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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 4, 2007 21:32:53 GMT -5
"Stop it. Please..."
The growl of Mrs. Elizabeth Turner was like that of a vexed tigress, soft but dangerous against the usual serenity of the evening. It purred unheard by the other occupants of the galley who were far too busy dreaming of rum, women, and song to pay an ear to the voice. It wasn't even directed towards any of these men lost in their snores. Instead, it was inflicted upon a curious object - a black, iron chest that was held by the woman's slender palms as she lounged within one of the hammocks. Lounged? She didn't look at all lazy with content or sleep as lounging often suggested. Instead, her face exposed an expression of irritation. Her brows were furrowed and her lips formed a frown, eyes stern upon the metal box as though she was in the midst of a rather frustrating argument with it. In a way, she was. But it answered not to whatever plees or complaints were uttered from her scowling mouth. It simply remained a simple object in her hands, mocking her with the once-lulling heartbeat of the man she was beginning to miss more and more.
Ten years. Ten years wasn't that long, was it? Apparently, it could go on a lot longer than she had expected. No. She had expected this. But she hadn't expected it to hurt so badly. The beat of the chest's contents was always there for her at night, reminding her of the man she wouldn't be able to hold for what seemed to be an eternity. Even the Pirate King missed the warmth of arms around her at the tender brush of kisses along her neck. Now, she simply felt lonely, holding the box and glaring at its lock as though it was William Turner it held beyond it, not just his heart. Surrendering victory to the Dead Man's Chest, the young woman sighed and stood, placing the chest in the indent her body had created in the hammock. It sat there, snug and innocent while the sullun music of the heart could still be heard... but only to Elizabeth's ears so sensitive to such a sound.
She looked so tousled and disgruntled, golden locks dishevled as they fell to her shoulders - still covered by the white cloth of the masculine blouse she sported in her venture. Sleeping in a room with a bunch of men dressed as a woman was never a comforting notion, even for Elizabeth who had drawn indifferent to the wandering eyes of men. Wandering eyes were one thing. Midnight ventures were another. There was a sudden yearning in her breast that desired the breath of the wind on her face. It was far more promising than the humidity of below decks, anyways. As she reached the stairs, she glared, almost childishly, upon her godforsaken box before meandering upwards to be greeted by a salty breeze. She couldn't even force a smile, however, as she wandered to the bow, where she stood at the railing and gazed into the blackness of the sea. The moon was half-full and high in the heavens, caressing the waves with slivers of moonlight that swayed with the tide. It was almost sublime. But Elizabeth was far too irritated to have her breath taken away by nature's beauty. Instead, she felt worse. Somewhere, in all that blackness, roamed her husband. In a different, macabre realm, of course... but still out there. And O how that thought made her teeth clench and her gaze harden as it wandered skywards. What she wouldn't give for some sleep. What she wouldn't give for her husband. Oh dear. This was all becomming far more difficult than she had thought.
{ Reserved for Wicked. <3 }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 4, 2007 22:18:22 GMT -5
At one time, the moonlight had been a thing of nightmares for Hector Barbossa. Under the curse of the Aztec Gold he had been nothing more than a rotting corpse under the luminous rays, a specter of a death he could not hope to succumb to. His body, his entire existence, had been reduced to macabre tortures. A numb condition, where feeling was absent and nothing but longing, desire, and hunger lurked. His lust for the sensations of life had all but driven him mad, and still he struggled to maintain himself when the moon shone down.
Barbossa was not a man who let fear creep into his mind. He was a pirate. A Lord of the sea. He was alive. More so now than ever before. It was an amazing feeling that he didn’t have too many free moments to really enjoy. His life had been ripped from him in the wake of his blind, yet completely justifiable by way of his lifestyle, greed. And in the moment it was restored he had been murdered. Dead. He had been dead. Yet life had somehow found him again and was restored to him in brilliant majesty. Yet he had not been the master of his existence, bound to the woman who had summoned him from the realm of the dead for her own purpose.
Now, however, his debt repaid and his life his own, he found himself longing for the excitement of danger and experience. If anyone understood the true depth of importance that thriving in the intense world of sensations, taking everything the world had to offer for what it was and absorbing every single moment without wasting a drop, it was Barbossa. He wanted danger. He wanted thrill. He wanted pain. He wanted everything. He could not get enough.
Standing on the deck of his ship, he stared up at the moon in challenge. His sword was in his hand, his other flexing in and out of a tight fist. His breath came heavily, an even pant after physical exertion. The air was crisp and burned his throat, only making him breathe deeper. His forehead was beaded with sweat, despite his having removed his heavy over coat to stand in the silky white of much lighter fabric. He closed his eyes, the spray of the sea as it came off the sides of the hull, carried by the wind, washing over his now almost serene face. He stood like that for a long time, his stringy hair moving with the slanting breezes.
All at once he was in motion, his sword cutting through the thick, misty air. He stabbed and slashed, parried and cut upwards. He moved with a grace unbefitting his bear like build, his arms and legs working with the steady rock of the boat without him having to give it any conscious thought. He was a part of the ship, a part of the waves. The sea. It was nothing but a way to blow off steam. He was not training, or perfecting his sword fighting technique. He was seizing the time he had alone to do something to relax. Even Captain Barbossa succumbed to stress.
