RP:Off The Beach

Summary: Ranok encounters Dakota near the dismantled mermaid siren in Cenril. After some discussion and analysis of the current state of this contraption, the selkie manages to get Ranok to remove the unsightly thing from Cenril's beaches. Begrudgingly, he does it, but only to repay a prior debt. The quest does backfire on Dakota and while the siren is removed from the beach, it is discarded into the ocean leaving the selkie displeased with Ranok. Surprise, surprise, this is Ranok here.

Scent of the Sea, Cenril

Ranok hadn't been in Cenril long. At least today. Just another pass through, chasing god knew what. Always busy, he was. The place held no endearment to him. Just a source of dirty bastardry, back stabbing, and more dirt. He couldn't even sail through over the roofs like in Rynvale. The place was rundown enough in certain areas that a risk of roof collapse was not simply likely, but probable. And the one time he'd landed wrong and burst a leg through, the occupants below stabbed him. A solid kick was decent revenge, but there was no urge to repeat the experience. But even the scab that was known as Cenril had its charms. One was a certain sticky bun vendor, tucked away in a corner. The other was when the place was cloaked in rain as it was this evening. The clouds overhead were a sullen sort of gray, but not the beligerent sort that promised a quick tantrum. But the sort that lingered, complaining softly and spitting out a light but steady flow. As the winter was still lingering as much as the clouds, the air was more chilly then warm. As such, most of the occupants of the city were wisely indoors. As Ranok was not a native, and also he did what he wanted, he remained outdoors. So clad in a cleansing rainfall, much of the grunge gave way to a damp sheen instead. With collar up and his hat brim low, Ranok was largely immune to the rainfall. As he was meandering the streets, a broken pile of parts catches his eye. While garbage was no new thing in Cenril, the twisted mass of metal and a few recognizable parts did catch his eye. Unaware of the apparently significant stigma against those who's blood was the sea, he had no idea what the thing was for. A finger is trailed on the metal, catagorizing its types. Common ones, irons, some copper, and a base of wood. All common ones so as not to tempt. It made noise, but for what? Momentarily engaged with the mystery, his fingers were fishing for a different type of fish in a pocket. Namely, his smoking kit and a cigar.

Dakota is prone to extended disappearances, the reason behind that obvious only to those who are also born of the sea or the very select few landwalkers that know her for what she is. Still, on this day, there Dakota is, alive and looking well. Her garb is simple today, consisting of a black skirt that was normally flowing but today was weighted down because of the weather, a modest black top, and sandals. The average citizen might also find need for a jacket and perhaps have a want for closed toed shoes, but the weather did not seem to bother Dakota. It was another day. The woman's pace is a leisurely one that carries her away from the sea and toward the city. Held within the grasp of one hand is a small pouch that the dark-haired woman gives a light jingle as if to assess it's contents and weight. Further down from the docks it sounds like there is a bit of a commotion, one sailor blaming accusing another of theft. Perhaps their tempers are fueled by the gray skies and the fact that their ships captain wouldn't give them the day off. Cargo had to be loaded, this weather would not slow them down. Though Dakota herself is the guilty culprit, Dakota pays them no mind and continues to put distance from herself and them in casual stride. By now she's far enough out of their line of vision that they really wouldn't even suspect her. Why she wants the gold? Who knows why sea creatures do half of the things they do, they could be such an odd bunch. Dark eyes soon find Ranok in their sights and her curiosity gets the better of her, as it often does. Her steps quicken so that she can catch up to him, making no attempt to conceal that small (and light) pouch of gold from view. Though it would be impossible for her to be able to match the man stride for stride, she keeps up by taking two steps for his every one just so she can inquire, "Won't the rain put it out? It seems like it would. Can you make it stay lit even though it is raining?"

Ranok had a few weaknesses. One was a fondness for machinery. The second was a dislike of letting his ears hang out. The third...well, he had to keep a few secrets. Or all of them, truly. But this meant that the rain's gentle tap upon his head and hat muffled the approach of the waifish woman. His curiousity took care of the rest. She'd gotten close. Too close. His hands were on automatic, having fished the cigar out of its leather case. Clipped the ends, adding the bit of herb and smoking paper to the ground in an uncaring mess. Just as he was raising it to his lips to light it and cycle the first smoke through in an all important tasting, she crops up at his elbow. Two things happen. The first was that a spark that was emerging from his left fingertip goes awry, zapping him on the cheek and making it twitch. The second was that deeply held instincts kicked in and were immediately arrested because it didn't do to stab curious women in the gut because they were damnably quiet. Usually. The end result was that the cigar goes bounding away, fumbled. Hands grasp and it bounces off a damp forearm, flips over to the other hand before he finally arrests it with a slap of the hand to his chest, "What?" Cheek twitching from the aftershocks, he turns a displeased expression on Dakota, "What the hell, girl? You go bounding up to strange men like a puppy all the time?"

