Who: Tia Dalma and Willow Rosenburg What: Hell hath no fury... Where: Tia Dalma's home at the La Brea Tar Pits When: Wayyyyy backdated. After Davy killed Angel, before Tia left on the Dutchman Rating: Wary Status: COMPLETE
After having finally, finally made contact with Davy Jones, the shock of his cruel words to her was far more than Tia had considered possible. Hundreds of years. Hundreds of years, she had loved him, loved him the best, and after the Pirate Lords had bound her to this frame, attempting to be with him as the sea had been impossible.
Rage filled her. Blackness and hate. Tia tore the locket away from her throat, and flung it aside, scorching the floor where it lay.
Tia Dalma, the shadow of the great goddess Calypso, pulled back into her magic, such a difficult and weary thing to do in this body, but she did it immediately, pushing the immortal edges of her soul upon the ethers of power within. And into that dark chaos, she clung out a word, a cry that was far too woman in origin, a sound that carried with it the pain of her ageless heart breaking.
Witchling!
Willow had been… well, actually, it didn't matter what Willow had been doing at the time. The moment she heard Tia's voice, felt her pain as sharply as if it were her own, she disappeared from where she was and appeared in Tia's home. Energy crackled around her, prepared to strike out at whoever was causing her Mistress pain. However, there was no one there save for Tia herself, no sign that anyone had even been there.
Confused, but no less loyal to the bound Goddess, the raven-eyed witch immediately crossed the small dwelling to Tia's side. "What is it?" she questioned, true concern sounding in her tone. It was a strange sound, so unlike her typical monosyllabic, nearly-bored murmurings, that for a brief moment she almost sounded as she would were her hair red and her magical core no longer tainted. She ignored that fact, though, instead coming to rest beside Tia and gently reaching to brush some locks from the woman's face.
"What happened?" she asked again, the concern still there as she tried to understand who, what, could have caused her so much pain.
The fragile female form fell against the raven-eyed witch. "Me heart," Tia uttered, her breath short. "Oh, me heart, me love, witching! He murder me heart!"
Jones. Davy Jones. The man who had loved her, and made her love him. More than the sea, that she was, she came to love him, a man of flesh and bone and blood.
For a second, all Willow could see was red. Rage instantly replaced her confusion, blind rage that made her tremble all the way down to her very soul. "Who?" she questioned simply, her voice dark and dangerous even as she wrapped her arms protectively around Tia and began to rub absent circles of comfort against her back.
"Tell me his name," she stated in a low tone, her gaze going over Tia's head and focused on the far wall as she struggled to keep herself, and her magic, in check for the time being.
"Dey name de sea fo' him," she said softly, moving to rest her head against the witchling's shoulder. Her witchling, a faithful worshipper in a time when worshippers had long gone. Clever, sweet, powerful Willow. "De sea dat was always mine, I give his name. Like I give him all dat I be."
She remembered the face of the man, before his body had been corrupted by his refusal to perform the duty entrusted to him.
"Him name be Davy Jones, Witchling." Her hands tightened on Willow's shoulders, pain bleeding into fury and back again. "So long. Fo' so long, I love him best. An' den dey curse me, dey bind me t' dis body, apart from all I love. And Jones be here, but him mock me words, and be so cruel, me heart break, lil' witch, she break."
Davy Jones. The same one responsible for Cordelia's death. For Angel. For the snakes that had attacked the hotel, too, she was sure of it. For a moment – the briefest of seconds – Willow was a bit torn. On one hand, it was Davy who had inadvertently freed her from the pathetic existence she'd been living. He'd also taken out the biggest thorns in her side with little to no effort.
But, he'd hurt Tia. And that was a mistake that was going to cost him. Dearly.
For now, though, Willow had to be here for Tia. She had to offer comfort, had to make certain her Goddess wasn't alone during such a dark, painful time. Soon though, she'd make certain he paid for what he'd done.
Fingers gently caressed Tia's hair, her black eyes closing for a moment as she regained her self-control. "Shh," she murmured softly, voice nearly inaudible while using such a tender tone. "We'll fix it," she promised. "We'll make it better."
"We make 'im pay, little Witchling. All de long years I wait fo' him, all de days o' waitin' fo him. Him call me liar, call me false. Speak lies. Oh, I will wound 'im. An' I find 'is heart, an' I crush it in me bare 'ands."
She leaned into Willow, exhausted by the physical strain of her emotions. "Mortal body... curse dis' frame dey bind me in. Curse dem! Curse 'im!"
Willow stayed silent, letting Tia have her say. When the mortal-bound Goddess had finished, she stated quietly, "I'm going to find a way to unbind you. I will find a way to do it." It was a personal vow she'd already made, one that she had every intention of making good on. It was just a matter of figuring out how to perform such a spell without the pieces used to do the original binding, and without bringing harm to the Goddess she'd give her life for in an instant.
"As for his heart," she spoke again, her mind already whirling with ideas. "I'm not sure where it is, but I have a pretty good idea who would know." Wolfram & Hart, of course, was who she was referring to. Or, more specifically, the Senior Partners. Granted, getting to them might be tricky, but getting to the CEO of the firm - Lindsey McDonald - wasn't.
Tia began to ease, emotions spent. She adored the witchling for her words, for her promises. One hand ran itself across Willow's cheeks and lips. "Me blessin' t' you, Witchling. You make me so proud."
Her eyes glittered. "An' we work our vengence 'gainst Davy Jones. He know what it mean t' scorn de heart o' Calypso!"
It was the first time she had spoken her true name to Willow. The girl deserved to know it now. They were bound, in magic and worship.
Hearing the Goddess' name caused Willow's eyes to widen, a flash of the person she was without her magical core being tainted obvious for an instant. Black eyes flickered briefly to green, a hint of red showed in her dark locks. Then she was composed once more, the small smirk replacing the shock she'd allow to shine through, eyes and hair taking on their raven coloring again. "That he will," she vowed.
Gently releasing Tia - though only stepping away once certain she could stand on her own again - Willow added, "The firm has a few who owe me some favors. I'll start calling them in, see where it leads me. If there isn't any information to be found, I'll go directly to the source. I'm sure I can persuade Lindsey to help with the right motivation." There was a hint of malice there, a promise of what the CEO would face if he dared refuse her.
"Is there anything else?" she asked after a second. "Whatever it is, name it and I'll make sure it's done." For Tia - Calypso - she'd do whatever it took, no matter what the cost to both herself, and especially to others.
The power of the Goddess within shone through for a moment, in her fury. Tia Dalma's eyes blazed, and when her fingertips brushed against Willow's cheek, there was affection, command, and a fierce wave of power sent through that touch.
"You fin' me dat heart, witchling. Fin' de heart, in de Dead Man's Chest."
Another burst of power, dark and promising. "Den we see what fun we have breakin' de heart o' Davy Jones."