Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > Legarou
TITLE: Legarou TITLE: Legarou
AUTHOR: Quicksilvermad
EMAIL: Quicksilvermad@ix.netcom.com
SUMMARY: After finding a secluded weapons cache, Captain Jack Sparrow and the crew of The Black Pearl release something terrible into the Caribbean.
GENRE: Supernatural/Action/Drama/my feeble attempt at Romance. It isn't much romance, anyhow.
RATING: PG13 (violence)
PAIRING: W/E (of course)
DISCLAIMER: I've only been on the ride and seen the movie. Disney owns it; I merely became obsessed and saw it more than seventy times. That number keeps going up.
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.net, FicWad, and whoever wants it. Just tell me if you do, though.
AN: My history may be a bit off with the timeline. Oh yes, and adamant is defined in the Merriam Webster Dictionary (1997) as: a stone believed to be impenetrably hard.
*Also, I wrote ALL of this-the entire fic-before I posted it here, so there.
PART 1:
"Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum,
Lost control to a bottle of rum,
Sold my soul for a bottle of rum,
Yo ho ho, yo ho..." -Noggin Toboggin
The Isle of Pines was eerily silent at six fifteen in the morning. The only noises at the current moment consisted of sea water lapping at the shore and against wooden docks, the calls of early-rising Frigate birds, and the subdued snores of men who'd managed to find their way indoors before the rain hit. And, subsequently, they'd gotten drunk on rum.
The only human being awake and moving outdoors was fighting his own hangover, but doing a much better job at it. Currently, his tri-cornered hat was tipped 'just-so' to block out the blinding bright light of the rising sun, and he was walking slowly toward a dinghy that he'd tied up the previous night. He managed to stumble only three times.
Out in deeper water, anchored to the ocean floor, was his ship. The/ Black Pearl./
Captain Jack Sparrow had intended to only spend the better of two hours asking the locals about his current venture; but those two hours had progressed into four, and those four turned into eight. Now he was hungover and clinging to his recollection of what the former French sailor had told him in his slurring, drunken tongue. Something-or-other un cache d'armes...belch...blah blah blah...Petite Terre. /Ignoring the glare of sunlight that intensified the throbbing of his head, Jack smiled toothily and began rowing toward the /Pearl. If he wasn't mistaken, Petite Terre was a tiny island near Guadeloupe. That meant a long voyage past Jamaica and /possibly /a quick stop at Ile de La Tortue, or Tortuga, if you will.
"Oi, Cap'n! Any news?"
Jack glanced upwards, squinted his eyes, and addressed Mr. Gibbs with a ridiculously huge grin. Nothing else.
*
William Turner was having an excellent day. His commissions were finished quickly, the prices paid for them were more than satisfactory, and his dear wife was waiting for him at home right now-the notion of going out for a sail put in her head by something she'd found earlier that morning.
The walk home was quiet, the weather warm but not oppressively so; and for some reason he was humming. He wasn't quite sure where the song came from, but he was certain that Elizabeth had gone around on more than one occasion humming the same tune.
Though you may think that a blacksmith's home may be humble and small, Will Turner's abode was not as humble, nor as small. Indeed, after finally taking much due credit for his excellent craftsmanship, Will had received more money for the better quality (and hard work). Since the man who taught him everything about his craft had passed on (he had imbibed on one too many bottles of rum), his own name had been hanging above the shop door.
Will was anxious to see Elizabeth. After what had happened during The Black Pearl's first attack at Port Royal, he'd been very reluctant to stay late at the smithy. Not that it was very plausible that cursed pirates would, again, sack the Jamaican port and take the Governor's daughter on board their stolen ship-but he still worried.
He strode briskly up the walkway that led to his beautiful home and was pleasantly surprised when the door opened for him-one of Elizabeth's maids stood there with a smile and one outstretched hand.
"Welcome home, Mr. Turner," she took his coat and the wrapped parcel he'd been carrying from his person. "I trust you had a pleasant day?"
Will smiled. "Thank you-and I did have a pleasant day."
The maid-Estrella-folded his coat over one arm and gave the package a curious look. Knowing she wouldn't ask for herself, Will responded to the unspoken question on her face. "It's a surprise for the Governor," he said, taking it from her and carefully setting it on the hall table.
"Will!" came Elizabeth's voice from the top of the stairs.
The young blacksmith looked up at the sound of his name and smiled. "Good afternoon, Elizabeth."
