RP:Dee Gets Dunked

A Sandy Beach, In Cenril

Deidre stares out over the soft rolling waves of the sea as her nimble fingers gently move through the sand at either side of her. With her legs criss crossed and her bum comfortably planted, the lycan tips her face towards the sun and soaks in the warmth, absentmindedly humming to herself an unheard tune. At least unheard in these parts. The tune is light and soft, matching the rhythm of the waves, the crescendo and decrescendo. It sounds as if she is talking to the water, holding a private conversation and speaking a secret language that only she knows. Her head rolls slowly over her shoulders, her raven hair falling down her back and almost brushing the very sand that her fingers still push and pull. All too soon, the tune comes to an end but the waves continue and the tune can almost still be heard if one were to listen close enough. Sighing softly, Deidre stretches out her long legs and raises her arms above her head to work out the kinks of being seated for so long before standing and brushing the stray sand from her backside and hands. It isn't till now that another scent catches her attention, but she doesn't turn. Instead she waits. Someone else was on the beach and if they had wanted to remain hidden from her, then they would have remained down wind. Seeing as how the sea air was whipping their scent straight toward her, perhaps this new comer was not a threat and was just a passerby. Perhaps not. Crouching, she looks to be gathering her belongings into a small satchel that had been set at her side. If the stranger were to attempt an attack, they would quickly find a blade at their throat, if not in it. The choice was up to them.

The stranger wandered closer, and closer, the only other figure on the shoreline within eyesight. Paying hardly a mote of attention to the woman apparently packing her satchel, the fisherman hurries on past , eager to get home to his wife and children and the hot meal waiting for him.

While Deidre is preoccupied with that individual, perhaps she’s not noticed the figure whose shaggy, dreadlocked head breaks through the ceiling of gently undulating waves, his beachward trajectory revealing more and more of him as he strolls out of the sea. Though it won’t be long before he isn’t to be missed— a lanky, breech-clad, bearded fellow, shaking his dark, silver-streaked head like a dog sloughing rain. The fellow offers her a polite nod of head as he too passes her by, heading for the dune behind her resting-place, where he’s left his only other dry-worldly possession, a rather battered-looking woollen bridge-coat. With this slung over his still-damp arm, he returns to Deidre’s proximity and halts a few yards away. “I heard thee, singing,” he says, his voice a deep roll of sound with timbre of distant thunder, “A song I have not heard before.” His torso, shoulders and forearms are covered in a sparse scatter of pale circular marks, his belly marked—scarred?—with a faintly red serpentine pattern. He wrings water from his beard, his strangely colour-shifting gaze fixed on the woman. Obviously he is unaware of how alarming such half-naked familiarity might be to any total stranger, let alone a woman on her own in such a lonely place. And how had he heard her song from out there, under the water, anyway?

Deidre finishes her “packing” as the stranger quickly passes, paying her little mind before another figure catches her own unnatural and different colored gaze. Moving the satchel to rest at her shoulder, she watches as an entire man emerges from the water, her unpainted full lips curved slightly in what can only be considered an “O”. She continues to stare unabashedly with her deep amber hues as he moves to grab his coat, and it isn’t until he speaks to her directly that she finally shakes herself from her stupor. With a dark brow arched and hip cocked, she points to the very area that the stranger emerged from the sea and simply asks, “How?” The woman seems to be having some sort of debate with herself, her head turning to look at the water before whipping back to the man standing a few yards from her. Surely he didn’t just pop up out of no where, as if he were some sort of water flower. He didn’t have fins like the mythical creatures in the stories she remembered so fondly from her childhood. So how did he just appear?! Never mind the fact he was in a state of half undress, or that he had mentioned her singing…he heard her singing?! Now the Lycan’s face scrunched into what could only be described as a comical look of wrinkled nose, squinty eyes and pursed lips. She had wonderful hearing thanks to her true nature, but even she couldn’t be said to hear under the water! At least, not clearly. It is at this moment reality sinks back in like an ice cold bucket of water, shaking her from her internal debate and her freckle specked cheeks turn a light shade of pink, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s a song from my home, where I’m from - um, where I left..” A slender hand darts out and gestures towards the sea, pointing in a random direction awkwardly, “I’m not from here..” A slightly elongated tooth can be seen gnawing at her lower lip, one of the only indications as to what she truly was. The blush only deepened as she prattled on, stating little of importance but helpless to stop it from falling out of her mouth anyway.

