bringmethatnpc | (no subject)

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at world's end

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Deep in a bayou near the mouth of the Pantano River, a wooden shack sits among twisted vines, high roots, and still, stagnant water. Moonlight illuminates the scene, and the shack is lit from within by what seems like hundreds of candles. A single lantern at the entrance beckons all those who dare to step over the threshold.

Not long ago, only a few days or so, the shack and tangle of surrounding trees was the site of a wake for Captain Jack Sparrow.

The shack had been overflowing with pirates that night. Tia Dalma offered drinks to fight the chill and the sorrow, and the return of another dead pirate gave the crew hope where previously there had been none. Some of those pirates seemed to disappear that night. No one asked too many questions, however, as the shack is bigger than it appears on the outside and the unexpected is to be expected wherever Tia Dalma is found.

But now the missing parties are starting to return. Some are even accompanied by people who had not been there before.

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This is her house, and these are her guests, and she must make them welcome.

It's hard to say just when she arrives; she may have been lurking in a room just off the main one, hidden by a screen of beads and the dim, dusty light of her hut...

or she may have come late.

It hardly seems to matter.

Tia Dalma steps past a few hanging jars full of...something, and delicately pats a coiling snake on its jewel-coloured snout. Even in the orange half-light of flickering candles, her eyes are brilliant, and eager, and laughing with some secret delight.

The young woman sitting at the scarred, crowded table, looking far less uncomfortable in these strange surroundings than she had on her previous visit, has been watching for their hostess. Elizabeth had believed it only a matter of time until Tia Dalma appeared, and she is glad not to be proved wrong.

Not that she shared this expectation with anyone; she has kept her own counsel for at least a quarter hour, poised on the edge of her chair like the coiled snake across the room.

She stands, unfurling herself from the chair with surprising speed, and plants herself in the woman's path.

"Tia Dalma," is her only greeting.

Elizabeth is particularly adroit at getting in the way when someone is trying to get somewhere, but Tia Dalma's mood is mild this evening. She comes to a swaying halt, and nods in response.

"Little miss," she says, entirely unsurprised by the influx of people to her hut.

Searching for surprise in those bright eyes and not seeing it, Elizabeth narrows her own almost imperceptibly and lets suspicion play about her features.

"Captain Reynolds," and there's a vague gesture in Mal's direction, "...says the lake turned into ocean and the Pearl disappeared."

Her tone is just short of demanding.

If it weren't obvious that Elizabeth knows better, someone might think that she is speaking a little too openly with the strange woman from the bayou...but Elizabeth knows better and any way Tia Dalma only smiles more widely at the girl's indignation.

She's like a cat that has been dropped into water, really, all haughtiness and feigned indifference.

"The lake be a lake," she says, by way of answer. "It cannot be anything but what it is."

Of Jack and the Pearl, she says nothing, but when she turns her attention to one of the burning candles nearby, there's something very like satisfaction in her smile.

Elizabeth bites back a sharp retort. The worry lines on her brow smooth out, and her voice turns quiet as she asks, "Did you do this? The door, the Pearl... Any of it?"

She wants to believe that Tia Dalma is responsible -- that it's not all random, and Jack is now where he should be, where they can rescue him.

Beads clatter in her hair and feathers float when she shakes her head, before the black eyes are turned back on Elizabeth.

"To move Jack Sparrow and him Pearl from their place is beyond my power," she says. "There was always a way to bring him back to where he supposed to be, someone to take him there." Her soft Caribbean accent turns nearly sad, but it's impossible to tell what her expression might mean.

"I could only call. The door come on its own."

It is perhaps...not strictly true. But it is never wise to take what Tia Dalma says literally.

"I thought it never would," Elizabeth says firmly.

She wonders, briefly, if James managed to escape. There's nothing to be done about it now, but she would have liked a last word. Several in fact, and not all of them kind.

Tia Dalma's words so frequently require several moments of consideration, and there's a lengthy pause before Elizabeth adds, "Will you come with us?"

It's a question born of curiosity, impatience and grudgingly acknowledged need, not a polite request.

Her nod is slow.

"Yes."

She searches Elizabeth's face for a moment longer, finding stubborness and frustration and even a little worry there before turning away until her own eyes can no longer be seen. "I be as bound to this quest an' it's triumph as any of you."

Privately, Elizabeth thinks that no one could have as much riding on this venture as she does herself. In her guilt, it doesn't occur to her that others stand to lose nearly as much, even Will. Confusion flits across her face and her brow wrinkles in a stubborn frown.

"Good," she replies.

Triumph. She wants to ask if they will succeed. If Jack will live and Cutler Beckett will fall from grace. Reason staves off the urge, and as she searches the mystic's profile, she wonders why the other woman is so bound to their quest.

"Barbosa won't tell us his full plan." She pauses. "Do you trust him?"