Estrella distanced herself from Will and discreetly smiled as Elizabeth tried hard not to run down the stairs and give him a proper (or improper-depending on who you asked) greeting. Instead of the swooping hug and kiss she would have liked to greet him with, Elizabeth simply took his hand in hers and placed a warm (if short) kiss on his lips before moving one step backward to take in his appearance.
"Good afternoon to you as well, Will. I trust that you were not overworked today?" she asked, raised one sly eyebrow at him, and silently dared him to lie.
Will tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the porch. "No more than usual."
They sat on a bench together and stared at the swelling blue ocean before them.
"We should take a boat out," Elizabeth suggested. As if it would persuade him to do so, she moved her hand from his elbow and rubbed his palm with the very tips of her fingers. "It's such a lovely day."
"It is," Will answered. Elizabeth noted that he didn't respond to her suggestion, and she looked at his face to see just what he was thinking. She was mildly perturbed when she saw his held-back grin.
"Oh, William Turner, you... devil," she pinched the palm of his hand just below his thumb. "You knew I was going to suggest a boating trip ever since this morning, didn't you?"
The grin pushed past his ability to control it, and Elizabeth couldn't help but grin back and be thankful that she was seated. Had she been standing, her knees would have become about as useful as an oarless dinghy. Will had that effect on her. She assumed that she had the same effect on him as well (considering how his eyes became even softer than usual whenever she so much as looked at him).
After a few moments of basking in each other's company, Elizabeth excused herself to go change out of her elaborate dress and into something more suitable for sailing. Will simply unbuttoned his collar and waited.
It was such a lovely day.
*
Normally, Gibbs wasn't one to ask questions of the Captain, but he was feeling the itch as of late. The sun was setting, and Jack was standing in his normal 'evening' spot that faced west. Without regards to how much it hurt his eyes, he maintained a constant gaze upon dusk's last curls of light and their play upon the gentle waves of the Caribbean. It was moments like this that Gibbs wondered if the Captain was as nutters as he seemed the rest of the time.
He was loath to interrupt Jack's private moment in any case. "Cap'n?" he cleared his throat, and Jack remained still- his back turned to the grizzled pirate. Gibbs wasn't sure he'd been heard until Jack tilted his head and prompted him to continue.
"Yes, Mr. Gibbs?"
Gibbs cleared his throat again. "Got a question."
"Question away, Mr. Gibbs," Jack turned now, raising one eyebrow and pursing his lips in impatience.
"Right, well... Why, exactly, are we goin' after this, er, weapons cache?" Gibbs asked and squinted out at the sunrise as he scratched his chin.
"Well," he said. The right corner of Jack's mouth turned upwards, and he whirled around to fully face Gibbs. On the verge of discussing his find, he gesticulated randomly by his ear and leaned forward a bit. "I've heard that this...weapons cache...holds one of the world's most prized," he paused, tightened the muscles around his eyes, and dropped his voice down to a whisper, "cutlass/...known to the French /and the Britons," Jack paused to flash Gibbs a very toothy and very golden smile. "Not to mention the rest of the whole bloody world."
"What's so prized 'bout it?" Gibbs inquired, unconsciously leaning forward and whispering as well.
Jack twittered his fingers. "Well, there's a rumor that it is the only cutlass known to man that is made entirely of adamant," he waited for this to register in Gibbs' eyes, and when it didn't, Jack pursed his lips just a bit and continued. "Which just so happens to be the hardest bit of matter known. Interesting, aye?"
Gibbs had a glint developing in his eye. "Aye..."
"See the thing of it is," Jack continued, "is that the bloody French have soldiers still posted to sentry this cache-so we'd be having a bit of a tussle with some real high-up and fancy gits. Unless we can pull the wool over their buggy eyes, so to speak. All for an exceptional sword and-mayhaps-several other worthy pieces of weaponry we find. What say you to that, Mr. Gibbs?"
That glint turned into a gleam. A considering one. Gibbs had always wanted his own sword-and a good one at that. "Aye," he answered. "Though it seems a bit daft-raidin' a weapons cache, that is-I'll go along with it."
There was a brief moment of silence that Gibbs broke. "I do trust ya, Jack."
