Take Off Your Dress, Pick Up A Sword

a sprig of lace

Joanna's heels clattered down cobblestone stairs. "Jack," she exclaimed, skidding to a stop in front of his cell. "I have --"

Joanna was supposed to let Jack in on her and Will's clever plan, but she promptly forgot all about her mission.

Jack was without his customary headscarf -- it lay innocuously in his lap. That was not remarkable in itself. What was remarkable, however, was the way Jack's longish bangs fell over his forehead and framed his dark eyes. On closer examination, Joanna realized Jack had undone all his braids and tails. The formerly twisted hair floated in wavy bunches, reluctant to let go.

He looked boyish. He was handsome. Joanna was having a crisis.

"What?" Jack asked and sat straighter. He was perched on the stone bench, hands full of loose twine and beads. "'S there something on my face?"

A forehead, Joanna thought. Of course Jack had a forehead; the fact she had never seen it did not negate its existence. This would have been foolish to vocalize, so of course Joanna did anyway. "Your --" she said, and pointed at her own face.

"Hm, I suppose you've never seen me without the accoutrements," Jack mused. He continued, "Thought I'd freshen up 'fore the big day, y'know. Wanna look my best."

"That's..." Joanna began, caught between dreading the hanging and admiring Jack's cheekbones. "Morbid," she settled on.

"What were you yelling about, earlier?" Jack asked absently, distracted by the critical task of organizing ornaments by color and size.

"It doesn't matter," Joanna said, because she could not honestly remember. She was caught up in about ten different feelings. "Would you -- I have a hairbrush you could borrow, if you'd like?"

Jack perked up, smiling at her with oblivious brightness. "If you don't mind."

Joanna fled.

~

She crashed into the smithy and slumped against the door, heart beating out of her chest.

Will, in the middle of the third guard, stared at her from across the room. "Joanna?" He prompted, sword arm wavering.

"Um," said Joanna intelligently.

Will's countenance softened. "So you've realized."

"What the hell does that mean," Joanna snapped, knowing full well what it meant.

Will continued to smirk. Joanna amended all previous statements; Will Turner was not a good person. "Wanna practice?" Will Turner, Bad Person, asked. He invitingly waved his sword.

Like a puppet on a string, Joanna joined him. She deftly caught the sword he tossed her; an elegant shortsword, similar to the one Norrington carried. Joanna let it dangle lazily from her hand -- suddenly, she wished for something heavier.

"Wait one minute," Joanna requested, already halfway to her bedroom.

When she returned, she carried both a hairbrush and an exorbitant Chinese dao.

"That's lavish," Will appraised, studying the sword with a blacksmith's eyes. "Have you had that all these years?"

"No," Joanna laughed. She set the hairbrush on a nearby table and deposited the dao into her favored left hand. "I fought with it at Isla de Muerta. Did you not notice?"

"I was occupied," Will said, the dreamy look in his eyes indicating his thoughts had turned to one Elizabeth Swann.

"I'm sure," Joanna said amusedly. "I've only got a minute, so hurry up and disarm me."