There’s something about this particular morning that has Sloane in a state of awe. It isn’t often that she cares to watch the sun rise or set, that she cares about what others are doing in their own free time, or what needs to be done. She lives for her own work, cares only for herself, and seems to piss off just about everyone she meets. And yet…it’s surprising just how many individuals keep coming and going from her life as if they actually mean something to her. So many keep tabs on her, inserting themselves into her personal space if only to ensure that she knew someone cared about her. Such sentimental things did nothing but irritate the mare. And yet, I digress.
As the morning sun begins to rise, Sloane is standing on her own little island, enjoying watching the storm roll in. There is a sense of peace that she feels when she stands alone on the island. For someone who is not thankful about much of anything, she is thankful that Somnus has allowed her to stay on this quiet little island, even if it is right next to those fucking squirrels that set everything on fire. It was amazing that anything green still grew there.
Eyes look out at the white caps, thrashing against the sand bar. Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning strikes the surface of the water. And yet, Sloane stands on the white-sand beach, enjoying the way the wind whips through her hair. It’s quiet here, despite the sound of the storm blowing in. Eyes close softly as she listens to the way the trees wave in the wind, the way the waves crash into the shore, and the way the birds call out to her. She stands there in absolute awe, just enjoying this moment and the peace being alone brings her.
And when her eyes finally open, she sighs in absolute contentment. She does not fear the oncoming storm nor does she seek shelter away from it. She welcomes it. But what she doesn’t welcome is visitors. There is a reason she lives on this island alone. And when she realizes that she is no longer a lone, she cannot help the way her eyes seem to roll. No, Sloane is not keen on her morning being disrupted by a conversation she doesn’t want to participate in.
A man with as many fears as he should be afraid of storms, but he wasn't afraid-- he just found them uncomfortable. He hated the storm itself (wet feathers-- he hated wet feathers-- and the rain in his eyes, and the wind monstrous and livid) but he loved the electric calm before it. Steel on his tongue. Similar to but not quite like blood. It was better, wilder. Exciting.
In the air, high above Delumine, he could feel the air tense with anticipation between each and every feather of his wings. And the smell of rain! Delicious, invigorating, apple-crisp and knowing. What secrets was she keeping, this galvanic mistress? Would that he could ask her-- if anyone could charm lady nature, it was Mateo.
Right?
When the wind picks up it jostles him like an old friend. He fights it, leaning sharply to one side or another, and for a few minutes they are just two boys, Teo and the wind-- but one is much larger, much stronger, and much more serious about their game. Eventually the young pegasus grits his teeth and glides down to earth with as much grace as one possibly could with the gale all around him like a vindictive lover.
(Sure, it was a mess of similies, but the wind was anything but lifeless)
There's a woman standing on the beach. He remembers seeing her before-- that red hair sticks out, although she seemed the type who wanted to do anything but. He only hesitates a moment before approaching, head held low and genial. He stops a respectable distance away with a small but charming smile. "Hey, I'm Mateo. Sorry, I uh... I just needed to get out of the sky." He has a decency to look sheepish-- she stands like she owns this little island, and for all he knows she does. "Do you live here?" Mateo didn't see her around court much, but he was certain she was a citizen of Dawn court... he had an impeccable memory, especially for redheads.
He can hear the man trudging through the sand. The sound is defening, even amongst the brewing storm. It’s almost like footsteps crunching in the snow. It’s loud and tells her exactly where he is without even having to turn her head to look at him. It gives away his position, someone that Sloane would never rightfully do. She was a master of disguise and subtlety. She would not have made so much noise when approaching a complete stranger. Then again, he was not her. He was someone different and she had to admit, she didn’t know him.
Slowly her head turns, the wind whipping against red streak hair. She faces against the wind, her hair blowing into her eyes and she blinks back the sting it makes. She looks at the black creature, the one who has this awful grin upon his lips. It’s charming and cute…and Sloane hates things that are both charming…and cute. But she says nothing and she certainly does not return the smile.
He starts off by a friendly introduction, something Sloane has really never been good at. She’s not the first one to come greet you when you arrive and she’s certainly not a great host. So instead of welcoming him to the little Island Somnus has given her, she looks at him as if he is trespassing…which he is, at least to Sloane. “Sloane.” Her tone is flat, her words short and precise. She has never been very good at social situations and she is sorry (is she, really?) that he has been subjected to her less than hospitable hospitality.