It was something that wasn't said often to the dark pirate, and when he did hear it, it caught him a bit unawares. He stared at Gibbs for a while, no true expression lighting his features, no discernible emotion in his eyes. When he finally answered, Jack was rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands braced in fists upon his backbone. "Glad ta hear it," he smirked-then swept off to make some minor changes in course.
It wasn't until much later-in the galley-that Gibbs wondered how in blazes Jack knew about some material called 'adamant.'
*
As the sun dipped lower and lower in the horizon, Will and Elizabeth headed for shore- both soaked to the bone and laughing. Somewhere along the way, Will had accidentally splashed her with the oar, to which she leaned down and swung a fist at the silvery caps by the port side. In short, a miniature water battle broke out and ended with someone pleading for mercy between fits of giggles.
Will is so easy to break sometimes. Elizabeth grinned at the thought.
"We should hurry back," he was saying, "if we want to have dinner at your father's home."
Elizabeth looked down at herself and squeezed water out of her hair. "I do believe you have an excellent idea, William Turner. Besides-I don't think Father would much like to see me in sea-soaked breeches and one of your work shirts."
"No, I don't think he would, either," Will agreed, sniggering only a bit. He rowed only a bit further before hopping out into the shallow water and pulling the dinghy up onto shore. Gallantly, he offered her a hand to stand with. Accepting, Elizabeth dusted sand out of his hair and beamed.
"Do take me home, my lovely husband," she said.
"Elizabeth, I'm not sure a man can be called 'lovely...'" he began walking with her hand in his.
"Don't argue," Elizabeth chided.
He shot her a look and paused by the grass line to grab his boots and yank them on over his bare feet and grab Elizabeth's shoes. Instead of helping her to put them on, Will handed them to her and stooped down to pick her up before she could do a thing about it.
"Will!" she cried, quickly thinking and reaching around his neck and shoulders to have some semblance of balance. Her shoes dropped into her lap.
"Is that in protest?" he asked and stopped walking. Before Elizabeth could answer, he teasingly relaxed the muscles in his arms. She squealed again as she dropped several centimeters, but Will didn't let her go. He laughed at her.
Elizabeth slapped his arm and glared at him. "It was in surprise. ...Insufferable... Lovable pirate..." she muttered.
He kissed her nose. "I am, aren't I?" he said.
Elizabeth pouted.
*
Governor Weatherby Swann tipped his head back just a bit to look at the bare ceiling in the foyer, and he eyed the missing bit of plaster that once held the chain for the chandelier. If one looked up, it was an eyesore. And in the Governor's mind, people often looked up in homes of the upper class. He wondered how he was going to fix the bloody thing.
A knock resounded on the huge front doors, and the manservant opened it to reveal a very stunning Elizabeth Turner (adorable in her father's mind), and a quite dashing William Turner holding her elbow. He had a parcel in his free hand.
"Hello, Father!" Elizabeth grinned and stepped inside. Will followed after her and smothered a smile as she kissed her father's cheek.
"Good Evening, Elizabeth. William. Ah," he knit his eyebrows together and blankly gestured at the parcel. "May I ask what is inside of this package you're carrying, William?"
Will didn't bother smothering his grin this time, and instead placed his present on the foyer table. "It's a gift for you, sir. Would you like to open it?"
Governor Swann delicately plucked at the string holding the soft linen cloth around its contents and unwrapped what Will had worked so diligently on. His reaction was worth the hours that the blacksmith had spent working over the forge.
"My goodness!" Swann exclaimed. He ran his hands over the highly polished brass and traced the ornate bends and curls that the metal took. It was not a lovely chandelier-it was a perfect one. "Absolutely perfect, William! This is impressive work," he praised, looking Will in the eye and practically shivering with delight and relief. Now that hole could be fixed.
"I'll have the butler hang it this very evening," he paused and couldn't control one more outburst. "Smashing!"
"Thank you, sir," Will added. Elizabeth thought her face would split in two if she smiled any harder. She just couldn't help it. Her father loved Will's work, had always hinted about a new ceiling fixture when she had tea at the mansion, and tended to judge all other metallurgic crafts to Will's standard. And now he had his very own.
"Thank you, William," Swann earnestly took the younger man's forearm in a fatherly grip. "Shall we go to dinner now? We're having lobster..."
Hand in hand, Elizabeth and Will followed the Governor into the dining room. Everything seemed so perfect. Little did anyone know that things were about to become as twisted and curled as the tendrils of brass that twined about the candleholders in Will's creation.
