Antaeus
dance with the waves, move with the sea
let the rhythm of the water set your soul free
There was an art to timing. The timing of when to launch the cannon to sink a ship. The timing for when to grab a priceless artifact off of a booby trap. The timing for when to swipe the expensive watch away from an unsuspecting victim. Or when to interrupt an artist who thought they were sketching you on the sly. He couldn't help the slight snort that escaped him (the only sound out of the laugh that wanted to bubble out). She had stumbled, that writing pen fumbling to the rocks, and he gaze jumping to him briefly. This time he turned his attention fully towards her, head cocked to the side and pupilless eyes watching her from his position. The obvious embarrassment was amusing for him to witness, as he rolled forward to his hooves, picking himself up and shaking the sand and salt from his pelt. Her apology did draw a laugh from him (almost as much as the struggle of eye contact); "No need to apologize." He argued simply, shaking his head, as he looked at her curiously, "From what I've heard, artist can't be blamed for their loss of attention to capturing art. Or something like that. Never understood it myself. Ain't much of the art sort." He stated casually, before walking in her direction, his steps slow - measured.
She was shorter than he'd assumed, much more so than he had expected. A good couple of hands shorter than he was, "I was just drying off from the water-" He started to stay before choking on the words when she commented on his pattern, his eyes going wide and spinning back towards her - the first proof he wasn't as socially adept as he played off to be either. "Er, right. Well; Guess there aren't too many that might glow, huh? It's nothing fancy, I mean. Just some chemicals that grow in that area . . . Or something like that." Shit, shit, shit. Gather himself. Gather himself. Breath in, one two three, breath out, one two three. A pirate is never alarmed, a pirate is ready for anything - from those who may threaten his ship, to the wenches he entertains at night. Not that he had ever been one for entertaining either. Socializing with these land-dwellers wasn't too easy, after all.
Still he took a deep breath, settling his thoughts, before glancing towards her again, finding his hooves beneath him, no longer rocking by the waves, "No need to leave, it's no problem. Can't complain for pretty company's approach." The pirate responded with a fetching smile - trying his damndest to portray the pirate he was expect to be. The words fell with out the usual luster his Captain had when he chatted up ladies at the ports they would bank at. But then, this young pirate lad always found it easier to flirt with those beneath the waves, than the ones who live among the trees and grasses of the land. It was easier to be himself down below the surface waters . . . less pressure to pretend he wasn't who he was - a half breed kelpie trying to play the part of a normal mortal equine.
"Really though, no trouble. I was just drying off in the sun anyways." This time, the words were more honest, giving way to the slightly awkward cadence of his voice when he stopped pretending to be the 'perfect pirate brute' and instead shook his head, dark navy waves dancing around his face, as he watches her search for the rocks, and his own approach had his eyes searching over the area, finding it nestled between a few rocks, and silently lifting it up with his own magic for her, "No harm done, definitely not troubled in the slightest." He added with an almost awkward chuckle, "My name's Antaeus . . . or Ant, I guess; for those who prefer something easier. Kinda new to these parts, came in on one of the recent supply ships." He added with an almost boyish grin to his features as he looked down at the gray-hued artist. "So, you an actual artist, or do ya just dabble in it?" He added, in an attempt to reassure that he really wouldn't hold anything against her.
Of course, trying to figure out how to be 'normal' enough to talk to her had him wanting to dive below the waves . . . Why was talking to the earth-walkers always so much more difficult than when he ran across kelpies or hippos below the waters. Probably because he know what would happen if those earth-walkers knew what he was. They'd see the gills, the fang-filled smile, and not care that he doesn't eat equine-flesh . . . the monster hunt would be on before he you could say 'wave'.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Rosemary
Notes: <3