She looks to the sky when he says that he simply had to get out of the sky. She looks up at the raging wind that bring the storm clouds closer to her little island. For a moment, she is jealous that he can fly. He gets to touch the clouds. And then, for a moment, she is angry that he is choosing not to.
When her eyes turn back towards him, she looks at that grin, that sheepish smile and she cannot help but think that he looks like a fucking idiot. But she doesn’t say anything of that nature, which is an accomplishment. Normally she does not have a filter. Considering her mood, it’s quite a shock she hasn’t said anything at all.
The next question is easy enough to answer. “Yes…Somnus has given me this island.” He would not be the first to question her right to the island, so she might as well be the first to broach the subject. Yes, she lived her. Yes, the island was hers (well, maybe not hers, but she believes it to be hers). She looks to the island next to her own, motioning towards it with a gentle shake her to head. “The squirrels that set the forest on fire live over there. Consider yourself lucky.” She had seen them startle and start to burn down their own forest. He could have been killed by fire if he landed over there. She might not kill him…not today at least.
Well yes, walking through sand is not Mateo’s forte. One could very easily argue walking at all is not his forte. It’s why god graced him with wings, or so he told himself. And he isn’t here to rob or murder anyone, so he isn’t particularly concerned with how loud he is. The woman seems upset about it, or maybe it’s just because she’s got the wind in her face. He smiles anyway.
“Mateo. A pleasure to meet you, Sloane,” he says with a low bow of his head.
“Oh I do,” he grins. “I consider myself very lucky. I’ve lived a downright charmed life right from the start. I hope to keep it that way until I’m nice and old.” To achieve that, Mateo lived a simple life. He stayed away (to the best of his ability– curiosity was sometimes difficult to overcome) from strange magical islands, kept his nose out of trouble (except the harmless kind that brewed between fellow drunkards), and did not leave home much. He gandered the redhead could say the same for at least a few of those points, but has the wit to keep his mouth shut on this matter. He learned quickly in his youth that some women like to hear you say what you think of them right off the bat, but most… most definitely do not.
“Hmm, fucking squirrels.” Such language is unusual for the bard (failed bard. It’s a touchy subject.) but then again, Sloane is unusual company. And Mateo is the sort of man to intuitively mimic the personality and mannerisms of those around him. It is a nuanced trait we don’t have time to defend at the moment, although a defense does certainly exist. But it’s far easier to attack and list its potentially negative connotations: he’s desperately needy for approval and weak of character, to start.
But see, when he modifies his speech and mannerisms he’s not lying. He isn’t putting on a show. He simply… taps into a different perspective, takes it on completely. Mateo does hate those squirrels, well and truly, for they burned the one thing he loves almost as much as the sky, almost as much as life itself: the forest. He rustles his feathers like he’s ready for a fistfight. Fuck those squirrels.
The pegasus turns his attention back to the very tall mare. “Do, uh, do you mind if I stay a little while? Until the storm passes?” He supposes he ought to ask, if the island is really hers.
Mateo. She supposed it was an easy enough name to remember, if she’ll even remember it at all. Sloane has never been one of those girls that can lock away names and pull them out at the drop of a hat. She has always ignore people in general, so trying to remember their names had never been someone she cared all that much about. But then again, she was trying to be less bitchy and a little more social, at least that’s what she keeps telling herself. Perhaps she should make a change and try to remember a name or two. If she remembered his name the next time they met, perhaps he should feel special.
She tells him he’s lucky that he landed on her island vs the island inhabited by the fire-starting squirrels. He doesn’t seem to quite grasp the concept she was trying to impress upon him. Those squirrels would have killed him and she has yet to make her own move, so he’s lucky to be alive on either front. But he reminds her a lot of Ipomoea, happy and chipper and excited about life. All the things that make her want to vomit. Was that a little vomit she tasted just now?
He was going to live the charmed life until he was nice and old, or so he says, and Sloane simply shrugs him off. She would probably die young of natural causes, she was sure. Their outlooks on life were vastly different, though she didn’t necessarily knock his way of thinking. She was not overly conversational, so picking this fight seemed rather insignificant. She would rather argue over something that really mattered vs arguing over whether or not their attitudes would get them well into old fart status or into an early grave.
It is the next thing that comes from between his pursed lips that has her cocking her head ever so slightly as her yellowed gaze turns to him. Fucking squirrels. That was her language, something that didn’t seem like the sort of thing he might be interested in. She had seen stranger things, she supposed. But she says nothing, only watches him as he begins to rustle his feathers as if he’s getting ready to take off or fight.