Review, please! Part two will be up next week.
AUTHOR: Quicksilvermad
EMAIL: Quicksilvermad@ix.netcom.com
SUMMARY: After finding a secluded weapons cache, Captain Jack Sparrow and the crew of The Black Pearl release something terrible into the Caribbean.
GENRE: Supernatural/Action/Drama/my feeble attempt at Romance. It isn't much romance, anyhow.
RATING: PG13 (violence)
PAIRING: W/E (of course)
DISCLAIMER: I've only been on the ride and seen the movie. Disney owns it; I merely became obsessed and saw it more than seventy times. That number keeps going up.
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.net, FicWad, and whoever wants it. Just tell me if you do, though.
AN: My history may be a bit off with the timeline. Oh yes, and adamant is defined in the Merriam Webster Dictionary (1997) as: a stone believed to be impenetrably hard.
*Also, I wrote ALL of this-the entire fic-before I posted it here, so there.
PART 1:
"Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum,
Lost control to a bottle of rum,
Sold my soul for a bottle of rum,
Yo ho ho, yo ho..." -Noggin Toboggin
The Isle of Pines was eerily silent at six fifteen in the morning. The only noises at the current moment consisted of sea water lapping at the shore and against wooden docks, the calls of early-rising Frigate birds, and the subdued snores of men who'd managed to find their way indoors before the rain hit. And, subsequently, they'd gotten drunk on rum.
The only human being awake and moving outdoors was fighting his own hangover, but doing a much better job at it. Currently, his tri-cornered hat was tipped 'just-so' to block out the blinding bright light of the rising sun, and he was walking slowly toward a dinghy that he'd tied up the previous night. He managed to stumble only three times.
Out in deeper water, anchored to the ocean floor, was his ship. The/ Black Pearl./
Captain Jack Sparrow had intended to only spend the better of two hours asking the locals about his current venture; but those two hours had progressed into four, and those four turned into eight. Now he was hungover and clinging to his recollection of what the former French sailor had told him in his slurring, drunken tongue. Something-or-other un cache d'armes...belch...blah blah blah...Petite Terre. /Ignoring the glare of sunlight that intensified the throbbing of his head, Jack smiled toothily and began rowing toward the /Pearl. If he wasn't mistaken, Petite Terre was a tiny island near Guadeloupe. That meant a long voyage past Jamaica and /possibly /a quick stop at Ile de La Tortue, or Tortuga, if you will.
"Oi, Cap'n! Any news?"
Jack glanced upwards, squinted his eyes, and addressed Mr. Gibbs with a ridiculously huge grin. Nothing else.
*
William Turner was having an excellent day. His commissions were finished quickly, the prices paid for them were more than satisfactory, and his dear wife was waiting for him at home right now-the notion of going out for a sail put in her head by something she'd found earlier that morning.
The walk home was quiet, the weather warm but not oppressively so; and for some reason he was humming. He wasn't quite sure where the song came from, but he was certain that Elizabeth had gone around on more than one occasion humming the same tune.
Though you may think that a blacksmith's home may be humble and small, Will Turner's abode was not as humble, nor as small. Indeed, after finally taking much due credit for his excellent craftsmanship, Will had received more money for the better quality (and hard work). Since the man who taught him everything about his craft had passed on (he had imbibed on one too many bottles of rum), his own name had been hanging above the shop door.
Will was anxious to see Elizabeth. After what had happened during The Black Pearl's first attack at Port Royal, he'd been very reluctant to stay late at the smithy. Not that it was very plausible that cursed pirates would, again, sack the Jamaican port and take the Governor's daughter on board their stolen ship-but he still worried.
He strode briskly up the walkway that led to his beautiful home and was pleasantly surprised when the door opened for him-one of Elizabeth's maids stood there with a smile and one outstretched hand.
"Welcome home, Mr. Turner," she took his coat and the wrapped parcel he'd been carrying from his person. "I trust you had a pleasant day?"
Will smiled. "Thank you-and I did have a pleasant day."
The maid-Estrella-folded his coat over one arm and gave the package a curious look. Knowing she wouldn't ask for herself, Will responded to the unspoken question on her face. "It's a surprise for the Governor," he said, taking it from her and carefully setting it on the hall table.
"Will!" came Elizabeth's voice from the top of the stairs.
The young blacksmith looked up at the sound of his name and smiled. "Good afternoon, Elizabeth."