Dakota's first instinct is to back away from Ranok several steps when that spark goes awry. Both eyes grow wide with surprise and remain in that state until Ranok speaks. This cranky demeanor suggests to Dakota that the man will recover just fine and so the doe-eyed look passes. Arms are folded across her chest, right arm tucked beneath the left so that the pouch of gold clutched is partially tucked out of sight. However, the does not do this out of common sense or motivation to keep her own self from being robbed. This may be Cenril, but she was not familiar enough with it yet to be overly concerned. "Yes," her answer comes, straight to the point. "Especially if they are doing something that strikes me as odd." And most things that those on the land tended to do still struck her as odd, even if she was far more accustomed to their ways than other selkies. Moire, for example. "Most of the men that I see that smoke do not use what you were using. They use, uh...." After a brief struggle to find the correct words for what she is trying to describe, Dakota gives up. "Well they do not use what you are using...." It's past Ranok that Dakota looks toward the dismantled mermaid siren. One machine looks like the other as far as the selkie was concerned, and so more questions were lobbed Ranok's way, "What is that thing over there?" Extended disappearances into the sea means that she is not fully up to speed with all of the troubles on the land. Her knowledge of recent happenings consists only of the bits and pieces that Moire has managed to provide.

Ranok was glaring sourly at a lot of things. First, Dakota. Then, the broken remains of the cigar. It was beyond salvage of a full smoke, at least. Bent in half, slightly damp, and frayed at one end. He could maybe clip it, but...no, the damp would have seeped. Worthless. So then it gets chucked to join the sea of debris and dirt that was the streets of Cenril. So that left Dakota to earn his ire, but she seemed impervious. Why people thought that a seven foot tall man bedecked in armor and weapons that seemed pissed off all the time seemed harmless he'd never know. Maybe people just weren't afraid of death. "How," he asks as he grudingly withdraws the smoking case anew, "Have you survived this long?" It was less a question and more a statement. Sometimes people had all the luck. His movements to replace his previous cigar were short and aggressive, with none of the ritual and plenty of 'I need a goddamn smoke' implied. "How the hell should I know? It's junk. It made noise, but doesn't any more." Jamming the end of the cigar into his mouth, he lights it again with a spark from his fingertip. This time, it finds its home. But once he'd gotten a drawl from it, a cloud of smoke fleeing from his nostrils, the hat protecting from the rain in an answer to Dakota's first question, he was peering at her again. The glower ebbs just slightly, and his gaze turns curious, "Why do you look familiar?"

Dakota steps carry her further away from Ranok but bring her nearer to the the siren. Finger reach out to poke and prod at this and that in a manner that is investigative but in a manner that is only surface level, though she would not be capable of advanced assessments anyway. Time is taken in answering Ranok, to the extent that one might think she was blatantly ignoring him. There is absolutely no regard for the fact that the cigar is broken beyond repair, it is as if she just expect Ranok to be able to produce a new one and then all could be right in his world. The selkie finally speaks, but it is not an answer to Ranok's query. It's just a comment, delivered only once she has done a full circled investigation of the broken machine. "Well if it is broken and useless then they should clean it up. People should not be leaving trash around." Though Dakota and initially began this venture by braving to attempt to move further inland, her mind seems to be changing and her sights soon come to rest on the ocean in the distance in brief contemplation. Back to Ranok her sights go, "I have no idea." She lies, if Ranok could not recall the details then she had no care to remind him. "This city is full of faces. You perhaps have seen one that looks like me." Two of the tree subjects Ranok brought up were addressed, the insult was just flat out ignored. "But you said it yourself, we are strangers to one another."