Another person might ask if Barbosa can be trusted. Elizabeth knows better.

Without answering, she looks over her shoulder, turning her solemn black gaze on the pirate captain who stands so boldly in her house, and she is looking away yet when she speaks to Elizabeth:

"He has struck a deal, an such things have a power of their own."

The words are firm enough, and yet there is an undercurrent of uncertainty that carries them, and her eyes are troubled.

"We have no choice."

(I have no choice)

"No, we do not," Elizabeth agrees, and it's an admission made with some reluctance but little of her usual stubborn, supercilious attitude, as she draws level with Tia Dalma and watches her closely. Recognizing an unfamiliar note in the other woman's voice, something unexpected, Elizabeth raises an eyebrow and also turns her attention to Barbossa, continuing, "He is our hope, then."

Her voice rises at the last, as if she is tempted to smile, tempted to allow a disbelieving laugh at this ridiculous twist of fate.

"It is good he has struck a deal, whatever it may be." Her eyes gleam. "That means he has someone to answer to other than himself."

A sidelong look at Tia Dalma is the only hint of her raging desire to know what sort of deal he has struck, and why.

Barbossa walks up to the bayou witch, his face a blank mask as he stops before her, looking down at the small dark figure.

"Well met again

Calypso

Tía Dalma. Seems like most of our crew is arrived already..."

He glances aside towards the rest of the assembly, a spark of his usual derisive amusement returning to his gaze when it slides over Elizabeth and Will. Then he sees Mal and Tonks and turns back to Tía Dalma with a mirthless smirk.

"Including a couple unexpected additions. Do you think it's time for us to hold council, or should we wait for anyone else to show up?"

Don't be mistaken, he is the captain of this expedition but in this kind of enterprise, it always pays to ask your resident witch for her opinion, doesn't it?

"Barbossa."

Her voice is flat, but her eyes are wary when she greets him...but after a brief battle of wills, she smiles, and sidles up to his side to follow the path of his gaze about the room.

When she nods, beads click in her hair, and featther float among the dark coils. "They are here."

It's agreement, of sorts.

"Then we should get started. Young people get restless when they think they're being deliberately kept in the dark, ah?"

He tilts his head back and nods, his lips curling in a slight smile. With the witch at his side, his gaze once again moves over the cabin, finally coming to rest upon a table.

"Let's do this properly, then. If you would please do me the honour...?"

And he starts to walk towards the table, not quite expecting Tía Dalma to walk with him.

From the far side of the room, Tonks is watching her, grey eyes keen and measuring her every move.

She doesn't look terribly happy.

She doesn't look scared, either.

After a while, dark eyes flick towards the witch, and Tia Dalma smiles, as if in recognition. She doesn't seem surprised at all by Tonks' presence, but then why would she be? She can recognize a witch as easily as she can recognize her own face in a mirror.

She's far away; one slim brown hand lifts, loose and lazy, and beckons as though she has something she wants the witch to see.

Tonks raises an eyebrow. She gazes at Tia Dalma a moment longer, and then carefully crosses the room, one hand on her belly inside the loose waistcoat.

There's a chair over here, near a table that's covered in low-burning candles and scattered knick-knacks: crab claws and glass beads, strings of gaudy necklaces and a few quite old playing cards that are a bit bent at the corners.

"And who is this?" says the strange woman whose house this is, smiling with something like satisfaction and with curiousity flickering in her eyes. "A stowaway, ay?"

Somewhat warily, "She's called Charlotte." Her eyes flicker down to the table, to the odd and seemingly unconnected paraphernalia. They look innocuous, all taken singly. But there's something about it all that radiates a feeling that Tonks recognizes in an odd sort of way.

Her smile gentles, and she sits, lifting her skirts gracefully and then smoothing them, letting them fall in tatters to the floor about her chair. Her eyes go from the table to Tonks, and her head tips to one side while she considers the witch.

"You know this," she says, only half-asking it herself, sitting back and waiting.

"Mm-hm," replies Nymphadora, gazing at the table for a moment and then back up at her host. "Well, I mean-- not this. But... yes."

Tia Dalma gazes implacably back at her, and then sweeps a delicate hand over the table's contents in a loose gesture very reminiscent of those generally used by a certain now-lost sea captain.

It's part invitation, and part satisfied showing. "Ah," she says, curious. "Then how, hm?"

A wry, almost-smile. "Well, for starters,I never was much of a one for Divination. But." Holding her hand aloft, there is a brief shimmer, like heat above the sand, and then a ball of blue flame pops into existence.

"Ahhhh."

She doesn't move, but there is a sudden and powerful surge of interest towards Tonks, the blue fire reflecting in her wide eyes. "A pretty trick," she says, craftily.

She has seen something like it before, if not quite the same: but Light in the darkness will ever gain her quick attention.

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clumsy_auror - 2007-07-14 00:46 (UTC) - Expand

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