Estrella distanced herself from Will and discreetly smiled as Elizabeth tried hard not to run down the stairs and give him a proper (or improper-depending on who you asked) greeting. Instead of the swooping hug and kiss she would have liked to greet him with, Elizabeth simply took his hand in hers and placed a warm (if short) kiss on his lips before moving one step backward to take in his appearance.
"Good afternoon to you as well, Will. I trust that you were not overworked today?" she asked, raised one sly eyebrow at him, and silently dared him to lie.
Will tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the porch. "No more than usual."
They sat on a bench together and stared at the swelling blue ocean before them.
"We should take a boat out," Elizabeth suggested. As if it would persuade him to do so, she moved her hand from his elbow and rubbed his palm with the very tips of her fingers. "It's such a lovely day."
"It is," Will answered. Elizabeth noted that he didn't respond to her suggestion, and she looked at his face to see just what he was thinking. She was mildly perturbed when she saw his held-back grin.
"Oh, William Turner, you... devil," she pinched the palm of his hand just below his thumb. "You knew I was going to suggest a boating trip ever since this morning, didn't you?"
The grin pushed past his ability to control it, and Elizabeth couldn't help but grin back and be thankful that she was seated. Had she been standing, her knees would have become about as useful as an oarless dinghy. Will had that effect on her. She assumed that she had the same effect on him as well (considering how his eyes became even softer than usual whenever she so much as looked at him).
After a few moments of basking in each other's company, Elizabeth excused herself to go change out of her elaborate dress and into something more suitable for sailing. Will simply unbuttoned his collar and waited.
It was such a lovely day.
*
Normally, Gibbs wasn't one to ask questions of the Captain, but he was feeling the itch as of late. The sun was setting, and Jack was standing in his normal 'evening' spot that faced west. Without regards to how much it hurt his eyes, he maintained a constant gaze upon dusk's last curls of light and their play upon the gentle waves of the Caribbean. It was moments like this that Gibbs wondered if the Captain was as nutters as he seemed the rest of the time.
He was loath to interrupt Jack's private moment in any case. "Cap'n?" he cleared his throat, and Jack remained still- his back turned to the grizzled pirate. Gibbs wasn't sure he'd been heard until Jack tilted his head and prompted him to continue.
"Yes, Mr. Gibbs?"
Gibbs cleared his throat again. "Got a question."
"Question away, Mr. Gibbs," Jack turned now, raising one eyebrow and pursing his lips in impatience.
"Right, well... Why, exactly, are we goin' after this, er, weapons cache?" Gibbs asked and squinted out at the sunrise as he scratched his chin.
"Well," he said. The right corner of Jack's mouth turned upwards, and he whirled around to fully face Gibbs. On the verge of discussing his find, he gesticulated randomly by his ear and leaned forward a bit. "I've heard that this...weapons cache...holds one of the world's most prized," he paused, tightened the muscles around his eyes, and dropped his voice down to a whisper, "cutlass/...known to the French /and the Britons," Jack paused to flash Gibbs a very toothy and very golden smile. "Not to mention the rest of the whole bloody world."
"What's so prized 'bout it?" Gibbs inquired, unconsciously leaning forward and whispering as well.
Jack twittered his fingers. "Well, there's a rumor that it is the only cutlass known to man that is made entirely of adamant," he waited for this to register in Gibbs' eyes, and when it didn't, Jack pursed his lips just a bit and continued. "Which just so happens to be the hardest bit of matter known. Interesting, aye?"
Gibbs had a glint developing in his eye. "Aye..."
"See the thing of it is," Jack continued, "is that the bloody French have soldiers still posted to sentry this cache-so we'd be having a bit of a tussle with some real high-up and fancy gits. Unless we can pull the wool over their buggy eyes, so to speak. All for an exceptional sword and-mayhaps-several other worthy pieces of weaponry we find. What say you to that, Mr. Gibbs?"
That glint turned into a gleam. A considering one. Gibbs had always wanted his own sword-and a good one at that. "Aye," he answered. "Though it seems a bit daft-raidin' a weapons cache, that is-I'll go along with it."
There was a brief moment of silence that Gibbs broke. "I do trust ya, Jack."
It was something that wasn't said often to the dark pirate, and when he did hear it, it caught him a bit unawares. He stared at Gibbs for a while, no true expression lighting his features, no discernible emotion in his eyes. When he finally answered, Jack was rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands braced in fists upon his backbone. "Glad ta hear it," he smirked-then swept off to make some minor changes in course.
