His voice is here before the rest of him slithers into view, slick and wet; the raft one takes to reach the Black Pearl does not even stir under his weight -- and why should it? He is the Sea's man.
His great, mottled leg is the first one forward, clanking against the planks. "Ye dare to summon me? Y' couldnae even keep your own date, Calypso..."
But all the same, the Sea has called and Davy Jones has answered.
Her breath catches, and she steps forward to meet him, all glittering eyes and graceful movement of waves, beads clattering in her hair and in her skirts.
"Ye have a task to fulfill, Davy Jones," she says, lifting her head in a short, sharp movement so that her hair swings in heavy coils. "That is why ye were called here."
She glares at his insolence, her eyes flat. "Ye've forgotten it for so long, and now ye must come further," she tells him, nearly scolding. "Jack Sparrow an' his Pearl are not meant for these ends of de world, but there they float, so bold as they are!"
Her heart aches, but she takes no other step forward; pride flashes in her eyes.
"An' what can ye say to that, ay? That you let them go?"
The raft's planks suffer as his chitinous leg carves a mark in them with a sharp turn; salt water flies from his skin, and his mouth, briefly, goes agape.
That damned Sparrow had flown!
"Ye-- he'll-- I'll skin ye both! Nobody leaves Davy Jones' locker! Nobody! What goes down does not rise again, but by my word an' deed!"
His passion makes her smile, satisfied even in the face of his fury, and the black eyes dance with fierce mischief.
"An' what will ye do?" It's a challenge; the same she had issued to Will, to Elizabeth, to Barbossa.
By her power she'd called him and he came; and now he has no choice. He would not leave Jack Sparrow in peace, and no one but he could move Jack from this place of limbo.
Everything is in motion. She takes a slow, swaying step towards him, her voice molasses smooth and just as sweet. "Let him mock you, from his perch here, hm? What payment will you claim?"
If he were closer to man then monster, his face would be blotchy with rage; as it is, mottled colors pass over Davy's cheeks, shifting limp flesh to writhing tentacles. A shiver moves across his face as his flesh changes texture much as an octopus does when it engages in flight or fight.
"I will drag him and the Pearl to the depths," pronounces the once-ferryman of souls. "He will see he cannot escape a bargain with Davy Jones!"
Only Calypso has had that honor, troth broken between them. But never again till he let a man slip through his slick, fleshy fingers.
"No, my sweet." Her voice is the croon of a tern, the far-off hush of waves over shoreline.
If it saddens or enrages her to see the anger take physical form in lashing tentacles that had once been a fine braided beard, or to watch the cold glitter that had so long ago been sharp, sea-faded eyes, she gives no sign.
(And perhaps all things are to her what she will have them be.)
"Yuir sweet?" Turning on her with a sibilant hiss past his lips. "As if I have cared for yuir favor in some time, witch!"
The stretch of sea mocks him -- the span of shore her feet stand on keep him out of reach, from grabbing her, holding her, claiming her, taming her as was his promise...
"Or is it from experience you speak, Calypso?" His wet eyes glitter with mockery. "Or have ye grown accustomed to that singular shape?"
Her lips thin and her eyes flash; when she speaks, her voice is choked. The step she'd taken forward is taken back again, as if to taunt him further, more earth between them, the price and form of his curse.
"Dare ye scold me? Trapped as I am, by his kind and forced into this...single form?" She spits the words at the Black Pearl as though they were poison. In her sudden fury, waves rise and rock the raft Jones stands on while she glares at him in contempt.
"Ye dare, Davy Jones? An' who could call you here so ye might know of him who slipped past ye're guard?" Her voice is quick and sharp. "You who would abandon the task ye were set to, and there sits the cost of your selfishness."
"If you had but kept yuir word," Jones says, his legs shifting and his weight redistributed as smoothly as if he were born with his feet on the deck, "it wouldnae have come to that. But ye couldn't even honor yuir word."
His lip curls, and he adds, "So why should I be held to mine?" Troth broken, he has the Dutchman -- but to hell with his purpose, and to hell with her.
"Whatever reason ye've told me of this flown bird -- it's not for love of me, Calypso! No -- with a heart like a sea trench, black and cold? Never love, Calypso. Ye know nothin' of it."
He cannot trust her. He will not trust her. He did so once, and here he stands, a monster in the place of a man, never to know love.
"Ye do not know of what ye speak," she retorts, and the waves still, the raft settles while her face falls into lines of grief. "Ye loved me for my nature, but you never gwine forgive me for it. Ah..."
She sighs, as though she wishes to blow away on the very breeze that lifts towards the water and the rolling clouds. Her eyes fix on the horizon, longing, and they do not move even when she speaks next.
