Take Off Your Dress, Pick Up A Sword

a dangerous fugitive

Joanna was patching a hole in one of Will's shirts, humming softly to herself, when the pirate burst into the smithy.

"Shit," she said in shock, dropping the needle into her lap. "Oh -- woah, woah," she continued in a panic as the pirate advanced on her. She'd never looked down the mouth of a pistol before and, now that she'd done so, she decided it was not to be recommended.

The pirate's mouth twitched enigmatically. He looked rather silly, trying to threaten her while wearing handcuffs, but there was nevertheless a gun trained on Joanna's forehead. "What's your name?" He asked.

"Joanna," she answered quickly.

She received a smile -- wicked, golden, and more than a tad menacing. "Well, Joanna. Have you any idea how to remove me of these infernal things?" He shook his hands; the chains rattled.

"Do I look like a blacksmith?" She retorted, finding her courage tended to recover if she focused on the pirate rather than the pistol. He was wild-looking, with a shock of ropey, bedazzled hair. A red headscarf tamed it from amnesty. His dark eyes, ringed with black makeup, held a steely resolve Joanna was not eager to test. "If you're in need of one, my colleague should be returning shortly. Then you can threaten him, instead."

She neglected to mention Will was highly trained with a sword, but what this pirate knew couldn't hurt him. Yet.

"Your colleague, eh?" The pirate raised an eyebrow. "So you do work here."

Joanna raised the shirt. The tear was nearly repaired -- she thought just a few more stitches would do the trick. "I sew. I'm quite good, actually."

"Hm. How nice for you." He wiggled the gun. "Will you try anything stupid if I lower this? Me arms are getting tired."

Joanna smiled without humor. "By all means, lower your heavy shackles, sir. Would you give me the honor of your name?"

He bowed as gracefully as one could while handcuffed. "Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, milady."

Joanna's fear drained in a swirl of disbelief. "The Jack Sparrow?" She gaped at him. "Y'know -- sacked Nassau without firing a shot? That's you?"

He looked pleased with himself. "The one 'n only, luv."

Something in Joanna grated at luv, spoken so familiarly, but she was mostly filled with delighted curiosity. "I've read about you," she elaborated, "and I've always found the stories fascinating, but I must say, none of them are quite as ridiculous as your hair."

He smiled with narrow eyes. "I wouldn' laugh if I were you, darling. Each of these shinies 's a trophy."

"Oh, from the men you've killed, I suppose."

"All in cold blood, o' course."

"Right." Joanna took up the shirt again. The needle almost slipped through her palm, sweaty from nerves. "Well, I'd prefer you to kill me sooner rather than later, if that's your plan," she said with a bravado she didn't have.

It was then that the smithy door rattled. Joanna looked up as she pulled the final stitch, bursting with relief as Will Turner's silhouette filled the doorway.

The pistol rejoined the act, this time pressed to the back of her head as Jack slipped behind her. His unoccupied hand dropped to lay on her shoulder, thumb resting against the bare skin of her neck. "G'day," he called cheerfully to Will.

Will's jaw went slack. Then he began slowly divesting himself of his coat, beginning a slow prowl toward Joanna and her captor. His eyes flicked over her before he asked, "Are you alright?"