It wasn't until much later-in the galley-that Gibbs wondered how in blazes Jack knew about some material called 'adamant.'
*
As the sun dipped lower and lower in the horizon, Will and Elizabeth headed for shore- both soaked to the bone and laughing. Somewhere along the way, Will had accidentally splashed her with the oar, to which she leaned down and swung a fist at the silvery caps by the port side. In short, a miniature water battle broke out and ended with someone pleading for mercy between fits of giggles.
Will is so easy to break sometimes. Elizabeth grinned at the thought.
"We should hurry back," he was saying, "if we want to have dinner at your father's home."
Elizabeth looked down at herself and squeezed water out of her hair. "I do believe you have an excellent idea, William Turner. Besides-I don't think Father would much like to see me in sea-soaked breeches and one of your work shirts."
"No, I don't think he would, either," Will agreed, sniggering only a bit. He rowed only a bit further before hopping out into the shallow water and pulling the dinghy up onto shore. Gallantly, he offered her a hand to stand with. Accepting, Elizabeth dusted sand out of his hair and beamed.
"Do take me home, my lovely husband," she said.
"Elizabeth, I'm not sure a man can be called 'lovely...'" he began walking with her hand in his.
"Don't argue," Elizabeth chided.
He shot her a look and paused by the grass line to grab his boots and yank them on over his bare feet and grab Elizabeth's shoes. Instead of helping her to put them on, Will handed them to her and stooped down to pick her up before she could do a thing about it.
"Will!" she cried, quickly thinking and reaching around his neck and shoulders to have some semblance of balance. Her shoes dropped into her lap.
"Is that in protest?" he asked and stopped walking. Before Elizabeth could answer, he teasingly relaxed the muscles in his arms. She squealed again as she dropped several centimeters, but Will didn't let her go. He laughed at her.
Elizabeth slapped his arm and glared at him. "It was in surprise. ...Insufferable... Lovable pirate..." she muttered.
He kissed her nose. "I am, aren't I?" he said.
Elizabeth pouted.
*
Governor Weatherby Swann tipped his head back just a bit to look at the bare ceiling in the foyer, and he eyed the missing bit of plaster that once held the chain for the chandelier. If one looked up, it was an eyesore. And in the Governor's mind, people often looked up in homes of the upper class. He wondered how he was going to fix the bloody thing.
A knock resounded on the huge front doors, and the manservant opened it to reveal a very stunning Elizabeth Turner (adorable in her father's mind), and a quite dashing William Turner holding her elbow. He had a parcel in his free hand.
"Hello, Father!" Elizabeth grinned and stepped inside. Will followed after her and smothered a smile as she kissed her father's cheek.
"Good Evening, Elizabeth. William. Ah," he knit his eyebrows together and blankly gestured at the parcel. "May I ask what is inside of this package you're carrying, William?"
Will didn't bother smothering his grin this time, and instead placed his present on the foyer table. "It's a gift for you, sir. Would you like to open it?"
Governor Swann delicately plucked at the string holding the soft linen cloth around its contents and unwrapped what Will had worked so diligently on. His reaction was worth the hours that the blacksmith had spent working over the forge.
"My goodness!" Swann exclaimed. He ran his hands over the highly polished brass and traced the ornate bends and curls that the metal took. It was not a lovely chandelier-it was a perfect one. "Absolutely perfect, William! This is impressive work," he praised, looking Will in the eye and practically shivering with delight and relief. Now that hole could be fixed.
"I'll have the butler hang it this very evening," he paused and couldn't control one more outburst. "Smashing!"
"Thank you, sir," Will added. Elizabeth thought her face would split in two if she smiled any harder. She just couldn't help it. Her father loved Will's work, had always hinted about a new ceiling fixture when she had tea at the mansion, and tended to judge all other metallurgic crafts to Will's standard. And now he had his very own.
"Thank you, William," Swann earnestly took the younger man's forearm in a fatherly grip. "Shall we go to dinner now? We're having lobster..."
Hand in hand, Elizabeth and Will followed the Governor into the dining room. Everything seemed so perfect. Little did anyone know that things were about to become as twisted and curled as the tendrils of brass that twined about the candleholders in Will's creation.
Review, please! Part two will be up next week.
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