He did not notice as another troubled soul came out to find comfort in the night air.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 4, 2007 23:06:30 GMT -5
The wind was usually refreashing when it coiled its fingers in your hair and swept sweet kisses along your cheek. But now, as it shuffled through the tousled blonde, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself in an embrace that was her weak attempt at reassuring her anxious spirit. Her eyes closed and her jaw was clenched as she tried to numb herself against the breeze with thick thought. Ah, but thoughts were far more dangerous than the elements. They could devour a man from the inside out. They could be parasites - leeches - lusting after misery and lonliness. So, to keep herself anchored to reality, she opened her brown eyes and forced them to glare into the vast, black ocean touched with hints of glowing moonbeams. Perhaps if she stared hard enough, the Flying Dutchman would emerge and offer its Captain to her. Such thoughts were so childish and hopless it wasn't even amusing. She even openly scoffed at the idea, placing a hand on the rail and turning so as not to look at the sea that was mocking her just as the Dead Man's Chest had. Oh yes. Everything was out to pour salt in her wounds. At least, that's what she felt in that ruffled, lonesome mood.
As she turned, the Pirate King spied something she hadn't before. The swish of steel hissed and whispered to her as she stood in awe of her discovery. Her face revealed no expression of surprise or interest. In fact, it was calm... perhaps with a hint of familarity lingering in the brown of her eyes. For before her was Captain Hector Barbossa, alone and slicing at invisible troubles that only he knew. She stood in stillness and silence for a long moment, simply watching him. It was almost comforting, this smoothness with which the Captain moved and slashed with. She noted that he was without his captain's coat that evening, revealing more of his slender form than Elizabeth was custom to seeing. It made him more human, this state of raw frustration with coat thrown off and sweat beading his brow. Always he was the tall, proud Captain of the Black Pearl. But now? Oh yes, he was still the very same... but with a touch of reality in him now. He wasn't majestic and godly. No. He was now primal but elegent, a combination that Elizabeth was sure he was possibly the only to master. It seemed that even Barbossa could be victim to the mind - his own, of course - but still as real and able to be troubled. Elizabeth was actually reluctant to disturb him.
"Couldn't sleep, Captain?" Her voice was soft, almost tender as it addressed the pirate she now approached. She stood within fair distance, not in fear, but in respect. Aye, that was it. Her own spirit was so suffocated with conflict and lonliness that she didn't care that she appeared serene and distant - that her eyes were nearly doeful and her lips offered him neither smirk nor sneer. Perhaps she looked pathetic, with face pale in her troubled state and hair hopelessly dishevled. But it was in this moment of moonlight and thoughts that Elizabeth didn't care if the Pearl's Captain found her weak or helpless. Her pride would surely think otherwise if coaxed from its corners in her mind, but at that clean, open moment... she was as real as she had ever been in front of Barbossa. A connection betwixt troubles souls lingered there and she felt it, subtle though it was. It pained her to disturb him, to wake him from his thoughts. But the rocking of the ship could only do so much for a soul lost in her own solitude.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 4, 2007 23:42:25 GMT -5
Barbossa did not stop abruptly at the sound of Elizabeth’s voice. He jerked, surprised, but smoothed over it by completely the arch of his swing. He brought his arms to his side, taking a breath before looking towards the woman. He nodded at her, a short hello, before thinking seriously about her question. It wasn’t that he could not sleep. He hadn’t tried. His internal clock told him he had some hours left of energy, and he needed to expel it if he was to rest untroubled by the visions carried by the moonlight.
“I should be askin’ you that,” he said, by way of avoiding the question. He fixed his eyes, expressive and masked, on her form, absorbing the grim air she carried. He noted the way her body seemed frail, despite how sure he was of her physical strength. The look on her face, the emotion carried deep in her eyes, almost stirred his calloused heart, and he decided not to pick on her for it. She was in the same sort of metaphysical expedition as he was, lost and searching. He imagined her pain was deeper, not a memory but a constant, insurmountable reality. The wind picked up, carrying the cool ocean spray, and Barbossa closed his eyes once more. He spoke to her without looking at her, turning his face towards the moon and letting the rays cast white shadows behind his eyelids.
“Troubled, your majesty?” he said casually, seeming absorbed in his own little world, but actually very attentive. His every nerve ending was alive, his every sense tingling and sensitive. He felt he could hear the meaning beneath anything she said, or even smell a lie on her breath. It was the affect of the sea, the stillness of the night, and his sword fight with shadows.
(Sorry about the length. Getting a bit late... and I'm exhausted and SO making up excuses for simply writing... not a lot.)
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 5, 2007 0:07:40 GMT -5
He should be asking her that. And what would she have told him? The truth? Though the truth was something one had to use carefully when in the presence of pirates, Elizabeth felt no need to hide her sadness in the lack of William's company. It was really quite simple. She missed her husband. Was that so much to taunt or tease? But as the young woman watched the Captain through gentle eyes, she saw no impish gleam within his striking, blue stare. Ah, but Barbossa was never careless with his wit. It was there, always alive behind whatever demeanor he carried. She took note of the way he turned his face towards the moon, her wicked and stirring illumination casting shadows into his scarred features. Even now, he held himself with a pride and power that intrigued the lass. She admired it now, as she too reluctantly shifted her gaze to the half-moon above, bathing the black vessel in shafts of haphazard moonlight. So beautiful, and yet it still made her wonder of the man who saw not the moon, but the sun. Up is down, after all...
She shrugged to his question and crossed her arms about her chest, eyes still wandering the star-spangled heavens as though the answer lingered just beyond the moonlight. "I miss him," she replied, simply and calmly, allowing her eyes to still roam the stars in a certain sense of serenity. She felt no regret or weakness in sharing her hurt with the gruff pirate Captain. In fact, she felt calm and sure... as much as she was also neither of such characteristics. Sure, Barbossa could laugh at her or tease her of her heartache. And even if he did, Elizabeth felt nothing towards it. He had asked his question and she had given an answer. "And you, Barbossa?" She turned her eyes back upon him, still soft with the lonley air that clung like a ghost to her voice and her stare. "What brought you beneath the moonlight?"
{ Short & crappy. I'm sorry. x.x }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 5, 2007 0:26:42 GMT -5
He opened his eyes as she answered him, slightly surprised by her honesty. Three words were enough to bring him from his living day dream, despite the night time sky. Piercing blue, he found the brown of her eyes in the soft natural light, and focused on them, tilting his head slightly. It only made sense that she missed the man she so clearly loved. Barbossa recalled their battle on the maelstrom, and the nuptials amidst clashing swords. They had all thought it would be their last battle, and the two young lovers wanted to spend it together. United. It wasn’t lost on Barbossa that the sea had been unduly cruel to them, ripping him away from the land of the living, to ferry souls for ten years before he could see his wife again. Those ten years would be easier on him, who had a task and purpose. For Elizabeth, it would be ten years of torture.
Barbossa took a step towards her, his eyes flashing, catching the moon. He grinned at her question, holding up his hands to her. “Do you see these hands, Mrs. Turner?” he said her name delicately, without the weight of his usual malice, though; he would be hard pressed to rid himself of it entirely. He reached for her hand, taking it in his and pulling it free from the nest of arms she had created over her chest. He held it between them, the heat of his sword bearing hand pulsing against her soft skin. He stared directly into her eyes, his grin fierce yet enigmatic. He gave her a moment to try to understand his meaning, not expecting her to complete the job, “I am alive. It’s been a long, long time, lass. This moonlight, it be my curse for so long. Now I defy it. I fight it. But I be stronger for it, too.”
He released her hand, turning his back to her to look up at the moon directly, “we have a strange relationship, this mistress of the night and I.” He was still grinning, but his body drooped. He lowered his head, his expression fading. Suddenly tense, he moved to where he had thrown off his jacket and picked it up, dusting it off carefully. He felt he needed to get the attention away from his private thoughts, and looked back at her with that goal in mind.
“We’ll be finding him soon enough.”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 5, 2007 1:14:39 GMT -5
Elizabeth caught the way his eyes flashed with the moon and she noticed the grin that colored his features as he stepped closer. She even took to mind and heart the way he said her name, in a delicate manner that wasn't his usual growl. This was real, true conversation, not one of their spars of word and wit. It was different and yet, just what the woman needed. His hand found hers and simply held it in its warmth. She stared at their palms, her flesh soothed by the energy that naturally entwined in this gesture. She nodded, knowing what this meant. The last time he had held her hand, it had been in a grip fierce and cold, lacking the usual warmth of human contact. She remembered the eerie sensation of his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, lacking the familar feeling of skin against skin. But now, it had returned. It was there and she could feel it just with his grasp. Her eyes returned to his face as he spoke with something of passion in his voice. She thought of hearing it but once before, when he had claimed the helm with the exclamation, "Dying is the day worth living for!" Only now, he spoke not in a roar, but in a casual tone that still exposed this raw, beautiful passion. And still, she felt somesort of reassurance in the warmth of his hand.
The Pirate King simply watched the Pearl's Captain, feeling no need to speak as he acknowledged the moon with a slight change in his poise that Elizabeth noticed with observant eyes. His mind was truly a complicated one, filled with such thoughts as these. She felt her heartstrings stirr within her chest, touched by something she saw in Barbossa with that moment. This man's life was finally in his own control. He could live for himself and himself alone. It had taken all this time and finally, here he was, in some sort of majesty the pirate belle had yet to place. She lifted her hard stare from his back to the floor for a moment as he gathered his coat, as though she felt embaressed by thinking so deeply of him... when she had only just scratched the surface. She wasn't surprised by his returning the subject to her own and even managed another nod. "I know." And yet, she did not. But she sighed and tilted her head just so, forcing her eyes back to his of striking blue. "Perhaps I've always known that." She shrugged in nonchalance and moved towards the rail, which placed her hands upon and gazed into the horizon, which seemed to be swallowed in the shadows of the eve, only visible as the moonbeams grazed it slightly.
"It's just hard to sleep with the heart beating in my ear every night." It reminded her of him. Of his voice, his smell, his touch. Oh God. She paused, and turned around to lean her lowerback against the rail. At first, her expression was melancholy, but as her eyes shifted from the floor of the deck to the Captain's gaze, it changed. There something of a smile in her lips now, almost playful. He'd opened up to her in ways that she hadn't thought possible of Captain Barbossa. Perhaps he didn't know, but she did. And felt... honored... to have been so close into his thoughts as he had allowed her. It had reassured her in ways he probably didn't know, either. But there certainly was a reason behind the subtle confidence that was trying to burn in her troubled eyes."It's maddening."