The seaborn’s mouth-corners turn up faintly as the woman blathers, his eyes shifting from deep blue to pale aquamarine. “I too, M’Lady am not from here,” he intones, in reply, repeating her gesture toward the sea. He shrugs into his coat, despite his skin being not quite dry, and fastens a single button at the waist. “It is a fine song, and you sing it with skill. It speaks to vast distances..” he begins to hum the same melody, pitch perfect, the shush of seafoam and low roar of the distant, open ocean filling spaces in the song, while somehow a third sound breaks high above the tune—a long, drawn out and lonely noise. Like a lonely wolf’s mournful cry, sounding faintly from far away. His version comes to a close after a few bars, and the man-apparent nods slightly, “Your people must be great listeners.” He drops to squat flat on his heels, picking through a jumble of broken shells for a couple of whole ones.

Her own internal beast squirmed and wriggled, begging to leap free of its tightly held bonds as the man began to hum. A light sprinkle of goose flesh covered her arms and the fine hairs at the base of her skull stood on end. It wasn’t a shiver of fear, eyes widening with surprise at her own reaction, but of pleasure and longing at the sound of this man’s voice as he sang. It’s true, she missed her home, but he couldn’t possibly be from her home. How could he possibly elicit such feelings in her with just a few bars of a tune? Something about him was just a little…different. And she was going to find out what. The blush that had slowly started to recede reappeared with a vengeance at his compliment, “Thank you, I enjoy singing. The sea is a great listener.” As he searches through the many shells at his feet, she takes this time to study him more fully, the ragged appearance giving off a simple charm. The beard suited him, she thought. She guessed that the top of her head would barely brush beneath his chin were they to stand closer. The feminine she-wolf side of herself could admire the muscles beneath the coat, but the timid human side remained wary and decided to keep her distance. She could handle herself in hand-to-hand but thought it wise to not test him or his ability. Over all, it was his eyes that intrigued her most. The change in their depth had not gone unnoticed and for a brief moment, she wished she could study them a bit more closely. Clearing her throat, and ignoring her own mental warnings, she took a small step forward, “How long have you lived in Hollow? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“In…..?” Mac's head cants to one side slightly, as he casts his voluminous memory for the term and comes up short. The tone of the question seems to imply a body of land-- whether town or continent, he couldn’t quite gather, Dark brows draw down as he ponders . “It is long since I walked these lands,” there, this seems a reply both fitting and true. “I cannot say I truly dwell here. It is my nature to wander.” Whether his next action is a sign of a mercurial nature, or an attempt to change the topic, he makes a soft noise of triumph and holds up a small but beautifully patterned shell, the natural markings resembling some sort of script. “Here, look,” he says, “Here is a gift, indeed. In a language long dead, those markings look like the words ‘blessed of Selene’. To find one is rare luck, and once was considered a mark of great good fortune to come.” He holds it out to the woman on the flat of his palm. “Payment. For the song.”

Deidre catches the slight tilt of the man’s head as he repeats the simple word. Perhaps there is a small language barrier. She will have to keep that in mind. Nodding, she offers quiet agreement to his statement, “I, too, wander..” Her words trail off, however, as he stands and offers his payment. Blinking, she stares at the shell for a moment then glances back to the man, before she too reaches out, palm upturned to accept, “Um thank you. Or - you’re welcome?” Before he can drop the shell in her hand, nimble fingers quickly take it and begin to study the unique pattern he had previously pointed out. To her, she didn’t see an ancient script but rather tiny divots and ridges, formed mostly by the rolling waves and salt water of the sea. Glancing once more towards the stranger, a small smile can be seen tugging the corners of her lips, “It’s very pretty. My name is Deidre.” Taking a leap of faith, she transfers the gift to her left hand before extending her right towards the stranger as was custom for her when making someone’s acquaintance. Her smile widens showing her sharpened K9s as her deep amber gaze holds his steady, showing no malice or threat.

