three two one count it down
swim or drown
Atlas finds the Denocte beach celebration quaint. The colors are mostly muted save for the sharp cut of black and gold; the beige sand sets a benign backdrop for the steel-colored water and the opalescent sky, where the sun is a pale, almost melonlike color, the rays cutting down through a soft covering of platinum clouds. Powdery waves bubble up on the shore pushing pieces of greyed-out driftwood and, if lucky, unearthing a gorgeous shell, supposedly a relic from where holy Caligo strode across these very beaches in time immemorial. Atlas likes the feeling of the delicate, tepid early afternoon water against his golden hocks, his footsteps sinking slightly in the wet sand before being wiped away again as though he was never there.
Mellow though it was, the differences between the Beach Bash on Novus and the festivals he was used to experiencing in his homeland were stark and harsh. Zukai celebrations were full of spice and color, blood-red and coin-gold, the heavy scents of spiced food, coal-smoke, and more illicit activities all stuck beneath a blazing sun and a layer of intense, inescapable heat which made eyes sting with sweat, and every step feel more like swimming than Atlas was now, though he was knee-deep in the surf. Also missing from this particular event was the omnipresent reek of blood from the gladiatorial games being held from dawn 'til dusk at the city center. All the Sand Czars, important princes, and even some chosen wives would be in attendance. Everyone else would pack the city streets, for good or ill, slave and socialite alike.
Atlas far preferred the Denoctian festivities. They seemed to happen at a much slower pace-- very much his style-- but were still bright and cheerful. Parts of the beach were crowded as partiers prepared bonfire circles or bellied up to the bar; the Night Market was equally as populated by sellers and shoppers, hawkers and hagglers, and even the occasional pickpocket or thief.
But Caligo's land was large and for all her faithful there was no way they could swarm all the realm. Some stretches of sand, away from bonfires, sandcastles, and volleyball courts, were trodden by hunters of the rare: in age ranges from the spindly-legged young to bowed-back elders, eyes of all colors were on the lookout for the gilded appearance of the shells of Caligo's footsteps. This was what Atlas had decided to look for, though his pace was not quick. More often than not he spied a treasure that was snapped up by an excited child before he could make his way to it. The losses did not bother him, for he far more enjoyed the stroll on the beach to any sort of competition or race.
Atlas was lonely by nature, but he was no loner, for sure. The chance to be in proximity to others, trading greetings, and experiencing the flow of celebratory life uplifted his spirit, even if he was a singular visitor to a party populated by groups and families. Aside from brief salutations, he was too shy and awkward to truly introduce himself to anyone-- but the day was beautiful and the smiles were many, and so it was not too painful to simply trek on by himself.
Mellow though it was, the differences between the Beach Bash on Novus and the festivals he was used to experiencing in his homeland were stark and harsh. Zukai celebrations were full of spice and color, blood-red and coin-gold, the heavy scents of spiced food, coal-smoke, and more illicit activities all stuck beneath a blazing sun and a layer of intense, inescapable heat which made eyes sting with sweat, and every step feel more like swimming than Atlas was now, though he was knee-deep in the surf. Also missing from this particular event was the omnipresent reek of blood from the gladiatorial games being held from dawn 'til dusk at the city center. All the Sand Czars, important princes, and even some chosen wives would be in attendance. Everyone else would pack the city streets, for good or ill, slave and socialite alike.
Atlas far preferred the Denoctian festivities. They seemed to happen at a much slower pace-- very much his style-- but were still bright and cheerful. Parts of the beach were crowded as partiers prepared bonfire circles or bellied up to the bar; the Night Market was equally as populated by sellers and shoppers, hawkers and hagglers, and even the occasional pickpocket or thief.
But Caligo's land was large and for all her faithful there was no way they could swarm all the realm. Some stretches of sand, away from bonfires, sandcastles, and volleyball courts, were trodden by hunters of the rare: in age ranges from the spindly-legged young to bowed-back elders, eyes of all colors were on the lookout for the gilded appearance of the shells of Caligo's footsteps. This was what Atlas had decided to look for, though his pace was not quick. More often than not he spied a treasure that was snapped up by an excited child before he could make his way to it. The losses did not bother him, for he far more enjoyed the stroll on the beach to any sort of competition or race.
Atlas was lonely by nature, but he was no loner, for sure. The chance to be in proximity to others, trading greetings, and experiencing the flow of celebratory life uplifted his spirit, even if he was a singular visitor to a party populated by groups and families. Aside from brief salutations, he was too shy and awkward to truly introduce himself to anyone-- but the day was beautiful and the smiles were many, and so it was not too painful to simply trek on by himself.
SPEECH ! anyone ! 543 ! come bother him
