Rescue || In all my spite I'll turn it off || Locked to Norrington
Who: nocorsetsplease and destinyentwined
What: A rescue, delving into a nightmare where titles can break spirits.
When: When you look out the window, the sun casts orange wraiths across the ocean.
Where: You are aboard a ship. There's a portrait in the corner and suddenly... you know exactly where you are.
Warnings: Emotional trauma, mentioning of death, just.... all around, not good.
Upon her taking, she had descended into hell. Yet there was so much time that had been robbed from her, and as a fair price for a gift she found herself shackled. Fitting, perhaps, of her crimes.
In Singapore, they had been ambushed. Sao Feng fled the city, and a good many escaped. Yet Elizabeth and a few others were unable to slip Mercer's steely grasp. She, along with the others, were captured and brought to Port Royal to face the man who seemed hell-bent on becoming the hand of destiny that moved the world.
She returned not to her home, but to a city changed. Becket had taken control of every vein, even seized her father, bent a once jovial and loving man to do a lord's bidding for deaths.
She was forced to watch when he had her former allies publicly hanged. He had her in the same room as the few lucky bastards screamed as they were branded. She was told that not a soul would ever come for her, that the delicate balance of both her life and that of her father rested on her shoulders entirely.
She was spared the hangman's noose, the brand on her arm and the game of cat and mouse. Yet she was no less shamed. Lord Beckett would make her an object for his arm, and her father's pen an agent of murder.
This was how he played games. This was what Lord Beckett loved most. His favorite opponents were those with fight in them, those that lashed out the hardest, had the most fire in their eyes, and spewed the filthiest of insults. He loved the challengers that had to be held back.
The first time they beat her father for her rebellion, she'd never wept so hard.
She stopped fighting back within the week. She had no choice.
Either she would take her place, quiet her tongue, bite it all back and be the "lady" he wanted her to be... or her father would suffer for her actions.
Or worse.... he would die.
She walked up to the door that was held wide for her by a marine. Her angled chin held no proud thrust, her eyes dim and drooped with languor. She had been done up by a maid that was not hers, bedecked in some overly lavish dress she despised.
"You summoned me, Lord Beckett?"
The short man had been looking at his own portrait when he turned to her.
"Ah yes, Miss Swann. See to it that you are prepared for this evening. The Governor has been quite gracious and has agreed to host a dinner party. A celebration for his daughter's engagement."
She visibly shriveled and nodded her head. "Will that be all then, Lord Beckett?"
He grinned at her from behind his desk, fingering a quill. "Quite."
She turned and walked from his cabin of The Endeavor, running as soon as she hit the turn of the hall. She hardly made it into her room, throwing the door open and not having the mind to cast it closed before she sank onto her bed, dejected and alone.
What: A rescue, delving into a nightmare where titles can break spirits.
When: When you look out the window, the sun casts orange wraiths across the ocean.
Where: You are aboard a ship. There's a portrait in the corner and suddenly... you know exactly where you are.
Warnings: Emotional trauma, mentioning of death, just.... all around, not good.
Upon her taking, she had descended into hell. Yet there was so much time that had been robbed from her, and as a fair price for a gift she found herself shackled. Fitting, perhaps, of her crimes.
In Singapore, they had been ambushed. Sao Feng fled the city, and a good many escaped. Yet Elizabeth and a few others were unable to slip Mercer's steely grasp. She, along with the others, were captured and brought to Port Royal to face the man who seemed hell-bent on becoming the hand of destiny that moved the world.
She returned not to her home, but to a city changed. Becket had taken control of every vein, even seized her father, bent a once jovial and loving man to do a lord's bidding for deaths.
She was forced to watch when he had her former allies publicly hanged. He had her in the same room as the few lucky bastards screamed as they were branded. She was told that not a soul would ever come for her, that the delicate balance of both her life and that of her father rested on her shoulders entirely.
She was spared the hangman's noose, the brand on her arm and the game of cat and mouse. Yet she was no less shamed. Lord Beckett would make her an object for his arm, and her father's pen an agent of murder.
This was how he played games. This was what Lord Beckett loved most. His favorite opponents were those with fight in them, those that lashed out the hardest, had the most fire in their eyes, and spewed the filthiest of insults. He loved the challengers that had to be held back.
The first time they beat her father for her rebellion, she'd never wept so hard.
She stopped fighting back within the week. She had no choice.
Either she would take her place, quiet her tongue, bite it all back and be the "lady" he wanted her to be... or her father would suffer for her actions.
Or worse.... he would die.
She walked up to the door that was held wide for her by a marine. Her angled chin held no proud thrust, her eyes dim and drooped with languor. She had been done up by a maid that was not hers, bedecked in some overly lavish dress she despised.
"You summoned me, Lord Beckett?"
The short man had been looking at his own portrait when he turned to her.
"Ah yes, Miss Swann. See to it that you are prepared for this evening. The Governor has been quite gracious and has agreed to host a dinner party. A celebration for his daughter's engagement."
She visibly shriveled and nodded her head. "Will that be all then, Lord Beckett?"
He grinned at her from behind his desk, fingering a quill. "Quite."
She turned and walked from his cabin of The Endeavor, running as soon as she hit the turn of the hall. She hardly made it into her room, throwing the door open and not having the mind to cast it closed before she sank onto her bed, dejected and alone.