As Mac’s large hand closes over Deidre’s own, the span of skin webbing the space between his fingers becomes obvious. His skin is cool, but not clammy. He completes the gesture and tells her, “Mac,” and stands up, not once averting his gaze from hers. In fact, those ever-changing eyes have shifted to a deep blue-green flecked with gold, like the late sun shining on open water. “Well met, Lady Deidre.” He is oddly formal, for a man dressed like a beach hobo. Mac shifts his glance to the water, then, smiling faintly. “Wouldst thou care to hear a song from my own home?”

Deidre snickers at such a formal title and let loose a very unladylike snort. She tugs her hand free of the webbed grip, and even though it shocked her at first to see such a thing on a very human looking hand, it didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Quite the opposite, it only intrigued her more, “Please, just Dee. No title of lady needed here as I am far from it.” Following Mac’s intriguing gaze back to the sea for a moment, she nods and accepts his invitation for a song. She did love music and it always pleased her to hear new tunes, “Yes please! That would be lovely.” She briefly reaches up to snag a handful of her dark hair, pulling it over one shoulder so as to better control the wayward mass from billowing about in the now stronger beach breeze as she waits expectantly.

M'cracken stares at her curiously a moment, “Wouldst thou prefer I call thee... Sir?” He doesn’t want to offend. He’ll nod at whatever reply Deidre offers, then draw a deep breath. Closing his eyes momentarily, the seaborn again begins to hum, a sound so deep that it vibrates the stomach and cannot be heard by human ears. Tiny grains of silica below begin to shift, creating gently swirling patterns in the sand. Layered over that rises what might be words, but none that anyone has understood in thousands of years, the tune haunting and sweet at first, but building to something more strident and powerful. The sky appears to grow darker, and darker still until it blackens to a constellated abyss, while woven into the song now is another voice, and yet another, each harmonising but with its own pitch and part in the grander melody. In that darkness, in the distance, a beacon shines, high enough over the sea to suppose it might be some kind of light-house. Stars wheel overhead like brilliant gulls, marking the passage of millennia in mere moments. The tune deepens once more, and suddenly Deidre might perceive herself as somehow underwater. The light from the distant tower is faint and broken on the ceiling of the sea, leaving senses to feast on nothing but silence and blackness as a perception of sinking accompanies a slowing of the tune, a tone of chill depth in the refrain. But soon a series of light, baroque embellishments sound among the sombre tones, and from all directions. These new sounds are accompanied by the appearance of myriad bioluminescent jellyfish which floof and flounce into view to light up the engulfing darkness like strings upon strings of colourful party lights dancing in a breeze. A delightful as these are, their joyful additions to the song soon fall to silence, their light dimming, and one by one all the tones follow. Even the ones that summon the night sea and stars above it fade away, leaving only that one deep and vaguely lonely note with which the song began, and which now becomes its end.

All illusion is gone: the sun shines, gulls squawk, the sky is bright and blue, and Deidre and her weird companion stand upon a beach where white-flecked waves shush-shush-shush against the shell-littered shore.

Dee simply blinks at the man's question about her intention for being called "sir" rather than "lady". A dark brow quirks, lips purse irritably and her hands perch on her hips as she prepares to give him a what for, but is suddenly quieted as he begins to hum. A note that resonates deep within her chest and quivers the belly. Her inner wolf begins to howl a mournful cry, longing once more to burst from her constraints and run over the swirling sand as the music begins to flow. Her face relaxes and her hands fall limply back to her sides. Her gaze darkens with the sky, but seemingly glow as if illuminated from within. The lycan's own voice joins the haunting melody, quietly at first but growing in strength with each passing bar. Music always came easily to her and was something she enjoyed immensely. Her head tilts towards the heavens as she is mesmerized by the stars wheeling over head, careening into the abyss. Her arms raise of their own accord, feeling almost weightless as her gaze attempts to focus on the single muted point of light in the distance. It was as if she were floating now. She could almost feel the cool wetness of the water covering her skin. A momentary lapse in senses causes her to panic and she inhales deeply out of instinct but finds lungs full of air. Recovering her senses quickly, she studies her surroundings, though nothing can be seen within the depths of darkness that now engulfed the two. A small jigging light appears, then another and another, before she finds she is surrounded by a myriad of jellyfish. Their light is a comfort to her and a full smile can be seen gracing her lips. Joy resonates from her as a hand reaches out tentatively to touch one such glowing mass as it passes her by, but just before connecting she retreats. If this was a dream, she did not wish to return just yet so was content to simply watch in amazement the show of light. Just as she was thinking this unwanted thought, the lights begin to fade, along with the music. One by one, the notes begin to disappear, the tones retreating back to where ever they had come from and the light of day pierces the lycan's senses once more causing her to wince slightly. Her skin quickly warms in the rays of the sun. She finds herself breathing deeply as if she had just sprinted over the beach in a wild chase. Her full toothy smile can still be seen gracing her features and giving her dark amber hues a spark. Whipping her attention to Mac, her words suddenly fail her. Instead she looks back to the sea and can only gesture to the water before finally finding her breath enough to formulate some sense of a sentence, "Is that...what it's like?" She realizes her question is not quite clear but can not seem to muster much more than that broad smile and excited, longing gaze at the water's surface. Her mind delving deeper now below and into it's depths where her imagination begins to race.

The seaborn’s mouth curves into a slight smile and he nods, shoving both hands into the deep pockets of his coat. “Aye, ‘tis the place where I take rest.” His gaze is set on the distant undulation of low waves far out to sea. “Other places burst with light and the frenzy of life, but that is where I find my peace.” Mac turns a glance aside to the woman, “Thou hast affinity for the sea.” It was more observation than question, but the way he’s hitched a brow implies that he’d like Deidre to elaborate.

The woman nods vigorously as she takes a small step towards the water, her eyes still scanning the waves as if she could dive into the depths with just her mind. She doesn’t answer at first but with a longing sigh she finally returns her attentions back to Mac, “Yes, I love the water. It’s very beautiful and soothing. Although I know not everything is as it seems.” Her gaze takes on a haunted look and her eyes become clouded, “I have witnessed the horrors that can spring from their depths as well..”

She gives the water one last glance before turning to face the man fully once more. Her hands move to the satchel at her side and begin rummaging in the contents, “I know I have it here somewhere..” With a small “aha” of triumph, Dee pulls forth a large conch shell. She had found it a few days prior to this encounter just lying in the sand, but now holds it out to the sea dweller, “Here, for payment..”

Mac gives the admission regarding ‘horrors’ a rather pointedly curious look but opts not to press Deidre on the matter, just for now. Large, webbed hands reach reverently for the heavy shell, and the seaborn lifts it, turning the conch this way and that in clear admiration. “A very fine specimen, of great worth indeed… perhaps more to my people than even your own, Lady Dee.” He says ‘lady’ with special emphasis and what might be half a grin. “Tritons use these as signals for warning… or a call to battle.” Leaving that information just sort of hanging there, Mac nods toward the water, “On occasion, seaborn take those from the Dry World down below the waves…” realising how that must sound, he adds hastily, “…to experience undersea life for themselves, however briefly.”

The Lycan gives the man a small smirk and roll of her eyes at the emphasis on the formal title, but lets it slide. Perhaps some habits were too hard for some to break. She was pleased that he liked the shell. Still gripping her own, she now carefully stows it in place of the conch in her satchel and pats it reverently, “I am glad you approve.”

Her interest is piqued once more at the notion of being taken below the waters surface, however, and eyebrows raise in surprise, “And how exactly is an air breathing land dweller supposed to be taken below the surface without drowning?” Although the idea of diving was tempting, a small shiver of trepidation skitters down her spine at the thought of the dark, airless abyss. With Gifted shell now safely tucked away, the woman begins picking at a strand of hair hanging over her shoulder in nervousness, a pointed tooth seen gnawing at her lower lip in thought. It seems her imagination was already playing out different scenarios in her mind.

The ends of Mac’s black moustache twitch as he grins at Deidre’s incredulous question. “Magic seaweed,” he replies. Nobody on the face of Lithrydel could blame Dee for thinking this weird sea-hobo is a few dolphins short of a pod. Mac’s smile fades slightly, and then he’s fishing in his pocket for something, drawing it out with a soft. “Aha!” He holds out for Deidre to see, almost reverently.