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 5, 2007 11:24:17 GMT -5
Barbossa sighed, watching her but not moving closer. He was not particularly adept at nice conversation. He tended more towards violence, mockery and complete indifference when forced into situations that required understanding. Yet Elizabeth did not seem to warrant that kind of treatment tonight. He felt obligated to continue the peaceful attitude of their talk, almost thinking if he did not he would lose something profound. She was the only person who ventured to talk to him like anything other than a vicious pirate captain, and while he was perfectly happy without such nicety, he couldn’t help but want to see why other people liked friendly moments so much.
He stood close by, behind and to the side of her as she leaned on the rail. His keen eyes noted the way her silhouette was in profile to the horizon, unmistakable for the pirate lord to discern, even in the deadest of nights. The soft moonlight reflecting on the water played on her face, the serenity of the whole scene affecting him in a way he could not rightly justify or name. Sighing slightly, he sauntered closer, leaning on the rail beside her. There was a comfortable space between them, which Barbossa closed momentarily to drape his large, heavy black coat around her small shoulders. He couldn’t shake the image of frailty in those shoulders, carried through her body. It was her sorrow, he thought, tricking his eye. Still, he did not miss the shiver in her body and assumed she, wrapped in her thoughts, hadn’t noticed. A pirate of times gone by, he had not forgotten the simple art of chivalry.
Returning to his position a foot or so down the rail from her, he looked up at the stars and nodded as she turned her back to the rail, “Aye. That heart, it must beat in your ears even now, when you’re so far distant of it,” he looked at her from the corner of his eye, turning his head ever so slightly, “but ye cannot forget why it beats. For you, Mrs. Turner. It be a burden, true enough, but one you will bear. Nights like these will be frequent, painful, but I think you know the worth is just. Mister Turner got thrown a heavy blow, but I’ve no doubt he’ll be true to his duties. You, young Elizabeth, must be true to yours.”
He lapsed into silence, finding his words all but used up as far as being caring and understanding went. He felt the emotions, foreign and strained, but could not express them with any greater articulation than that for the moment. The Pirate Captain, his face impassive despite the depth of his eyes, continued to stare out into the water.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 5, 2007 22:45:34 GMT -5
It had been a certain warmth that had glided into her body as Captain Barbossa placed his coat along her shoulders. Though her chill was nothing of the wind's doing, the presence of the elegant garment was just as comforting if it had been so. Her fingers held it close and her eyes were distant in thought. The fearsome, cunning Pirate Lord had surprised her with this subtle act, caressing her sad heartstrings with a warmth she had not expected. Though he often masked his devious intentions with a gentlman's air, now he was true in his chivalry... and it almost encouraged tears from her eyes. This was all so much. Here she was, whining away like a lovesick pup and he had reacted with a sensitivity that Elizabeth had never known him to possess. He was still a Captain of sure infamy, true enough. But it was this simple moment that reminded the woman of his humanity... of his heart, as black as it was claimed to be.
She lost her gaze in the stars as he spoke, almost wishing it could swallow her up and take her away from it all. Almost. She had the Captain to thank for tugging her back to the cruel world of reality. His tone was so gentle, so tender, that her chest ached. She even closed her eyes and held his coat closer against her, her senses dulled with thought but very much alive as she was entangled in his words. She felt the numbed sensation of wind against her forehead and cheeks. She smelt the salt of the sea and the subtle scent of him that came with the close presence of his garment. It wasn't the foul odor pirates often wore. No, it was nothing like that. It was no real, actual smell. And yet, it was. Every human was born with a significant scent in their skin, one that thrilled the senses when it was noticed. To Elizabeth Turner, it was a strange reassurance, and it went well with the grizzled purr of his voice in her ear.
At last, she opened her eyes and turned them slowly upon the Pirate Lord, now so sentimental that she was almost at a lost for words. In fact, her voice was hard to conjour from her throat as she finally addressed him. "You're right." It was more an observation than a statment, for she looked upon him with those dark, doeful eyes alit with the touch of the moon. Her voice was calm yet obvious in its attempt to keep calm and smooth. Bloody emotions. Bloody misery. And yet.. even as she felt suffocated... she felt free. Her heart, though heavy, was releasing its bonds, nearly light in her serenity.
Her gaze dropped to the rail where one of her hands had placed itself, fingers curling along the black wood. In that moment, she thought of Will, fufilling his duty to the Dutchman and roaming the realm of the dead. As she had vocally observed, Barbossa was correct - she was to be true to her duty as Will was to his. She would guard the Dead Man's Chest despite her hatred of it as it mocked her in nightfall. She hated sleeping with it tucked under her arm or near her head, for when she woke, she often mistook the heartbeat as one that dwelt behind flesh... not metal. She would find the little iron box as her company instead of the man to whom the lulling beat belonged to, and would grow somber and shaken with this constant realization. This had all simply been too much. First her father, then Norrington, and now William. She was alone. And yet... was she?
