Black sprinkled with pinpoints of light gave way to grey...and then to grey with blurs of color. Several more blinks brought uncompromising stone into focus, and a window looking bleakly out onto nothing but overcast sky trying to rain.

Elizabeth became uncomfortably aware that stone floor was the sole surface underneath her - not, by far, the most comfortable resting place she'd experienced in her lifetime. Raising herself on one elbow made the cell swim around her alarmingly, almost to the point where it all dissolved into blackness again, and rising altogether to sit stiffly on the one bench provided was unthinkable. This was largely due to the phenomenon that had required dramatic alteration of all her clothing, made Will unduly anxious to leave her, and caused very regular spurts of what could only be called morning sickness. Elizabeth regarded the very noticeable curve of her midsection with something approaching resigned gloom.

It took several attempts and several failures, but eventually the young woman clawed herself into a sitting position. She planted her palms on the stone floor and gasped for breath, winded by the exertion.

"'ow far along?"

Elizabeth almost jumped, looking sharply into the next cell. A grizzled woman, perhaps in her fifties, languished there with an expression of weariness and briefly mild interest. "Six months," said Elizabeth with what could only be described as a grimace masquerading as a tight smile, and made no further attempt at conversation. Staying half conscious was enough of a battle.

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Raggeti and Pintel had been charged with showing Murtogg and Mulroy the ropes, and frankly, a sea battle was NOT the right place to do it. Murtogg and Mulroy, being quite nieve pirates, had charged into the thick of it. Raggeti and Pintal looked at each other, shrugged, and charged after them.

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Married Artemis Fowl on July 16, 2007
[!+^$%=#?&]
The Seemingly Nice But Actually Really Nasty Nazgul
School ate my life. *sigh*

Barbossa was about to throw back some snide retort when the ship was rocked by another loud explosion. Muttering curses under his breath, he simply turned and left. As he made his way down the stairs, Jack leaped up onto his shoulder, chattering anxiously as if picking up on his master's foul mood. Reaching up absently to stroke the monkey's head, Barbossa hurried bellow deck to assess the damage done. He'd meant what he'd said to Turner. Much as he hated to admit it, the Pearl may have finally met her match this time. If they didn't do something soon, defeat was looking like a very real possibility.
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Mercer strode purposefully through the stone corridors of the fort's prison, keys in hand. When he finally came to Mrs. Turner's cell, he found the young woman already sitting, albeit somewhat awkwardly. "Good, you're awake," he said shortly, his detached tone indicating exactly how much he actually cared about the prisoner's condition. His directives were simple: get the girl, bring her to me. Anything beyond that was extraneous. Unlocking the door, he made to grab her arm. "Come with me. Lord Beckett wishes to speak to you."

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"'Speak' being a general term, I assume," said Elizabeth, rising awkwardly and with some difficulty, assisted very little by the apathetic Mercer other than his iron grip. Imminent motherhood had made her no less proudly defiant. "Perhaps a more fitting term would be lecture, threaten - " she broke off, panting a little from the exertion and still dizzy from what seemed to have been a prolonged state of unconsciousness. She tried to recall what had happened and found memories fuzzy at best. More time for that later.

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"Shame ye didn't leave 'er in the hands o' someone who can truly appreciate her value, aye?" Barbossa asked casually, quickly recovering from the shock of Jack's unexpected arrival. In all honesty, he had to admit that this was the closest he'd ever been to feeling relieved after the appearance of Jack Sparrow. The man, he hated, but his ship did provide an undeniable advantage in battle. Speaking of which... "An' don't ye have duties to be performed...elsewhere?"
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"Lord Beckett did not provide particulars," Mercer replied noncommittally as he continued to lead Elizabeth through the corridors at a brisk pace. Outside the fort waited a small carriage, into which he quickly ushered the prisoner. Once inside, he manacled her wrist to his own and drew his pistol with his free hand-- just in case Mrs. Turner got any ideas. The ride was endured with a mutually loathing silence, until finally they arrived at Beckett's office. As the carriage came to a halt, Mercer swung the door open and stepped down with Mrs. Turner -still manacled to himself- in tow. "Right this way, milady."

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"'Milord' is not a title I intend to use, if you were implying such," returned Elizabeth, following with as much dignity as she could muster and an expression that transmitted in no uncertain terms her loathing of both the situation and the personages involved. Lectures and threats would not be received kindly from Lord Beckett - Lord, indeed - and she intended to make it known as succinctly as possible.

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Mr. Cotton had watched the battle rage all around him, and his parrot, earlier, had abandoned him, had just arrived and landed back on his shoulder, squaking loudly for all too hear,

"Swauuuakkkk! When do we sail?"

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

"Aye, an' it is not de firs' time he done it, by de looks o' t'ings," Tia interjected, emerging from below deck. Slowly circling Jack and surveying the remaining traces of sea life, she continued. "An oat' to de goddess Calypso is not one easily forsaken. She is not a for'giving mistress.... However, I am sure Jack have a very good reason for comin', aye?"
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Lord Beckett glanced up as the doors to his office opened and, upon seeing Mercer striding with Elizabeth in tow, rose to his feet. "Ah, Miss Swann...or, Mrs. Turner now, isn't it?" he said, smiling as politely as could be managed. "Mr. Mercer, remove those and leave us. Your presence is not required."

"Yes, milord."

As the clerk dutifully unlocked the manacles and bowed, Beckett slowly poured a glass of brandy for himself. Once Mercer had departed, he lifted the glass to his lips, then paused and shook his head, almost remorsefully. "Good help," he muttered wryly, downing the contents of the glass and setting it back on the tray. "So hard to come by these days. Even in one so efficient and loyal as Mercer, I still occasionally find some undeniably...rough edges. Though I suppose I really should stop expecting so much. He is not of the same cloth as you and I, after all."

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"I must confess I'd never quite thought of us as the same cloth," responded Elizabeth coolly. "As I happen to not be a cold-blooded manipulator or a kidnapper." She eyed a chair, which seemed quite inviting after languishing on a decidedly hard stone floor for however long she'd been unconscious - it seemed quite a length of time judging by the ache in her head - but almost immediately decided against it. She would much prefer to be standing while bandying words with one such as Beckett. It would no doubt require every iota of cunning she possessed, and then some.

Almost unconsciously resting a hand on her prominent midsection, which was as good an indicator as any that she was, in fact, Mrs. Turner, Elizabeth watched him with an air of decided suspicion. "I'd rather consider it an insult to be thought similar to you in any way," she added in a tone less cool than it was icy.

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((I must await jack's reply also...my person can't really get into the rpg much...if anyone has any ideas, pm me! ))

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly