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Gemini was certainly the farthest thing from Tortuga that the powder princess could get and the closest she’d ever been to her mother. It was a strange concept, being so far from home and yet so close to family; perhaps deep down that was the way it was always going to be. Portia never knew exactly what she’d do when she saw Rita’s face again, her reaction was…. ungraceful to say the least, and despite the begrudging safe haven they were given, Portia felt like she had still been trapped.

Contained without a purpose, without a connection, just a very fragile tie to the women who’d she’d called mother.

It took the ghostly pirate weeks to decide when she was going to approach Rita to… talk, but just as she’d mustered up the sanity to do so since their arrival, unusual sounds came from the den of her parents. Tiny yips, soft milk, youth. Portia had stood nearby the den that day in preparation instead she found herself glaring into it, having little care for the replacements her mother and father had made. Portia was a rational creature, one who partially blamed herself for not approaching Rita sooner since they’d arrived. But communication was a two-way street, and one that Portia wondered if her mother tried to walk since they'd reunited.

Portia made little attempt then to reconcile with her mother, allowing feelings of betrayal and being replaced to fester into her being. She'd discovered other exiled pirates also found these rolling hills of what seemed to be a nomad sanctuary; those of the ex-Captain and her mate, Pandora. Portia spent some time with the indigo girl, crafting herself some home-sick jewelry and adorning herself with such to feel a bit more at home— in the way that she wanted to remember it. A small skull with some teal rocks from the faerie pools, obsidian stone from the beaches, and a few earrings gifted to her by the crafter.

Time passed without a second to realize, her mind wrapped up in the remisscense of the good things of Tortuga through the building of her homage to her homeland; it had been a method of personal healing for the ex-princess. Finally, one afternoon, Portia appeared outside of her family’s new den, one of which she’d refuse to enter even if invited in. Instead, she waited for her mother to crawl out from her happy home hole, sitting with seemingly impenetrable patience. Her posture was as poised as ever, adorning her Tortugan-style accessories. Portia always knew how to play the perfect princess and the snobby sister, neither of those traits served her well in her life but it was the few pieces of her true self she could hold on to.

Fiery eyes stared rather unassumingly at Rita whenever she exited the den. Portia didn’t speak right away, curious to see her mother’s reaction to her sudden appearance. It had been months. The kids were probably walking and talking now. But that isn’t what she cared about.

“How’s dad?” First words in months that came from her mouth.

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