Yep, that is seaweed all right, to go by the odour. A dark golden yellow in colour, that crumpled clump of plant matter doesn’t look very magical

Dee leans closer to Mac to take a better look and quickly regrets doing so. With scrunched nose and audible, “Bleh!” The Lycan quickly backs away from the crumpled mass in the sea dweller’s hand and shakes her head, “There is no way I could stomach that. That has a stench..”

Among singing, the woman also enjoyed playing with ingredients to change the flavor of different meals. As this thought begins to churn in her mind, Dee starts making a list of several herbs and spices for certain dressings, “Although I could cook it with a nice slice of venison roast perhaps..” Turning her gaze back to the man now, her eyebrow quirks in a questioning stare, “Have you ever eaten at a land dweller’s table before, Mac?”

The kraken gives her a scathing look as only krakens can, and holds the clump of kelp out to Deidre again. "If truly thy desire is to see the ocean's wonders... Just.. eat it."

The Lycan’s eyes narrow as arms rise to cross in front of her chest in a defiant stance. A few different retorts cross her tongue but Dee keeps her lips tightly shut. Finally, a short frustrated sigh escapes instead and she reaches out to take the dirty seaweed. A petulant child couldn’t give the man a more heated stare than what Dee was shooting Mac now.

Without so much as glancing at the plant, she balls it in her fist, squeezing hard before shoving it past her lips and chewing rapidly. It doesn’t take long before the woman’s face pinches and eyes clamp shut in effort to keep from dispensing the contents back at Mac’s feet. With an audible gulp, the woman manages to swallow and take a couple of deep breaths of fresh air, “Now what?” Swallowing again, she fights hard to keep from retching. The taste left something to be desired to say the least.

"Now we wait," says the kraken, that 'stache-twitching half grin returning to his face, as he beckons her toward the waiting tide.

Amber gaze only narrows in answer at the Kraken's grin, I really don't understand why I couldn't just cook the seaweed before..." Dee's mouth hangs slack mid sentence and her steps falter. A hand jumps to her throat as she tries yet again for another breath of air but is denied. Fear filled, she looks to Mac, and points to her gaping mouth in panic, looking much like a floundering fish gasping for breath.

A large, webbed hand grasps the back of Deidre's neck, shoving her face and --thanks to gravity and the precariousness of bipedal balance-- the rest of her as well into the waist-high salt water below. And he'll hold her there, whatever thrashing and panic might ensue, until she quits fighting and.... inhales.

Dee begins to grasp for anything to give her balance, coming into contact with the flap of Mac's coat and yanks hard, hoping to give herself some sort of leverage. But quickly comes to realize that without her feet beneath her, the water and the Kracken have complete control now. The saltwater filling her mouth makes her gag once before she finally tries to inhale...and is rewarded with a release of pressure as her lungs immediately stop burning. Opening her eyes, she quickly begins to look around, trying to get her bearings.

Joining her a moment later is Mac, his coat --once prised from Deidre's iron grip on it-- flung across shallow water to the sand. In the the clear aquamarine of of the Cenril sea, dreadlocks take on sea-serpentine shapes as they wash back and forth in the gentle tide,and across the kraken's arms and torso scatters of pale rings flash momentarily a bright, electric blue. Mac opens his mouth as if to speak, but what erupts is a series of high-pitched bloops and shrills, which somehow translate in the woman's head to: "Follow me."

For a figure so awkward on land, he is lithe and his motions smoothly fluid in the water. Webbed hands and feet make him quick, too, so 'Lady Dee' might have her work cut out just keeping up with him. As they travel into deeper territory, the plain floor of sand becomes more colourful, rising to a tall reef of living coral like a hillock of faery antlers. It hosts a thriving community of sea slugs, anemones and other brightly-coloured creatures, along with various fish and eels, crabs and shrimp and a host of marine animals besides. Mac pauses here to let Deidre acclimate properly and take in the sights.

Dee's eyes slowly start to adjust, but images are still somewhat fuzzy to the Lycan's keen sight, not something she is accustomed to. Watching as the form of Mac begins to move away, she tries to follow as quickly as she can. She always considered herself a strong swimmer but now she was tested. She could feel the pressure of the water and her ears popped softly as she made her decent. As she nears the coral reef, her eyes begin to adjust more and she fully takes in the sight of the magnificent formation teeming with life. She delights in watching the small fish dart in and out of the small openings, their colors flashing like small crystals in the sun light. The boots on her feet make it hard to move and so she kicks them free, swimming around the other side of the reef to continue watching. She had all but forgotten her companion , having become so enamored with the other sea life.