"Do what ye came to do, an' do not linger here." Black eyes flicker towards him, and away again. "Maybe I decide you have no mastery in this place, over Jack Sparrow or any other."
"It is not yuirs to decide," Davy says as he denies her -- even if he knows he lies.
He turns and takes a step -- into nothingness, sea salt and the scent of old boat's wood left behind. The raft bobs without his weight, scarred with his passage.
Her eyes flicker back to him just before he vanishes, becoming part of the sea and the foam, and she waits, still, until a giant wave pushes not across but up from the water, and from it...
Seaweed sails unfurl and rigging encrusted with sealife creaks. A monster who was once a man howls in rage, and on the shore, Tia Dalma
His voice is here before the rest of him slithers into view, slick and wet; the raft one takes to reach the Black Pearl does not even stir under his weight -- and why should it? He is the Sea's man.
His great, mottled leg is the first one forward, clanking against the planks. "Ye dare to summon me? Y' couldnae even keep your own date, Calypso..."
But all the same, the Sea has called and Davy Jones has answered.
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"Ye have a task to fulfill, Davy Jones," she says, lifting her head in a short, sharp movement so that her hair swings in heavy coils. "That is why ye were called here."
Reply
"I know better then some the cost of duty," he says, words rolling off his tongue. "Ye dare tell me my place? Ye go too far!"
It's always too far for Davy. But they've never known when to stop pushing the envelope-- otherwise, they forget where it is.
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Her heart aches, but she takes no other step forward; pride flashes in her eyes.
"An' what can ye say to that, ay? That you let them go?"
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That damned Sparrow had flown!
"Ye-- he'll-- I'll skin ye both! Nobody leaves Davy Jones' locker! Nobody! What goes down does not rise again, but by my word an' deed!"
Reply
"An' what will ye do?" It's a challenge; the same she had issued to Will, to Elizabeth, to Barbossa.
By her power she'd called him and he came; and now he has no choice. He would not leave Jack Sparrow in peace, and no one but he could move Jack from this place of limbo.
Everything is in motion. She takes a slow, swaying step towards him, her voice molasses smooth and just as sweet. "Let him mock you, from his perch here, hm? What payment will you claim?"
Reply
"I will drag him and the Pearl to the depths," pronounces the once-ferryman of souls. "He will see he cannot escape a bargain with Davy Jones!"
Only Calypso has had that honor, troth broken between them. But never again till he let a man slip through his slick, fleshy fingers.
Reply
If it saddens or enrages her to see the anger take physical form in lashing tentacles that had once been a fine braided beard, or to watch the cold glitter that had so long ago been sharp, sea-faded eyes, she gives no sign.
(And perhaps all things are to her what she will have them be.)
"He cannot."
Reply
The stretch of sea mocks him -- the span of shore her feet stand on keep him out of reach, from grabbing her, holding her, claiming her, taming her as was his promise...
"Or is it from experience you speak, Calypso?" His wet eyes glitter with mockery. "Or have ye grown accustomed to that singular shape?"
Reply
"Dare ye scold me? Trapped as I am, by his kind and forced into this...single form?" She spits the words at the Black Pearl as though they were poison. In her sudden fury, waves rise and rock the raft Jones stands on while she glares at him in contempt.
"Ye dare, Davy Jones? An' who could call you here so ye might know of him who slipped past ye're guard?" Her voice is quick and sharp. "You who would abandon the task ye were set to, and there sits the cost of your selfishness."
Reply
His lip curls, and he adds, "So why should I be held to mine?" Troth broken, he has the Dutchman -- but to hell with his purpose, and to hell with her.
"Whatever reason ye've told me of this flown bird -- it's not for love of me, Calypso! No -- with a heart like a sea trench, black and cold? Never love, Calypso. Ye know nothin' of it."
He cannot trust her. He will not trust her. He did so once, and here he stands, a monster in the place of a man, never to know love.
Reply
She sighs, as though she wishes to blow away on the very breeze that lifts towards the water and the rolling clouds. Her eyes fix on the horizon, longing, and they do not move even when she speaks next.
"Do what ye came to do, an' do not linger here." Black eyes flicker towards him, and away again. "Maybe I decide you have no mastery in this place, over Jack Sparrow or any other."
Reply
He turns and takes a step -- into nothingness, sea salt and the scent of old boat's wood left behind. The raft bobs without his weight, scarred with his passage.
Reply
Seaweed sails unfurl and rigging encrusted with sealife creaks. A monster who was once a man howls in rage, and on the shore, Tia Dalma
(Calypso)
smiles.
Reply
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