Ranok was down and out a small sum, a good deal of time, and a high quality cigar. In a younger time, he'd have demanded blood. The years, believe it or not, have softened him. And given that she's blithely ignoring his most pointed of glares, he's rendered powerless. "Try to find someone that cares to. The materials are rusted out and worthless. No one can even sell them. Why it's still here is beyond me. But my guess is that it's worthless." Be that either of them knew its true purpose. To underline his point, and perhaps to work out a bit of pent of aggression, he reaches over and wrenches off the klaxon, "See? Some steel. Rusted out. Worthless." He tosses it, the thing emitting a sad sort of whine. This was also largely to work out where he'd seen her. Flashes of memory. The darting shape of a departing figure out at sea. Paralysis, and monsters attacking. A wager offered out by the sea wall. Another day in the rain. "I remember you now. You're that...what do they call them." Smoke furrows out from his cigar, and he tips his head back to allow it to escape more easily. "Sea monsters or something. You've come back."

Dakota would also like to add the time that Ranok made her cry to that running list of things, that one rated high in Dakota's memory. Which could be part of the reason that she is not entirely forthcoming with the Ranok about who she is. Yes, she will continue to deny it even though Ranok is clearly catching on. Rather than give herself away, feet continue to carry her further away from the sea an deeper into Cenril with the ultimate goal of making her departure (as her player must do that sleep thang shortly). Plus the longer she sticks around in Ranok's company, the longer he can insist that they know one another. "Perhaps I will find someone that cares," comes her retort. "Anyway, you are mistaken. I live here. Not in the sea. So I most certainly cannot be a sea monsters." More steps are taken, more distance between herself and Ranok. Since there was some level of recognition, Dakota would not take the most direct route back to the ocean. She would instead wander the streets and search for an alternative route, just in case. "Just a tip, most women do not appreciate being referred to as a sea monster." A pause. "It was nice meeting you but I should go home now. Good bye."

Ranok had no recollection of the crying thing. He barely remembered her as it was. It might have been concerning that he did not recall. Maybe he just made a lot of women cry in his past. Did killing husbands and sons count? If so, there'd be an accounting for sure. Either way, he was calling after her, a hand drifting into a pocket, "I never did thank you for saving my life. Not often it happens." He chews on the cigar a little, the thing bobbing. A slight regret at the phrasing of his words, but he wouldn't be Ranok if he really put his words diplomatically. In his defense, he can hardly be pressed to recall every single one of the non human permutations of the world. "Monster or ...selkie. That was it. The seal. I looked it up later." More chewing on the cigar, "I still owe you one."

Dakota does not fully give pause in her attempts to distance herself from Ranok, not at first. The selkie woman instead turns, so that she is facing Ranok but now walking backwards instead. It is hard to read Dakota's reaction to what Ranok is saying as her eyes are so dark that they do not seem to reveal much in the way of emotion. The dark-eyed look was much more endearing in seal form. By the end of what Ranok says, Dakota at the very least stops and holds her ground, but she makes no move to close the gap between herself and Ranok again. A quirk of a brow, "Well. Selkies hardly constitute monsters, I think at least. Do they look monsterous in either form? Hardly." Her next statement is finally at least some confirmation that Ranok perhaps has the right sea monster in mind. "You know what would be an amazing thank you?" She motions to the dismantled siren, leaving Ranok to figure out what she presumes to be an obvious request. Make the hunk of junk disappear.

Ranok held mixed emotions. On one hand, if the woman were to walk out forever, it'd require no debt repayment. On the other hand, it'd hang over his head forever. That would not do. "The worst monsters are the ones that do not appear to be so." A hand indicates himself, the implication being that he included his own self into such a category. She was correct about the puppy eyes not working so well, but he was also slightly relieved that he'd gotten the correct woman. Selkie. Whichever. So he didn't call an innocent woman a sea monster, or the like. Not that he made a habit of it. A shake of his head to slant some of the water of the rain off, and he gestures too at the broken machine, "You want me to repair this?"

Dakota shakes her head at Ranok, evidently because he is a man she would just have to spell everything out. Zing. Steps take her closer to the machine so that she can break off a piece of that rusted steel with surprisingly little effort. "No, you said it yourself. It is junk. Made of this steel stuff? And you said that was rusted." She holds her hand out for Ranok, palm facing up, to show him the piece of steel she has broken off -- like he has never seen such a thing before, right? Sea creatures. "If that is true, it seems like it not worth repairing. But it is ugly. And unsightly. And it should be removed from the beach. The beaches would be much better without it marring the views." That steel does not remain on display in her hand for long, the selkie woman disposes of it on the platform of the dismantled siren, amongst some other bits of the broken contraption.

