guests would appear at the captain's table.
The maid apparently took no notice of this, and sat in a corner, demurely embroidering a handkerchief as Lilian, trying not to wince and show weakness in the face of the enemy, lowered herself carefully onto the bed, returning to her book in a far less comfortable state than she had previously enjoyed.
"Wretched little servile...sniff, sniff," Lilian muttered viciously at the maid.
"I'm sorry?" the girl asked in a sugary-sweet voice.
"I said-" Lilian, disgusting herself, took refuge in aristocracy. "That there are cobwebs in the corner."
"Of course, Miss. I'll dust this evening." The maid nodded. "I'm afraid you might wrinkle your skirts if you lie there, Miss."
She laces me into this torture device, and she wants me to stand for the next hour? Lilian thought disgustedly, but her righteous indignation soon faded into simple weariness and she chose not to fuel the fire.
The slothly state that the miserable voyage had forced her into, combined with the heat and humidity of the air and the fact that there wasn't enough of it reaching her lungs quickly overcame her; she kicked off her boots and was dozing almost immediately.
She awoke, abruptly and unpleasantly to the thunder of cannons. The first boom was followed by a splash; the second by an enormous crack. She felt the ship creak and shudder ominously underneath her.
The first was a warning shot, she thought dreamily, strangely unworried. And then they've probably hit the mainsail. Pirates.
Pirates had been a fascination in her youth, and had resurged with each younger sibling; all of them had grown up knowing of their parents' adventures. Slowly, with age, the adventures and their glory faded and Lilian, sleepy and uncomfortable, felt little excitement of the prospect of a pirate attack. It would mean a delay. Her parents would reach Port Royal before her and it would make the discomfort of this miserable trip pointless.
Her maid was screaming hysterically.
"Oh, shut up!" Lilian snapped crossly, wondering if the effort of getting up from the bed would be worthwhile to slap the girl. She decided it would not.
Her sleepy, dreamy state was fading as the shrieking reached full soprano, and she was starting to worry. They wouldn't destroy the ship; they would loot and ransack and perhaps ransom a few of the officers. Or kill them. That would be bad. Weary as she was of the fussy, foolish men, she didn't wish to see their blood spilled. Or her own, come to think of it. And there were worse things that could happen.
A few shots were fired and a few shouts sharply cut off. Lilian felt for the pistol under her mattress.
She checked. Shots and powder, all in order. She had just snapped the barrel closed when somebody kicked the door down.
"My, my," he said mildly. "They don't make hinges like they used to, do they? Oh, hello dearies."
Lilian's eyes widened and she finally stood.
She took aim.
He eyed the gun, affronted and confused, and turned to the wailing Rosie-Daisy. "She has a gun. Why do all the girls have guns these days?"
The maid's screams turned into a stream of semi-coherent babbling. "You don't want me...don't hurt me...SHE'S the ambassador's daughter...take her..."
"You little BITCH!" Lilian almost pointed the pistol at the traitorous cleaning staff, before realizing that the pirate in her cabin doorway was probably more important.
"Ambassador's daughter, hmm? And such language, too. That's...interesting."
He sauntered inside, ignoring the furious Lilian and her terrified servant, who was now whimpering.
"Not a step closer!" Lilian raised the pistol.
He tsked and took another swaggering step. "Pretty little girl like you wouldn't kill a man."
"Maybe not." She lowered the gun until it pointed at his thigh.
"Clever." Tiny little mincing zigzag step.
"Very clever indeed." Step.
"Clever, I'll grant you, and quite pretty, too...Just not." Step.
"Very." Step.
"Quick."
And suddenly, his hands were at her wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise and wrenching the gun away from her. Lilian found herself pressed hard against her bedpost, far too close to him, smelling sea and salt and whiskey. It was suddenly much more difficult to breathe.
Once again, he seemed to ignore her. "Haven't taken a hostage in quite some time," he said to himself. "Might be interesting. Indeed. Profitable, perhaps...Yes!"
At this point, it was obvious that there would be no earnest young officers to come rescue her, and Lilian began to struggle and shout.
"Now, now, luv, don't do that," he said wearily. "Makes this all so much more difficult." He had a wrist in each hand, and Lilian was making no progress but tiring herself out.
With practiced skill, he juggled her wrists until he clamped both of them in one hand, and pressed the other, warm and calloused, against her mouth.
"Quiet now, savvy? You aren't exactly in a favorable position, darling, and you could make this easier on yourself and all concerned."
Lilian sank her fingers into his skin.