While Deidre explores the reef, Mac keeps watch for larger sharks and such predators as may pose a threat to his erstwhile protege. The higher orders of life in the sea would easily recognise the kraken even in his human shell, but sharks are, for all their sleek, dangerous beauty, 'all stomach, very little brain', as his beloved Evriale used to joke.

Deidre's waterlogged boots quickly sink to the floor of the reef, and in moments become objects of great curiosity and worth to a passing octopus, which squishes itself-- legs, sac-body and all-- inside one of the discarded pair while the other is boot is approached gingerly by a mantis-shrimp. its crazy eyes flicking left and right at once in case this odd item proves to be some alien, shrimp-eating monster.

Allowing the woman time enough to enjoy the experience, Mac then makes a click-and-bloop arrangement of sounds that echoes in Deidre's mind as: "Is breath coming easily to thee? The moment thou dost struggle, swim for the surface." Eyes the same hue as the blue sea peer at her through schools of tiny silvered fish, the kraken clearly expecting some kind of reply.

Deidre's bright gaze moves from the reef and its occupants to squint at Mac from a distance. It was still hard for her to see from far off so she kicks out, propelling herself to move closer. Giving him a simple thumbs up and smiling broadly, she allows herself to simply sink to the bottom now in an area clear of coral, the sand shifting beneath her as she descends. With a small poof, her backside settles and she stretches out her arms and legs to lie flat on her back.

The Lycan stares up at the surface, yards above her, and enjoys the light tug of the current as it moves over her, back and forth. The fish begin to teem around her and she remains completely still so as not to disturb their coming and going. For her this was a dream, one she had dreamt many times. She could remain here, forever watching and studying.

And forever is a distinct possibility, should that golden-hued kelp wear off before she notices her cool seawater breaths are starting to feel congested….

Mac swoops overhead, obstructing her view of the sunlight rippling the ocean’s surface, then vanishes from her view. Moments later Deidre is abruptly grabbed by a bare ankle and towed, still in her prone position, all the way back to shore, hopefully in time for transition to air-breathing to go smoothly. Back in the shallows, the kraken’s psychosonic sea-language will ring in Dee’s mind once more, “Wait for the urge to cough, then surface..” His own head breaks through the ocean’s low ceiling.

Dee gives a yelp of surprise as she is suddenly yanked from her prone position on the sea floor, bubbles carrying the sound to the surface as she is sped along to the shore. When she finally comes to a halt, she sits up and quickly rights her clothing, giving Mac an irritated glare. Her mouth begins moving but only those pesky bubbles can be seen flying from it. As Mac pops his own head above the surface mid rant, not waiting for her to finish, a growl can be heard coming from the Lycan as she bares her teeth in frustration.

Only a few moments pass as the woman sits seething just beneath the sea water, before she can feel the breaths becoming shorter, more labored. A small feeling of regret passes, and she turns to give the vast underwater world one final look. Slowly pushing herself up above the surface, only the top of her head and eyes can be seen, still shooting daggers in Mac's direction. Slowly she brings her nose and mouth up, taking small tentative breaths. It is hard at first and she coughs lightly but mere seconds pass before she is able to take a full lung full of the salty air once more.

Wading through the shallows back to the sandy beach, she begins wringing out her hair and clothes, still giving Mac an annoyed look, "All you had to do was say it's time to go. Dragging someone is not necessary.." Her voice is a bit raspy and she coughs to clear it again. Sitting on the beach beside her satchel that she had left behind before being unceremoniously dunked earlier, she pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins to run her fingers through the tangled mass to braid it. Her lower lip juts out in what can only be described as a pout.

In reply to Dee’s protest, Mac—- himself shedding trickles of saline onto the sand now — flips a gesture toward the portion of ocean they’d just vacated, and the tell-tale triangle fin making swift, smooth circles in the water there. “Sometimes, M’Lady, it is…” and turns away to locate his coat, not in time to hide a grin.