The Pirate King allowed her stare to shift from her hand to the pirate captain before her, eyes strong as they met with his, so blue but lacking eerieness in that moment. A small smile formed just slight in her lips, so dainty but true as it pulled subtle at the corners of her mouth. Miserable as she was, she found herself in a kind of peace as she gazed upon him. "Thank you." And then she hugged him. Aye. Hugged. She wrapped lithesome arms around his middle and cared not for the consequences that would follow this act of foolishness; this act of weakness. It was the simple human contact that she needed now and even if he ripped her away in new fury, she wouldn't mind. He had done enough simply by being there that night.
{ Woah. I kinda got dramatic and overthought this post out. I came back from another viewing of Pirates feeling all... weird. I guess this is a product of such weirdness. o.o Feel free to scold me for her sudden 'need for human contact'. She's just overwhelmed. xP }
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 6, 2007 0:24:28 GMT -5
For a moment, Barbossa had no idea what to do with himself. He had been absorbing the night air, letting it breathe through the thin silk of his shirt. He heard her tell him he was right, and he agreed with her. He hadn’t imagined letting his guard guy would end up with her stepping towards him. With her closing that comfortable gap. With her saying words he rarely, if ever, heard without some sort of sarcasm attached. With her putting her arms around him, drawing her body to his in a simple, honest expression of gratitude. He was unfamiliar with contact, particularly such intimate, friendly hugging.
He felt more than stiff, his limps jerking and awkward. He stood for a moment, letting her cling him. Then he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back slightly and holding her at arms length. He didn’t force her to let him go, just easing her back just enough for him to look into her face and examine her eyes. He kept his face impassive, steeled as always. The depth of the sorrow in her eyes was not surprising. In fact, even the hug seemed right, as if he had a moment of warning to let him expect it. The sincerity of her gratitude was what truly took him aback, making him wonder just what he did.
Barbossa was formidable in the art of conversation. He was talented with words, bending them to his will like a God wielding the natural forces of the world like play things. His cunning mind, sharp wit, and vicious nature all led him easily through discussions of any type. He wasn’t the most articulate or educated, but his experience more than made up for it. And his natural charm helped, though, it was not what most people defined in the classic sense of the term.
It worked for him, anyway.
As far as that talent carried him, he often found his clever vocabulary was barbed and met with anger more than anything else. He hadn’t realized it in the moment, but speaking with Elizabeth had brought out an honesty from somewhere he had previously thought locked off. He did not forget himself, constantly aware of his reputation and his pride, yet he spoke to her as he had never spoken to anyone before. Or rather, as he had never noticed speaking to anyone before. Retrospect hit him, and he thought back on moments in his life where he had used his almost lyrical prowess without a vicious ulterior motive.
Drawing a deep breath, he took a step back from her and nodded slightly, arching his eyebrows with a slightly teasing air.
“Be careful now, you’ll get me crew to thinkin’ I’m a puppy or something.”
(I was trying my best to do something... but I failed. Sorry. XD)
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 6, 2007 0:58:33 GMT -5
In the brief moment of contact, she had leaned her head against his chest, drawn by the warmth... but also by something else. Beyond his flesh lurked the thumping of a heartbeat; a different rhythm that had nearly encouraged her to cling closer to him. Though the hug was brief, it had been enough for Mrs. Turner and she did not resist when he eased her backwards. In fact, she felt embarrassed. Her mind seemed clearer now, as though the one-sided embrace had chased the nonsense aside. A blush colored her cheekbones just so as she fixed her stare to the deck's worn floorboards, one arm grasping the other which hung, limp, at her side. She still well aware of the subtle weight of the jacket on her shoulders - a weight that was still warm and reassuring in its simplicity.
A soft, tenative chuckle stirred past the young woman's lips as his playful warning coaxed her gaze back towards his face. She took note of the arch of his brow and the way he had stepped backwards, such body language leading her to feel more foolish. The poor Captain. She had hugged him in gratitude and here he was, seeming more awkward than anything. She hadn't been able to help it at the time. In such a lonesome mindset, the woman had sought for the simple sensation and comfort of human contact, desperate for the touch that she was being denied. Now, she felt the role of a pathetic whelp, whining for attention. "I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling her eyes from his and back to the sea after her soft apology. She couldn't help but chuckle again, however - it still being a soft, subtle sound that bestowed a bemused smile to her features.
"You're hardly a pup, Captain. I'm quite sure your crew is well aware of that," she mused with a more playful music in her voice now, perking a slender brow as though she expected him to object. Though her spirits had lightened, she uttered a small sigh and slipped his coat from her shoulders, nearly charmed by the simple sensation of the cloth against her fingers. She held it for a moment, simply smiling at him, before striding forward to offer it back to him as though in apology for her hugging him. "Even if there is something more to you than sarcasm, wit, and a vicious reputation..." She said it in softness, doeful eyes still expressing her gratitude and her small smile much more sincere. Her tones did not suggest teasing or taunting. No. There was none of that, here. Elizabeth hinted only to her new discovery of him. She truly had seen more than the usual countance of Hector Barbossa. She had seen a man with troubles and feelings. She had seen a man honest and real. She had seen Captain Barbossa in new light, and he, had perhaps, seen her in this light as well. But she now stood with more confidence and a higher head, though there was still concern hiding in her eyes. Even the Pirate King could not return to a completely casual air. But there was a definite gleam in her eyes that had returned.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 6, 2007 11:24:36 GMT -5
Barbossa, despite himself, smiled. It was a strangely soft expression for the rough pirate to be wearing, his scarred face and generally intense expression seeming somehow smoother under the light of the moon and stars. He arched at the unfamiliarity of it all, and how this night of revelation was all due to Elizabeth’s company. She made him, in the classic ‘forced him’ sense, to use emotions and tactics he had long since left for dead inside him. Compassion, understanding. Even just standing a listening. He was a ruthless Lord of the seas, yet she managed to remind him that he was also capable of simply being just a man. A person worth talking to, and even listening to.
