the Dalaverse

Wow. Just, wow. I've had Elizabeth chattering away in my head for several hours now. Girl needs to get laid. Oh Wiiiiiill....

"A Simple Twist of Fate" Chapter One:



Elizabeth was the type of person who found it very easy to detach her thoughts from any unpleasant situation. Being both creative and well-read, it was not uncommon for her to escape a dull lesson or an insipid tea party by imagining herself heroically scaling an Andean peak or battling pirates aboard a sinking treasure galleon. She was perfectly adept at sending the non-stimulated parts of her mind off into flights of fancy while leaving behind a portion to parrot mechanical answers and comments. It was as natural to slip into these daydreams as it was to breathe.

The problem of the hour, she supposed, was that she couldn’t breathe.

Corsets, she thought darkly, her hand going to her cinched waist, ought to be ton apart, with their laces going to hang the dressmakers in London and their whalebones shoved down the throats of the women who wear them and thus magically make them the height of fashion.

At her side, Mrs. Victoria Burns gave her a strange look. Elizabeth forced a smile onto her face, not at all comforted by random thoughts of violence or by the lace fan she barely had the strength to keep waving at her own face. She could have escaped the utter banality of the ceremony itself, but her crushed ribcage could not be so easily ignored. The dress was beautiful and she was quite impressed by the lift it gave her bosom, but nothing was worth this torture. She had nearly fainted walking down the stairs this morning, and again upon getting into the carriage. The blasted Caribbean sun did not help; Elizabeth glared out at it from underneath her hat, daring it to mark her skin.

She looked up and down the line of soldiers, as neatly aligned as the tin men she still kept in her room and showing about as much emotion. Her father stood at the forefront, gazing down the column at Captain Norrington – Commodore, she corrected herself firmly, determined not to slip the next time they spoke – as proudly as if the man were his own son. Which, Elizabeth knew, was how Weatherby would prefer things arranged.

Biting thoughtfully on her lower lip, she studied her would-be suitor as he walked towards them. The governor’s daughter was a lofty prize for the men of Port Royal but a notoriously prickly one , and she was well aware of it. Norrington, however, had proven persistent, and Elizabeth had a grudging bit of respect for him because of it. It was certainly not the only point in his favor: he was handsome, especially today with the brass on his uniform polished to a brilliant shine. What she disliked about his appearance was that his face always seemed as starched and powdered as his stiff coat and his cream puff of a wig. Now and then she’d caught sparks of personality in his eyes, which she had to admit were quite a lovely green, but he was then quick to turn himself back into stone.

At least he was not pompous like most of the younger officers, or cruel to his servants as Robert Marsh was, or constantly winking down her dress in the manner that had nearly gotten Aiden Pierce slapped at last year’s Christmas party. Norrington had bene too shy to dance with her that night, but he had spoken at length with her father, impressing Weatherby so that he began hinting to Elizabeth what a kind and gracious man the young captain was. Elizabeth took some comfort in the fact that such a reputation was more important to her father than money, of which Norrington did not have a great deal. However eager he sometimes seemed to marry her off, she knew her father only wished her to be happy. They might both lose sight of this fact when they quarreled, but she was not afraid of being handed to some portly, aging businessman for the size of his bank account and not the goodness of his heart.

She looked at Norrington as he drew near and wondered if he was to be that man she would settle on. Elizabeth was something of a practical soul. Having seen many girls her age fall into a swoon at the slightest sign of male attention, she tended to look on such love with contempt. Two people whose personalities were well-suited to one another – that was what made a good marriage, not these starry-eyed fits of passion. She did not remember her mother very well, being only three when a difficult labor had killed her and the little brother she’d been carrying, but her father had often said that they were friends before they took the leisure to fall in love, and by that time they’d been married for months. Elizabeth thought that she and the commodore might be able to manage that, if they got to know each other better.

