Shansa says nothing when the sea goddess enters her shop. Words cannot suffice to describe the feeling of raw power that emanates from her, nor are they adequate to explain the heavy desire that ignites in the pit of Shansa's belly the moment Calypso lays eyes on her.
"Calypso," Shansa breathes, and takes a step back from her array of herbs on the table. Calypso is alive, and here. Well, the sea goddess certainly took her time. "It's you."
"You helped Barbossa?"
The word 'helped' suggested Shansa had done it out of the goodness of her heart when in fact it was the complete opposite. Shansa is in the business of trade, not charity. In her line of work, nothing can be gained without some form of equal exchange involved. "We made an arrangement."
"And us?" Calypso says. Shansa is someone she can understand perfectly well. Nothing is free, except love, and that is far too fickle a thing to be included in any form of deal. Her dreadlocks sway in the evening breeze and her skirt swirls around her with each step as if she is the eye of the maelstrom and swathed in a turbulent ocean. "Do we still have an arrangement?"
Shansa seizes her by the hand and pulls her close enough that she can smell the salt on her skin, then leans forward and touches her lips to Calypso's ear. "It dissolved with your death — but I am sure a new one could be made."