He wrenched his hand away. "Avast! She BITES!" he cried, dramatic, and examined his bleeding wound. "And well, too, it would seem. Had practice?"
Her last-ditch effort had not won her much except for a much more uncomfortable grip on her wrists. She wondered that he still hadn't hit her.
He leaned back to study this strange girl; so bold for an aristocrat. Her lips were slightly bloodied and her cheeks flushed with fury and fear. She held her tongue. She was well-dressed and rather well-figured too, and there was something about her face that seemed familiar.
Well, a lot of girl's faces seemed familiar, but rarely ones this obviously wealthy.
"Do I know you, luv?"
"Not exactly," she said.
He grinned golden. "Then allow me to introduce myself, my dear. I am Captain-"
"Jack Sparrow. I can tell that. My mother collects your wanted posters." Lilian's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be older?"
And furthermore: Wow. You guys are AWESOME. I absolutely LOVE YOU.
*Chapter One*
Lilian Turner was bored out of her mind. The HMS Lariat was a lovely sailing vessel, and that was a fact that did not go unacknowledged by the young woman in the first class cabin, but she was hardly in a position to appreciate the ship as it deserved, for she remained below deck most of the time in a sort of self-imposed sequestering.
It was, in fact, only self-imposed at the surface. For the first three or four days of the voyage, Lilian had tried to involve herself in deck life, but she had found it as unbearable as any society gathering back in London. In addition to the captain, a blustering, painfully proper man who obviously resented having his ship used to ferry passengers, no matter how important they might be (and Lilian was certainly not considered important. She was only half-aristocratic, and a woman to boot, and while the captain himself was certainly far to civilized to allow such superstitions to take root, she made his crew nervous.)
She did make the crew nervous, actually, but that was more due to the influence of several young, new officers of Her Majesty's Navy traveling to their first employ in the Caribbean. Every time she even came close to conversing with a nervous crewmember, she was gently escorted away and the crewmember was chastised. Lilian, obviously the guilty party, and acutely aware of the injustice, retreated to her room, cursing officers in general and her's in particular. Her hopes of escape from society's propriety had been overly optimistic, she realized unhappily.
Officers, she decided, were like aristocrats in disguise. With morals. And uniforms. And a very disgusting power-to-intelligence ratio.
Two weeks into her voyage, she knew that her parents had already sailed from England and she could feel the change in the air--heat, humidity-that came with the Caribbean waters. Conscious that she was missing all the fun of ship life, of the stale air and the boredom and the gradually growing heat, Lilian sighed and stewed and sulked and waited to arrive at Port Royal.
"You oughtn't to skip dinner again, Miss," her maid told her. "And you'll want to start dressing now if you're to be ready."
Oh, dear, no. It would be terribly impolite to relinquish the captain's horrible, decadent food and miserable company, not for the third time in a week. Lilian was lounging on her narrow bead, sleepy in the unfamiliar warm weather and sort of half-reading a novel. She frowned at the girl.
"...and after all the favors your father called in to book you passage," she continued, ignoring her mistress's glare.
"Alright, alright. I rather doubt it will take me an hour and a half to dress for dinner, but I'll get no peace from you if I don't, will I?" Lazily, Lilian dog-eared her page, rose, and stretched, and began to dress.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, miss, if I was bothering you..." the maid said and continued to apologize without any attempt to sound sincere for some minutes before Lilian managed, also without any attempt of earnestness, that she was forgiven. It was typical of their relationship. Lilian despised the girl...(what was her name? Rosie? Daisy? something prissy and insufferable like that) and her maid returned the favor at least threefold.
In addition to her overstated pseudo-servile frame of mind, Rosie-Daisy was absolutely unmerciful when it came to corsets. Lilian had been right--she found herself washed and dressed, powdered and perfumed, and laced into iron and whalebone designed to break her lower ribs if she tried to sit too quickly with at least forty-five minutes to spare before the first guests would appear at the captain's table.
The maid apparently took no notice of this, and sat in a corner, demurely embroidering a handkerchief as Lilian, trying not to wince and show weakness in the face of the enemy, lowered herself carefully onto the bed, returning to her book in a far less comfortable state than she had previously enjoyed.
"Wretched little servile...sniff, sniff," Lilian muttered viciously at the maid.
"I'm sorry?" the girl asked in a sugary-sweet voice.
"I said-" Lilian, disgusting herself, took refuge in aristocracy. "That there are cobwebs in the corner."
"Of course, Miss. I'll dust this evening." The maid nodded. "I'm afraid you might wrinkle your skirts if you lie there, Miss."