And yet she doubted this conclusion. Was that all there was to it? The epic romances in some of the stories she read spoke of hands trembling, of pulses racing, of the dizzying madness of loving one person so deeply that all else faded away. Of course, there were also those celebrating the rapture of physical love when there were no romantic feelings to consider, and those in which terrible things happened to women if they should dare to act on their desires or even have any to begin with. It was all very confusing and Elizabeth was glad that she was only eighteen and thus entitled to a few years of deliberation before she was considered an old maid. If she were a pirate queen, she could have a torrid romance with a cabin boy – strictly as an experiment, of course. But as a woman of class she had to be discreet and honor her father’s –

“Miss Swann?”

She blinked, surprised that she’d so managed to lose herself in her thoughts as to become oblivious to the progression of the ceremony. The newly appointed commodore was standing in front of her, a nervous cousin of a smile on his face. “May I have a moment?”

As the pain of her constrictive clothing was once again brought to the forefront of her mind, she could only nod politely. Norrington led her to the battlements at the side of the fort and paused, turning away as though to be seen face to face with her would be considered improper.

“Ah, you look lovely, Elizabeth,” he said, flushing slightly. Elizabeth, after all her internal debate about courtship and love, was not particularly in the mood for his awkward attempts at conversation; she tried to smile, but grimaced as even that wrenched the organs trapped under her corset. The air seemed thinner up here and she was certain that it was not a good idea to be even nearer this brutal sun.

Norrington continued, looking back out to the horizon. “I apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind.”

The rocks lining the edge of the fort, lapped by the sea, began to blur in her vision. Elizabeth bit down on her tongue until it hurt, trying to stay conscious.

“This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not achieved.” He turned towards her then and she was grateful to meet his eyes, because the view was beginning to give her a sickening sense of vertigo. She had a moment to register that his face was anxious before he shifted his gaze somewhere to the right of her face and squinted. “What –”

Elizabeth turned to see where he was looking. There was a large, unfamiliar ship docking in the bay below, and that was all she was able to determine before her vision went gray.

She came to as Norrington caught her, her hat taken by the wind to sail down the side of the cliff. The relief that he had been facing her to see her start to fall was nearly enough to make her faint again. The odds of landing safely among those jagged rocks were grim.

In an instant her father was beside her, taking her from Norrington and peering down in a panic. “Elizabeth? Good gracious, child, are you all right?”

Struggling to raise herself on her own, Elizabeth gave up to sag in his arms. “I will be fine as soon as I can get home and take this bloody dress off,” she muttered. Weatherby closed his eyes and sighed, accustomed to her occasional lapse in manners and knowing they were deliberate. Norrington cleared his throat politely and got to his feet, reaching down to help her up. He dropped her hands immediately and backed away, letting her father fuss over her as she tried to bat him away.

“Jones will take you home,” he said, closing her fingers over the handle of her fan. “I must go down to the docks and see about this mysterious ship that’s just arrived.”

“Do you think they might be pirates?” Elizabeth asked hopefully.

“My dear,” her father replied with a chuckle, “you always ask that, and I always tell you that you would not be so pleased at the idea if they really did turn out to be pirates.”

Elizabeth scowled as he guided her to the door and the carriage waiting outside. “There’s never any excitement in this town.”

“You nearly fell off the battlements, wasn’t that excitement enough for one day? And do remember that we are holding the reception for Commodore Norrington this evening.”

“I’d forgotten.” She groaned and turned pleading eyes on her father. “Please, can’t I say I’m still faint and stay in my room? I spent all morning with the same people who are going to be at that party and I don’t believe that’s fair.”

“No, what's unfair is that I’ve been saddled with such a willful daughter,” Weatherby retorted, helping her into the carriage. “I will expect you downstairs no later than six o’clock. And that’s properly dressed!” he added as she nearly slammed the door on his fingers. “No showing up in my old riding breeches and a cut-up dressing gown!”

“That was five years ago, Father,” she called back to him, grinning at the memory. There were a few mothers who still would not let their daughters associate with her because of that particular afternoon, and as they were among the more loathsome maidens in Port Royal society, she couldn’t say she minded.

Tonight’s party, on the other hand... She slumped back against the seat, trying to heave in a few deep breaths.

Tonight’s party was going to be considered a success if it didn’t end in murder or suicide.