Spending so many years in that place between life and death, the agony of the curse, had left him without a sense of humanity. Being revived had not only restored sensations and the blissful freedom of choice of will, but also that subtle natural instinct of needing company. Even if he had ignored it, with great success, he realized that everyone, even Pirate Lords and Kings, succumbed to being lonely. He did not know if he had truly helped her in anyway, or if her gratitude was borne of something in her mind, but it hardly mattered. Speaking with her had allowed him to explore a part of his living mind that had thus far remained close to the grave he had left, and for that it was he who was thankful.
And there was more to be thankful for. It was superficial, but he could not ignore the impact. Direct physical contact, in a form that was not dangerous battle or pushing passed someone in the crowded galley, was uncommon at best for the Captain of the Black Pearl. A gentle touch, a caring embrace: they were unheard of in his existence. Her arms around his muscular body excited in him a reaction that told him how neglected it truly was. She continued to show him that he, though he thrilled in the thought of being alive once more, was continuing in the habits of his long days as a cursed man. There were things in life that he did not even think about, having so long been absent and unattainable for him, and she was responsible for reminding him.
Though, he would not tell her so.
“Aye, there be more,” he said dismissively, watching her as she took his jacket from her shoulders. The smile on her face was disarming, and he found himself uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Still, he maintained eye contact with her, not allowing himself to show any of the tenseness he suddenly felt in his muscles. He did not reach for his jacket, holding up his hands, “but that be true of us all. If you plan to stay on deck, keep the jacket on. We’re passing on to cooler waters, and the last thing I need is for my King to get sick on me ship.”
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 6, 2007 17:31:57 GMT -5
The Pirate Lord's smile was something quite different than his usual, cunning smirk. It was true and soft, almost catching Elizabeth off guard as she found it on his face. She had thought that this new, tender side of him would have disappeared by now as though it were a trick of the wind or the light. But no, it remained subtle in his gaze and it continued to stirr her troubled heart. He had been real with her, comforting... but real. He had reminded her of her duties and her place in this world, tugging her back to the reality she had often cursed in her sleep. In that night, the two Pirate Lords had discovered something of each other and of themselves, even if it was but a simple reminder and nothing more. She had been soothed of her doubt with the Captain's mere presence and her lonliness had faded from its state of smothering her. Of course, she still felt restless in her frustration, but at least there was hint of a smile on her face. Indeed, these two were particularly odd peas in a pod.
Elizabeth arched an amused brow as he refused to reclaim his coat and warned her of the cold. By now, she shouldn't have been so surprised with this new, considerate touch... but she couldn't help but keep her small smile in interest as she dressed herself in the Captain's jacket. She didn't return it to her shoulders. Instead she wore it, as though it was her own garment to bare. The chill of the breeze had gone unnoticed until he acknowledged it, and she was surprised at the difference of the warmth of his coat. It was meant for a man's brawn, now for a woman's petit physique... but this oversized quality of it warmed her further. The magnifcent cuffs donned with buttons of incan silver nearly swallowed her small hands, and her lithesome frame seemed even more so with this new accessory. She noticed the faint scent that was his again, though this time it felt closer and almost entangled with her own. She was put into thought as she stretched her arms slightly, in wonder as she imagined his own arms - strong and muscular - that usually filled these sleeves. She felt so small, and for a moment, insignificant. But the latter was lost as she turned her gaze upon his own, grateful and strong as she allowed her air of playfullness to return just so to her.
"The last thing I need to feel is guilty if you get sick because your coat is on my shoulders." She was well aware that he had only the fine cloth of his own white shirt separating his flesh from the chill, but she did not refuse his kindness. "I know you're quite capable of taking care of yourself, but still..." she said in a bemused but concerned tone, "even Pirate Lords fall ill now and again." She had no doubt that a bit cold weather would not be much of an effect on the experienced Captain, but she still couldn't help but feel concern in this matter. It was a feminine, maternal emotion that women were simply born with. Good men were born with it too. Now that her mind wandered to illness, she couldn't help but observe that she'd been feeling odd lately. Just a tad nauseous here and there. But still, she hoped dearly that she hadn't come down with anything. Just the slightest bug was enough to unleash hell unto the body. Heh. That was the last thing she needed.
With this coat upon her, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel her spirits raise. The warmth of her body mixed with the warmth of her trembling heart, allowing her to find the subtle humor in her appearance. She hardly looked the role of a menacing pirate Captain, but his garment made her feel smirking and almost mischivious. If only she had a hat. Then she'd look quite intimidating, wouldn't she? Heh. Hardly. But she was cheering her spirits, and, hopefully, his own. Though her own worries still lingered in the back of her mind, she didn't want them to ruin each moment she had, especially one such as this. "Besides, if you fell ill then I might have to take command of the Pearl. You wouldn't want that, would you?" She was playful with her voice, though such tones beccame softer and more tender as she added, "So be careful, all right?" And titled her head just so.
