Mm.


Come 'n go so quick.

[light chuckling]

Whatta flood. Mn?




Mean Fish. Ye be settlin' or causin' mo' troubal fo' y'self. She en't be surprised, be it de lattah.

'Onestly. Ye chiles act like dis en't e'er happen!


Simple, mild---may ye mind when dere be a far more hahmful curse a-commin'. Dey always do. 

Just as winter come onnit's wings too. Feh. 

Dis be why she stray from it...same tings she hear, more and more...


Mmn. 

Waiting.  

De wintah months be comin' soon.


Before she know it, Tia will have stayed here yet another year...waitin'...



Hectah. Come see her fo'tea. Mmm? Bring ye bright girl too. Lyra, me dahlin'--ye had best come see her soon too, mm?


Anyone else who wish her counsel...she might give ye time.

Best ne'er t'obey dat which ye cannae see.


Hauntin' an' alurin' it may sing to ye...as compellin' it be ta follow...


What helps?

Locked doors.


Tia be open fo'trades again, dis be a good season. Come see her, if ye so wish it.

Feh!

[light clattering, things being knocked from her table]

A full year!

A full year since. An' still she waits...waits, waits fo' not'ing.

Hmph. Wort'less, thoughtless tings.

Indulgence shoul' be practiced wit' restraint.

Sometin' de people o'de City ne'er do. Achin' from de trut' still?


Hm! It be de lusty mont' o'May. Summah be on it's wings soon.

Foolish creatures ye be.

Tia don't miss de mortal wishes 'n spells. She don't miss de others o'er home, de others dat reign wit' her.

She only miss dat what she is.


An' she en't venturin' out again t'day.

Hmph.

Disgustin' tings. Spineless, slimy cranky fish.

Tch.


[ooc: So taking out her frustration on them.]

Mm. Spring.


De wahm air pleases Tia. She miss de swampy steam from her long-time home...de bright wild eyes o' her chil'ren o'de rivahs.

Seasons of blood moons. Bah.

Best nae seein' pleadin' mout's at her door.

Hah.

Play nice, chiles...

Ye'd best behave this time...

An' be de misery bahk where it be meant t'be?

De more ye smiled, de more morose ye be t'day, hnn?


May de spring come. An' wit it, blossoms and warm babies, aye it be time fo' rebirt'. Fo' de daughter t'return to de mot'er, an' for de snow t'be wiped from de lands...

Hmph. 

[sounds of the ocean in the background....]
So long dat dis place been keepin' her.

She listened to it's watahs, it's winds, eart', an' grounds...


It en't a home.


De sands be too fine. Sprays too thick. Mm.



Lackin' sultry sounds...de moon push 'n pullin' de waves...even it's -cold- be too bittah.


It en't a home.

[A very -different- male voice, but the same mystic accent]
Enough, e'nuff t'be trapped wit'in SKIN, an' now trapped wit'in two...


Pox 'n hell on dis city, pox 'n hell 'pon dis body...


Where be Tia, an' where be her face an' hands...?


[ooc: So pissed. Strikes are in an indistinguishable language.]

...Hmmmmm....







[ooc: Veeery affected, high priestess.]

An' may it stay dis way. 

Idiots.

[a soft, melancholy sound, her music box]

...B'cause she loved him...Odysseus, a hero, de last of his time. Calypso loved him, an' promised him treasures beyond de eyes an' ears of men.

De pain he bring her when he left Gozo, it tainted her heart. Men were ne'er trusted by de Goddess o'de seas again. An' when he came...she needed, need to -test- his love.  De nights were lonely. Wit'out him. So long wit'out a lover, an' he left so quick...

When ye taste blood, ye always wantin' more.



It was Odysseus. Ne'er to return HER love...an' so her love been locked away until...she burned...an' been burned again...


For de tings we want most...dere must be a price t'be paid in de end.

Mmmmh....she been watchin' de uddah worl' for a month...it be December already.

Birth o'de roman Christa. No? Jesus Christ. Calls fo' such...celebration.

[short laughter]

Mortals be so fickle wit' dey worshipin'....dere was a time when temp'ls were erected ta gods and goddess alike...sacrifices beyond all ye know to dem. Script'cha written in tongues none o' ye could dream ta read now.

She don't believe dis will last much longer. Mortals are fickle. Mortals grow bored. Dey will find someting ELSE to worship for awhile...