(Untitled)

[touch_destiny]

There's a fair wind blowing, but it's hemmed by the trees and the buildings; rustling leaves and water and still black sails in frustration, ruffling her hem where she stands, toes curling into the coarse lakeside sand.

The Pearl is further from shore now, anchored and secure far out in the water, with no way for her to get to it, and Tia Dalma

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[pirate_jack]

She's not the only one who's restless. He doesn't even need to count his steps any more as he tramps up and down the deck, back and forth from bow to stern, measuring out his prison with his pacing.

Jack's muttering quietly to himself as he walks, but sound carries well near water-- well enough that his voice can be heard, at least.

[touch_destiny]

She is still while the fickle breeze tugs at her skirts, and a glint comes into the quick black eyes at the sound of Jack's mutterings, which the obedient air lifts over the water and to her ears.

"Jack Sparrow," she coos. "Been running away from an old friend?"

The raft is rough and slow, but steady, and she steps onto it, lightly, holding her skirts with one hand while her other floats in the air next to her, as though she is taking the hand of an invisible dancing partner. Over the silent lake waters the raft floats, to bump gently up against the large black bulk of the Pearl.

She invites herself aboard. She always has, after all.

[pirate_jack]

He turns at the sound of her voice, and by the time she's standing on deck, Jack's waiting for her.

"Tia Dalma." His lazy drawl is pleased, and he spreads his hands wide in a welcoming gesture.

"How've you been, luv?"

[touch_destiny]

She smiles at him, and it certainly looks sincerely fond. The gold butterfly glitters against her shoulder.

"Waiting," she says, "for something, or someone, maybe. But I grow tired of it."

Her attention always has been short-lived, and things are setting into motion, now.