However, before she can ask him how long he plans to stay (because she likes to think she has plans and cannot keep any sort of company), he asks her if he can stay for awhile, at least until the storm passes. She can feel the way her eyes roll, the look of annoyance so plainly obvious. Sloane has never been overly good at hiding her true emotions. She has no poker face. The one good thing about Sloane is that she is not a very good liar. She says things how they are and she doesn’t give a rat’s ass if the comments or wanted her warranted. "What? Don’t like storms?" The bad weather made her feel powerful and alive. She almost felt as though she could take on the world when she was standing in front of such raw power. Storms were dangerous and unpredictable. Perhaps that’s why she liked them.
But then she remembers that she hasn’t exactly answered his question about whether or not she will allow him to stand on her island until the storms pass. With a heavy sigh and another roll of her eyes, she concedes. "As long as you leave it the way you found it." That was Sloane nicely telling him that as soon as the storm had passed, he better fuck off without a single grain of sand misplaced.
“What? Don’t like storms?” If Sloane were to look closely, she might see the tiny gears in his little mind wildly trying to calculate if she was serious or not. “Well…” He comes to the uncertain conclusion that she’s not joking.
“No, of course not. Don’t tell me you do?” He liked clear skies, sun on his wings, easy flying. Stormy weather meant the very opposite of all these things. And he was completely on board with different strokes for different folks and all but… come on. Heavy rain? Flooding? Cold temperatures? Worst of all, random flashes of lightning followed by terrifyingly loud noises? Was the thrill of the storm ever enough to outweigh its sheer unpleasantness? Mateo thought not; there were other, better ways to get a kick.
Sloane tells him to leave the island the way he found it. He can’t think of a way to not do this. What, was she expecting him to start cutting down trees for shits and giggles? Even if he had the physical capacity for that (which he certainly does not), he has no interest in destroying or transforming the natural world. Especially not with a storm coming. "Yeah, of course" No excessive touching, no terraforming (even on the slightest scale). He would even shake all the sand off himself before taking off. Mateo didn't want to ruffle any metaphorical feathers. He just wanted to stay dry.
It starts to become clear that she wants him to leave her alone. But he doesn’t want to be alone. So he stalls, nervously figeting his wings, not quite ready to find a quiet grove to wait out the rain all by himself. “So, uh, what do you do here? I mean… surely you contribute to society? In some way?” He pegged her for a warrior, but living all alone out here maybe she was a craftsman, reclusive and dedicated to her trade.
- - -
@Sloane
She simply shrugged her shoulders at his question of if she really liked storms. She ensured that the shrug was exaggerated and obvious, making sure that he go the point. She liked storms. The unpredictability of them, the way the lightning seemed to come out of nowhere, and the suddenly loud BOOMS that seemed to rumble from one end the sky to the other. She found storms to be beautifully poetic in their own little sort of way. Perhaps she just liked them because she was a masochist. Yes, perhaps that was the real reason.
But despite their differences on the issue of storms, Sloane has yet to truly kick him out. She’s allowing him to stay, which is probably more than he deserves. After all, he did fly onto her island uninvited. She makes sure to tell him that he better leave the island the way he found it. She didn’t know what he might get himself into, but she wasn’t going to be cleaning up after someone else’s shit. He agrees readily and Sloane nods with a finite nod.
But when he speaks again, Sloane can feel the annoying building within her bloodstream. Her face displays the annoyance, offering no shelter from the irritation her face shows. Was he really going to stand there and talk to her? Could he not see that she was probably not the most social creature and probably not the one he wanted to have a conversation with? Clearly he had less braincells than she originally thought.
With a heavy sigh, her eyes settle on him with a glare. "I stay out of people’s way…you should count your blessings." She could be one annoying bitch to live with. The fact that she mostly kept to herself was a blessing in disguise. They had no idea just how annoying she could be.
Since he clearly was not grasping the concept that she wanted to be alone, Sloane would simply put more distance between them. She turned away from him, not offering him any further explanation or questions. Nothing she did would ne inviting him to stay longer. After a few paces, she paused. Neck craned around her so she could look at him fully. "There’s a lean-to just around on the other side of that coconut tree…enjoy." There. That was Sloane being extra nice. She was offering him shelter from the storm he so clearly hated.
And just as she was finished talking, she turned back around and continued on down the beach. There was another spot a few hundred yards from here were she could enjoy the storm rolling in. At least she hoped that she would be safe from his presence there.