She laces me into this torture device, and she wants me to stand for the next hour? Lilian thought disgustedly, but her righteous indignation soon faded into simple weariness and she chose not to fuel the fire.
The slothly state that the miserable voyage had forced her into, combined with the heat and humidity of the air and the fact that there wasn't enough of it reaching her lungs quickly overcame her; she kicked off her boots and was dozing almost immediately.
She awoke, abruptly and unpleasantly to the thunder of cannons. The first boom was followed by a splash; the second by an enormous crack. She felt the ship creak and shudder ominously underneath her.
The first was a warning shot, she thought dreamily, strangely unworried. And then they've probably hit the mainsail. Pirates.
Pirates had been a fascination in her youth, and had resurged with each younger sibling; all of them had grown up knowing of their parents' adventures. Slowly, with age, the adventures and their glory faded and Lilian, sleepy and uncomfortable, felt little excitement of the prospect of a pirate attack. It would mean a delay. Her parents would reach Port Royal before her and it would make the discomfort of this miserable trip pointless.
Her maid was screaming hysterically.
"Oh, shut up!" Lilian snapped crossly, wondering if the effort of getting up from the bed would be worthwhile to slap the girl. She decided it would not.
Her sleepy, dreamy state was fading as the shrieking reached full soprano, and she was starting to worry. They wouldn't destroy the ship; they would loot and ransack and perhaps ransom a few of the officers. Or kill them. That would be bad. Weary as she was of the fussy, foolish men, she didn't wish to see their blood spilled. Or her own, come to think of it. And there were worse things that could happen.
A few shots were fired and a few shouts sharply cut off. Lilian felt for the pistol under her mattress.
She checked. Shots and powder, all in order. She had just snapped the barrel closed when somebody kicked the door down.
"My, my," he said mildly. "They don't make hinges like they used to, do they? Oh, hello dearies."
Lilian's eyes widened and she finally stood.
She took aim.
He eyed the gun, affronted and confused, and turned to the wailing Rosie-Daisy. "She has a gun. Why do all the girls have guns these days?"
The maid's screams turned into a stream of semi-coherent babbling. "You don't want me...don't hurt me...SHE'S the ambassador's daughter...take her..."
"You little BITCH!" Lilian almost pointed the pistol at the traitorous cleaning staff, before realizing that the pirate in her cabin doorway was probably more important.
"Ambassador's daughter, hmm? And such language, too. That's...interesting."
He sauntered inside, ignoring the furious Lilian and her terrified servant, who was now whimpering.
"Not a step closer!" Lilian raised the pistol.
He tsked and took another swaggering step. "Pretty little girl like you wouldn't kill a man."
"Maybe not." She lowered the gun until it pointed at his thigh.
"Clever." Tiny little mincing zigzag step.
"Very clever indeed." Step.
"Clever, I'll grant you, and quite pretty, too...Just not." Step.
"Very." Step.
"Quick."
And suddenly, his hands were at her wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise and wrenching the gun away from her. Lilian found herself pressed hard against her bedpost, far too close to him, smelling sea and salt and whiskey. It was suddenly much more difficult to breathe.
Once again, he seemed to ignore her. "Haven't taken a hostage in quite some time," he said to himself. "Might be interesting. Indeed. Profitable, perhaps...Yes!"
At this point, it was obvious that there would be no earnest young officers to come rescue her, and Lilian began to struggle and shout.
"Now, now, luv, don't do that," he said wearily. "Makes this all so much more difficult." He had a wrist in each hand, and Lilian was making no progress but tiring herself out.
With practiced skill, he juggled her wrists until he clamped both of them in one hand, and pressed the other, warm and calloused, against her mouth.
"Quiet now, savvy? You aren't exactly in a favorable position, darling, and you could make this easier on yourself and all concerned."
Lilian sank her fingers into his skin.
He wrenched his hand away. "Avast! She BITES!" he cried, dramatic, and examined his bleeding wound. "And well, too, it would seem. Had practice?"
Her last-ditch effort had not won her much except for a much more uncomfortable grip on her wrists. She wondered that he still hadn't hit her.
He leaned back to study this strange girl; so bold for an aristocrat. Her lips were slightly bloodied and her cheeks flushed with fury and fear. She held her tongue. She was well-dressed and rather well-figured too, and there was something about her face that seemed familiar.
Well, a lot of girl's faces seemed familiar, but rarely ones this obviously wealthy.
"Do I know you, luv?"
"Not exactly," she said.
He grinned golden. "Then allow me to introduce myself, my dear. I am Captain-"
"Jack Sparrow. I can tell that. My mother collects your wanted posters." Lilian's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be older?"