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Post by Hector Barbossa on Jun 6, 2007 23:43:45 GMT -5
Barbossa waved his hand dismissively, black nails flickering under the stars. He turned from her, leaning once more on the rail of the ship. He saw the burning orange on the horizon, the still of the night suddenly disrupted by the crawling sun. It was as if the edges of the world were on fire, the flames bursting from the ocean herself. He watched the orange glow keenly, blinking only when necessary, yet taking his time with each. His breathing regulated itself to the slow rocking of the ship.
“It’s early,” he said slowly, “but you don’t have duties on my crew. Do you think this stroll into the dark night with dark company will help you get some rest?” He grinned at her, a much more familiar sensation for his facial muscles. He looked back over his shoulder at her, his words telling her to go back to bed, while his eyes seemed to say something else entirely. They were deep and empathetic, glistening in the soft light. He seemed not to be aware of the look he was giving her, his grin apparently belying any meaning in his eyes. Or perhaps it was the other way around.
The ship rocked suddenly, violently, nearly sending Barbossa sprawling. A tough task, indeed, considering how strong his sea legs were, and he knew it. He braced himself, his grip freed from the rail, and lunged to catch Elizabeth. Using his expertly planted feet for leverage, he rode out the violent jostling while keeping his arm around her, his body acting as her support. There had not been a moment of his considering if she needed the help or not. His reaction had simply been to catch her, knowing he was more likely to be able to stay standing than she.
His voice filled the air, and soon his entire crew was stirring, filling the deck, bustling around and preparing the ship for battle. They were efficient and deadly, cannons ready, sails secured. Years of marauding and pillaging had perfected the ease in which they entered a battle. The only problem was they could see no enemy. There was no apparent damage to the ship, no water spilling where it should not be. They were still afloat, though, they had come to a stop. Barbossa, enraged, moved to the helm and barked orders for an explanation. His crew hurried to appease him, each equally angered by the idea of someone cowardly attacking their Pearl.
A sharp explosion thundered through the sky. The sound was bone rattling, sending some of Barbossa’s crew to their knees, while most stumbled, stunned for a moment. There was no source to the sound, Barbossa’s keen ears following it to a place it simply could not have come from. It seemed to have resonated from somewhere below the ship. But that could not be possible, considering that the only thing below the ship was miles of untouched ocean. Focused on this, it took the Captain a moment to notice that something was invading the deck of his ship.
A living shadow crawled over the old wood of the deck. It writhed its way across the planks, seeping into every imperfection, spreading with a speed that did not seem natural, even for a creeping manifestation of darkness. By the time Barbossa saw the vicious, near gelatinous menace it had devoured a number of his crew. With one touch it made their bodies crumple to the floor, and then it proceeded to, for lack of a better explanation on Barbossa’s part, absorb them into itself. He did not know if they were dead, or taken somewhere, but he did not want to find out by experiencing it.
The proud Captain found himself in a torturous position. He could not imagine abandoning his ship, but letting it be taken by this invader, letting himself be absorbed into this unexplainable alien, seemed far more cruel and reckless. If he survived he could at least find a way to restore what was taken from him. Coming to this decision quickly, he searched for the one person on his crew who he could not afford to let the shadow claim. His peer, in some ways his equal: his king. He strained his eyes to find Elizabeth, knowing she had probably gone back for the Dead Man’s Chest after the initial attack.
When he spied her on the deck he hurled himself into motion, avoiding the creeping tendrils of perceptible, condensed night, to make his way to her. He gave her no warning, simply grabbing her and hoisting her over his shoulder, letting her worry about the chest. He made his way to a boat, dropping it into the water and leaping down with his baggage in tow. He took up the oars, letting Elizabeth free to situate herself, and began to row away from his ship. He watched, dismayed, livid and agonized, as the darkness seemed to swallow the entire ship, pulling her not into the ocean, but somewhere beyond reckoning.
He rowed the boat through the night, fighting waves and a harrowing storm, until the small boat and its two occupants came upon a small island. He pulled the boat onto the sand bar, then promptly collapsed.
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Post by Elizabeth Turner on Jun 7, 2007 13:14:57 GMT -5
The touch of sunlight to the young woman's face was almost like that of her lover, warm and gentle as fingertips against flesh. She watched with calm eyes as the great, burning star crossed the border between heaven and earth, caressing the sky with strokes of subtle illumination. The sunrise had drawn both Captains into a soundless acknowledgement of its simple grandeur, Elizabeth's face serene as the creeping sunbeams sought to grace her passive features. At first, her eyes remained on the emerging dawn when Barbossa addressed her, as though she was engulfed in rustic beauty of dawn against the sea. She turned her gaze upon him within a moment, however, and smiled. "I think it may be just what I needed," she assured him, her voice soft and true. But her stare caught something in his own - the empathic air that clung to such a mighty gaze. She hesitated for a moment, caught between returning to bed and remaining with him simply to comfort such telling eyes.