Ranok might have been offended, but he's no mind reader. And since Dakota was a woman, he'd have to force her to spell it out for him. But since she seems to be interested in the machine, he's moved closer to it. And her. Bending over to allow the patter of rain to hit his hat at an angle and roll down his back, and not down his collar, he could investigate a little better without the fear of damp. It took him a little while to learn how to do it. There was little worse then damp underpadding. "It is hardly worth repairing, yes. Probably impossible at this point. Too much exposed to the wind and elements. So you want to be rid of it. Fine. Stand back." He gets to work, whether or not she does. The sword is drawn forth, the blade black as night and soon beaded with water. An unusual case for the weapon, as normally it was adorned in blood. The thing shifts in his hand, seemingly melting, the blade dulling and turning into a haft. At its tip a hefty blade grows, and soon Ranok is holding an axe. This is immediately applied to the base of the machine. Hitting it where it was bolted to the platform, breaking rusted nail and bolts.

Dakota smiles in a rather triumphant manner when she finally is able to convince Ranok to do the dirty work of trying to break down the worthless machine. As instructed, the selkie begins to back away from the man so that he could hack away without hacking into her on accident. Another step back is taken when one of the bolts that Ranok breaks does not fall straight to the sands but instead springs forward as a result of the force of the impact. Now this was getting into a level of very noisy and very dirty work that Dakota really had no interest in participating in. Why should she help? Ranok said he owed her. "Well by the looks of things you will have this broken down and cleaned up in no time. I really should be going...." Since she has already confessed to being the selkie Ranok recalls from so long ago, she drops the ruse and instead her path will take her directly toward the beaches.

Ranok might have scoffed. This was barely hard. He was only seeking to separate it from its base. Once done, the axe slides back into its sword shape, much faster then it took to transform into it in the first place. A flick and the sword is sheathed. "Leaving already?" A kick at the machine. If Dakota thought she'd get back at him by making him work hard, she was fairly mistaken. Another kick and the thing groans, sliding against the wooden base, well and truly removed from its base. "Before I even get done? How inconsiderate." Lights flare over his shoulder, a familiar trio of electric blue that surges from the barely distinct flecks of starlight to will-o-the-wisp intensity. Left arm gestures, over the broken pile of parts, and electricity arcs between his fingers. A tie between the mess of metal and his hand and it lifts up, his arm quivering slightly as it acts as a counter balance to hold the weight. A jerk and its sailing upwards, his hand snapping back to avoid being clipped. At the crest of its travel, he ducks down slightly to give himself the proper angle, and there is another crackle. A distinct snap and the sound of a gong being struck and the junk flies outwards and over Dakota's head, well into the sea and shore. Ranok's boots had been planted and he rocks with the recoil of the weight being pushed so hard. But he's recovered quickly, and was taking his cigar from his lips, ashing it onto the street, "Done."

Dakota evidently should have not counted this as a victory so soon. For yes, while the siren is now gone from the beach, it is not joining the trash in the ocean. Dakota was more than intent on departing but that departure was slightly delayed so that she can give Ranok one of those 'you are the worst' looks. "Hmph." Dakota says, in a less that gracious manner, which Ranok is sure to love. "Well you have held up your end of the bargain and I suppose in all technicality this would mean you are debt free. But truly? Do you think I want your land trash in the ocean?" This is one of that rhetorical questions, at least in Dakota's mind. She can already presume that his answer will be an apathetic one and best, or full of piss and vinegar at worst. "Perhaps I have family and friends who swim these waters and if they hurt themselves on that worthless hunk of metal." Indignant and huffy, the selkie woman keeps on her path to the sea.

Ranok mutters, "Always another issue with you..." but still, he didn't move from his perch next to the former siren, "The sea will wash it all away. Rust and eat it faster then the sea air could. The sand will bury it, and it will become choked with weeds and all but harmless within...well, before you know it. Also, you should have specified where." He knew he was the worst. In absence of a particular wish, he took the most expedient route. Leaning down, cigar between fingers, "And if your kin have any sense, they stay well away from Cenril's shores. This is a sightseer beach. You'd...swim where you could be seen so easily? Hunted? Loose your skin where any hapless bastard could pick it up?"

Dakota does not stop her escape route. If anything her pace picks up at the turn the conversation takes. A man speaking of the theft of a selkie's skin? That was practically cause for Dakota to break into an all out run. She manages to refrain from doing that much, but she is hellbent on ending this conversation with Ranok. Talk about the wrong things to say to a pretty sealwoman? Absolutely no response comes forth this time, that very line of conversation is just flat out ignored. There was the occasional glance over her shoulder just to make sure he does not attempt to stalk her down to steal her skin.