Antaeus
dance with the waves, move with the sea
let the rhythm of the water set your soul free
There is a certain hum of relaxation that encompasses his being. It comes with the gentle lull of the waves, coaxing his breath to fall in time to each drag and pull of the water's wake. The foam that rolled in dispersed more of the salt into the air. The heat warms his pelt, drying the salt into a subtle crust against his navy hues. He could close his eyes and almost pretend he was home. Any moment, his mother would break the water's surface, his grandmother shortly after, calling him to the depths for dinner. Almost. But, it is never perfect. It's never home. It was before those land-dwellers destroyed the tribe and decimated it without cause. It had been his first true interactions with those who didn't live below the oceans. They had been the other half of his heritage - like the stallion who had sired him -- and seeing them murder his loved ones as they fought to defend him . . . had been world-shattering. It had closed him off, knowing it was far too risky ever to let others see how he was different.
But moments, stolen, like this, where he could feel far more like himself - those were the brightest moments of his life. When he felt like himself, but stolen moments (even stolen by a pirate) can always be recaptured. He was sure he became aware of her far sooner than she noticed him - the grayed mare walking the beach, something floating alongside her. He relaxed, deciding that she was no threat to his peace and quiet for the moment. However, the kelpie-turned-pirate was not expecting her reaction to noting him. He'd seen the pauses and stares before. So when she stopped and starred, he waited for her response, his gaze half-lidded, watching her from the corner of his eye (grateful that the lack of pupils made it far more difficult to judge where his attention lay - a perfect thing for a pirate).
The mare then did the most startling thing he'd ever noted. She studied him. The pirate froze in silence for a brief moment, waiting - watching, only for her book to start to fall, the gasp further signaling her presence - even if he hadn't been aware of it before. But then . . . then she did something unexpected, seeming to sneak around, I wouldn't call that sneakin', of course. As obvious as a beached whale, that one. before settling her book against some rocks, her gaze between him and the pages, jumping back and forth as the pen moved across the paper. Surely . . . surely she's not . . . . Was she DRAWING HIM?
His expression never changed, but his thoughts turned inward, even as his gaze drifted briefly up to the sky . . . Well, if she wanted to have something to stretch, might as well make it . . . fun. So he shook out his mane slightly, those now-dry beach waves reflecting the light, the streak of illuminating cyan flirting between the darker strands. One limb lifted slightly, a slight angle, a somewhat more dynamic pose, as his neck curved faintly, his muzzle tucking against his knee to brace his head, his pupil-less cyan gaze glowing out over the sea. It was purely for the artist's benefit (anyone who knew him really might note that from the faint quirk of a smirk) as he posed with his gaze trained out to some far-distant shore. Enough tension in the arch of his neck, shoulder, and limb provides a bit more contrast for her to sketch in.
It was about giving her something to work with, after all. He keeps the pose, settling in easily as he watches the ocean (or seems to, most of his attention is on the curious little artist), long enough to allow her plenty of time to at least rough sketch the lines before his voice calls out ever so slyly, softly. "You're not so adept as secrecy or slyness are ya, ma'am?" His voice doesn't rise above a casual conversation, a softer quality to his voice - a contrast (or so he'd often been told) to what one expects a pirate to sound like. "Or am I too pretty for you to keep your wits about you?" There is a distinctive air of sarcasm lined with casual disregard for how his words may affect her. Not through true cruelty, merely the best way he knew to keep his distance from others, particularly when it came down to the fact that the pirate just wasn't the best at socializing with strangers.
Kelpies don't precisely have a class in that, after all.
What would his mother have called it?
How to play with your food?
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Rosemary
Notes: <3