The Black Pearl's sudden heave would have sent the Pirate King to the deck had it not been for the strong arm that had caught her. Though she had developed sure sea legs, the previous serenity of the moment had peeled off her guard and failed to prepare her body for such violence. Instinct encouraged her to grasp him for support and she did so with a gasp in reaction towards the sudden event. What was happening? An ambush? At first, she was stunned and confused, holding onto the Captain with tense arms while trying to figure out the matter with wide eyes. Had it really been cannon fire? It had certainly felt that way, but with an aggression that she hadn't even known battle to possess.
As soon as the ship managed to settle, fear and disorientation was replaced with panic. She rushed from Barbossa's grasp and towards the galley, despite her trembling legs and loud, thumping heart. The chest. She needed the chest. She thought not of the enemies that had attacked them nor of the oddness of the situation, but of the precious treasure that was her duty to protect. It had been jostled to the floor from her hammock, resting on its side and unharmed but still urging a worried squeak from her lips. She gathered it quickly into her arms, holding it close in her need to hear the heartbeat that had often mocked and reassured her. It was still a lulling rhthym that reverberated from the small, iron box, comforting the young King as she recoiled against a loud explosion that seemed to have spread from the sky. A storm? A storm and a battle? What was this?
Elizabeth mounted the stairs with shaken legs though she was swift in her steps. She prepared herself for swords, cannons, and the husky yells of battle-hungry pirates. She even considered the flash of lightning or the dark presence of clouds. She hadn't braced herself for whatever it was that greeted her now. A yelp was issued from the woman in a combination of surprise and fear, her eyes unable to disect what she saw into some, reasonable knowledge. She saw a shadow, writhing and slithering as though it possessed a body and feeling. The eerie, alien essence of it was like nothing she had ever seen before, almost like that of a certain moonlit serenade she had experienced not too long ago. But she was only granted a glimpse of this horrible invader, for familar, muscular arms had seized her once again. She clutched the Dead Man's Chest as tightly as she could manage in her new position over the Captain's shoulder, tucking it close beneath her body as she trusted Barbossa had her in a firm grasp. Though her attention had been upon the chest, she had glanced up to bare witness to further wickedness concerning this eerie monstrocity. Hearty members of the crew dropped with its touch, only to be consumed by the unnatural body of the shadow that was steadily engulfing more and more of the ship in its grasp.
Eyes wide, Mrs. Turner couldn't help but feel cold with fright as she watched sailor after sailor fall prey to their nameless enemy. She had seen many a monster and had even fought them without the slightest fear in her eyes. But this new manifestation of shadow was like nothing she had ever seen or understood. She was almost frozen in panic as the thing slunk closer, flinching even as Barbossa lunged into a boat he had prepared into the water. He released her and grabbed the oars, her supple frame stumbling backwards into a haphazard seating of herself. She hugged the Dead Man's Chest close to her breast and only glanced backwards towards the ship when she saw the expression that had found Barbossa's face. The Black Pearl, a proud vessel that had survived the Kraken and a maelstrom, had been consumed by a faceless, spineless mass that had claimed her without reason or say. Though Elizabeth was not as attatched to the craft as the other occupant of the boat, she felt her heart sink as the ship was swallowed and lost to some realm she couldn't even imagine.
The woman was completely soundless as Barbossa rowed them through swells and storm. She was speechless while her arms were tense still as they guarded the supernatural chest. She did not know how long they drifted. She did not care. She was still trying to interprete all that had so suddenly occured, her mind only offering obscure, blurred images that she could barely understand. It had all happened so fast and so violently. Hadn't she just been hugging Captain Barbossa and discussing matters that were tender and sensitive? She even still wore his coat, though it had only protected her against the chill of the elements, not of the invasion. A trance had almost fallen upon the King as she sat there, eyes upon the bottom of the boat.
Such an odd trance was lifted as the rough contact of boat against sand prompted her attention. She blinked and glanced up, only to find her fellow Pirate Lord fallen in either exhaustion or disbelief. Perhaps both. Elizabeth lost her balance as she slid from the boat, trembling feet and quivering knees having failed beneath her weight. The chest tumbled from her arms as her body sprawled into the sand, though she weakly pulled herself towards the metal box and placed a shuddering hand upon it while her head drooped against the ground. It was not exhaustion that had pulled her to the ground like a ragdoll. The emotion of it all had been too much to bestow her with proper control while her legs were still shaken and unable to adjust to wills that had once been usual. She simply breathed for a moment, attempting to regain lost composure. It took a moment before she was able to achieve this goal, and still she felt at a loss of word or thought.
She saw Barbossa's collapsed form nearby, concern immedietly struck within her heart as she spotted him in this state of an utterly overwhelmed man. She pulled herself to his side, where she rose to kneel beside him with the Dead Man's Chest clutched close in one arm. The other arm brought her hand to his shoulder. "Barbossa?" she murmured, so soft in her mixed concern and confusion. She was speechless in her disorientated state, with hair tangled and sand clinging to her cheeks. Her face was white and her heart still pounding; a fast, uneven rhthym against the steady pulse of her husband's in the chest. She hoped for some response - any response - as she gazed down upon him with worried eyes. They were probably in the middle of nowhere, two survivors of a bizarre disaster. And to think that only moments ago, they had been troubled only by the mysteries of their minds. What now?
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