"A funny thing to live without," Pocahontas teased, one hand placed on her stomach in an attempt to breathe and talk at the same time. These clothes, all these corsets and layers, were so different than the weathered fringed doeskin she was used to wearing. But the chief's daughter had tried to imitate the governor's daughter as best as she could, at least getting dressed. The skirts falling down to her ankles where she could trip. And she no longer felt the warm sunshine on her bare shoulders. But as for all this custom and etiquette, she couldn't really say.
Then she surreptitiously noticed the round yellow-colored necklace glinting and hanging around the young lady's neck, resembling a tiny sun. "Oh! Is that shiny thing the gold everyone is looking for?" she asked in a low voice.
Tears prickle at Swann's eyes. Lungs ache for want of unimpeded air as her porcelain fingers trapse half-delicately down the front of laces of the corset. Despite this, her dear friend's commentary causes a rumble of wistful laughter to roll through her. The movement causes another surge of pain, a repremand from the corset pressed to her ribs.
"Perhaps, a strongly worded letter to the company would help-" She muses, though she knows it would not. Half breaths were drawn inwards, a small degree at a time. Still, it would be quite uncouth if she went to the function sans proper attire. Convention and decorum were exceedingly important to her father. "I only think men wish us to wear them because it makes it all the more difficult to get away from their advances." The breathy speculation is of course a fallacy, one intended to get Pocahontas to laugh.
"Wou--would you like me to try and loosen yours a bit?" Elizabeth gingerly asks, knowing her friend has had little exposure to the attire before.
Startled oaken orbs shift upwards as attention is drawn to the medallion Elizabeth had thought she tucked in. She had snatched it from young William Turner with the belief that she could protect him from hanging. Now, it's considerable weight is felt anew. The pads of her finger tips encompass the circular form with reverence. "Y-- yes, I -- I suppose it is." She murmurs, tracing the shape of the skull with a semi-affectionate and yet haunted gaze.
She sighs. "Wou-- would you like to see it for a moment?" Elizabeth haplessly invites. "But you can tell NO ONE that I have this. It is likely a pirates treasure." And piracy was quite ILLEGAL. "I take it that you haven't seen much gold in your time?" The sentiment escapes her in the form of an inquiry.
