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🪐 — JACK SPARROW​  for  calypso !

        Jack smiled faintly to himself at her words, casting his gaze down at the wooden table. Strength of spirit. There was something oddly comforting about that description: he’d always remembered her as softly spoken, preferring to never raise her voice if she could. Kind, which he now knew made her a rarity in this world. Compassionate. But there must have been something strong about her too, or else she would have never been able to handle a man like Teague. Jack’s smile turned sad. “ Sometimes I wonder what she saw in him. ” They’d loved each other once. He had to believe that. But whatever she’d loved in him had disappeared in the years since — had likely disappeared from this world the very same moment she had, if not long before.

       “ Did she seem happy? That time you saw her? ” Before he was born. He could not recall anything specific, could scarcely even recall what she looked like, but as a child he had never been able to shake the idea that sadness seemed to cling to her very being. No matter how much she smiled. No matter how many bright, happy memories of her he had. And, while he had never known why at the time, looking back in hindsight made him wonder whether his presence in their lives had been to blame. There were flashes of arguments in his memories, too. Shipwreck Cove is no place for a child. Jack absentmindedly picked at a groove in the table. He couldn’t help but wonder.

     THE BOY BEFORE HER  turns sullen when he speaks of his father.  &  calypso feels her body laugh softly in spite of the seriousness of his tone.  to her, it did not seem so long ago that teague first sat here in this very same shack, at this very same table.  &  he had been nearly the same age then as jack was now  —  at least, so she thought.  but then, it was still difficult to tell the age of the humans when they grew so fast  &  yet lived such short lives.  every time she had seen teague since that first, he had aged noticeably.  &  jack would do just the same.  it was a shame, the way that time had a way of turning curious, quick, handsome young boys into tired, embittered men.  perhaps one day, jack would be more like his father than he thought possible now.                            &  though the goddess had been surprised to find she actually enjoyed the boy’s company  — his quick wit  &  his curiosity helping the days pass just a little faster — she could only hope that she wouldn’t be present to see it. she would loathe to find herself still here in another handful of decades, seated at this same table  &  discussing whatever mortal woman who had caught jack’s attentions with the next in an infinite line of sons who believed themselves so much better than their fathers.         it’s a sour thought,  &  her attentions return quickly to jack as he is before her now  —  still scarcely more than a child himself, seeking solace for his grief.  comfort is something she of all beings is ill-equipped to deliver, but still there is an attempt at gentleness in her tone when she speaks.  ❝ take it from me, witty jack, you can never really tell from the outside whether someone is truly happy or not.  especially a woman. ❞  &  then she smiles wide enough that both rows of tia dalma’s blackened teeth show  &  gives a nod,  the many shells  &  beads in her hair clinking together softly with the movement.  ❝ but your mother chose her life  —  that is the most that any of us can ask. ❞