Chapter Three: Soap

Will's arm fell to his side, blood staining his shirt, but not that it wasn't stained already. There was paint on practically every inch of his body. He looked down at the girl he was fighting, unconscious on the floor.

It was only then that he noticed how young she looked. She couldn't be more than twenty… why had he fought her so hard? But then he reminded himself... she had fought back. He dropped his sword and knelt down beside her. A bruise was forming over her eye. He gently tucked some of her brown hair highlighted with red and gold behind her ear.

Wait… highlighted with red and gold?

Big chunks of it were highlighted. Hair wasn't colored like that. Normal hair wasn't colored like that. Good Lord… where was he?

Will then began to look at his surroundings. His thoughts had been confirmed… he couldn't tell anyone where he was if his life depended on it. There were paintings everywhere, so Will guessed that she must be an artist, but there was a few things that Will did not recognize. A small black box with a bunch of buttons all over it and a long silver wire sticking out of the top of it was sitting in a corner. An even smaller box with a long cylinder sticking out of the front of it was lying on the floor.

He looked back at the girl, wondering if she would be okay. He ran a finger over her bruise and looked to see if there were any others. His thoughts were interrupted, however, when the girl stirred, opening her eyes, finding Will's face just a few inches from hers.

Riley backed away in surprise.

"Are you all right?" Will asked gently.

"Yeah, I'm—I'm all right." She sat up, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head. Just as she was about to ask why the heck Will Turner was in her art studio she suddenly remembered that Will wouldn't know that he was in a movie.

"Who are you?" she said instead.

"My name is Will Turner," he said, smiling slightly.

"Riley Rosewell." She held out a hand, which he shook. When Riley removed her hand, it was stained with orange from the paint. She stared at it for a few moments before Will spoke.

"My hands normally aren't orange, Miss Rosewell."

She gave a small laugh, then glanced at his clothes, even under the red and orange, they still screamed 18th century.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked slowly.

"Er… well…" he glanced once more at her hair, "No. I'm from Port Royal, the year 1760—"

"Woah!" broke in Riley. "Well, this is New York City, America, and we're in the 2000's." she was just about to say something else when a drop of blood landed on her shirt. Will's nose was bleeding from where she had punched him. A tiny pang of guilt struck her.

"Here, let me help you with your nose, it's bleeding." She got up off the floor and beckoned for Will to follow her. There was a gigantic metal tub stained with flecks of paint from what looked to be years of it. But then again, maybe she did that on purpose just for that effect.

Riley turned on the faucet and Will gasped. She smiled. "It's called a sink. Now come here, let's get some of that paint off of you…" she took a rag and wet it, and began to dab his face with it. "Okay, now just put your hands under the water," she said.

Will looked at it.

"Don't worry, it won't bite," Riley said comfortingly, but trying to hide a laugh at the same time. Will hesitantly put his hands under the jet, which was warm. "Here, put your hands out," she said, holding out a bottle of soap. Will took his hands out from under the water, cupping them, and Riley squeezed some soap into them. "Okay, now rub it around… that's it…"

Will was amazed. The slippery stuff that she had put in his hands was now forming bubbles. He seized the bottle as Riley put it down, pouring more into his hands, fascinated by the bubbles. They smelled good, too. He blew on his hands, and some of the bubbles flew off.

Riley laughed. He looked like a kid in a candy store, even though he was a full grown man. She then began to wonder as Will took the bottle again why he had fallen from her ceiling. Why couldn't he have been Jack Sparrow? If he would have been Jack then she would have noticed him right away and not been so hard on him. She then began to wonder why Will had come here in the first place. He existed only in a movie, a fantasy that some writer had come up with. The closest anyone could come to Will Turner was Orlando Bloom, and for all Riley knew, he could have shaved off his facial hair by now.

"Okay, Will, I think your hands are clean now…Will, that's enough… WILL!" she yelled as he took the soap bottle for a fourth time.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, blushing a little. He put his hands under the jet and rinsed off the bubbles.

Riley gave Will a towel to dry off his hands, which he did. "Just throw it aside," she said as Will handed it to her. She then took some kleenexes and gave them to Will. "You have to stop that nosebleed," she said. "You may not know how to do this, so I'll do it for you." Will nodded.

She put it over his nose and pinched the middle of it, then pushed up. "Okay, now bend your head down and hold it right there," she said. Riley then glanced at his clothes. The only way that would come out is through the wash… or at least she hoped. That meant she had to get him home.

"Hey Will?" she asked. "Look, I know you probably don't have a place to stay, and not many people will believe that you are from the eighteenth century. So… do you want to stay with me?" she asked.

Will looked at her for a moment, considering this. Miss Rosewell was extremely nice, and if she did believe him… "Okay. Thanks," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

Riley smiled, then turned her gaze to look at her studio. It was covered in paint, but miraculously, none of her sketches had been hit with the flying jets of red and orange. Just the walls and the floor, and Will, of course. She sighed, then grabbed her keys. "Come on, let's get you home."

~*~

LOL! Will and liquid soap! Well, he's only seen BARS of soap before… Oh yeah, and the things that he saw when he was looking around was a radio/cd player and a camera. Review!!!