dance with the waves, move with the sea
let the rhythm of the water set your soul free
Gaining passage to this new land had been surprisingly easy. Easier than he had expected [in large part due to the fact they had accepted his offer of working aboard the vessel to get to Novus with out any sort of background on his abilities or past]. Somehow, despite his shady past, and shadier start to life, he'd made it through, and now the half kelpie turn pirate was on a new island to loot and pillage to make his new base of operations. Okay, so maybe it was only kind of a new start. He'd discovered a while ago that pirating was easy. When you could breath under the water, pirating was no big deal.
He hadn't been in Novus long, the boat he had traveled on having docked just the night before, where he'd been directed up to a land called Terrastella where there was a city not too far from Port. He'd booked a room for the next week, easily supplying the necessary gold, Although, does one really call it supplying, when you casually steal it from the teller, to give back for your own board? It would give him about a week to make his plan for where to begin with exploring and making his home in this world, at the very least. Today wasn't that though. Today he'd spent it at the beach - getting a feel for the underwater community.
He'd started fairly early that morning - early enough it had still been dark out when he'd dove off the cliffs of Terrastella and into the ocean below. Beneath those waves, his luminescence worked well in his favor, providing him plenty of light as his limbs kicked about, pushing him through the water (with more difficulty than he cared to admit, sometimes he cursed the fact he hadn't been gifted any sort of fins with the rest of his natural kelpie abilities). But now the day had begun to grow longer, the sun beginning to hit it's zenith. Surfacing from the water, his mane floated around on the wake as his gaze drove to the sky, where the sun was nearly on top of him. The hottest part of the day, perhaps not a bad time to emerge from the water and allow it to dry his pelt and search for some snacks - whether it be fish, or sea grasses.
Emerging from the water, he shook his pelt, as he flicked water from his the long strands of his tail. His gills had closed as soon as his head had broke the surface, hidden in the shadow of his jaw, and the casualness of him emerging from the water had only been done after he had assured there was no one around on the part of the beach he was at - that may see him mysteriously emerging from the ocean depths, Like the sea, I intend to keep my secrets shrouded in mystery and wonder. As he allowed himself to collapse into a patch of grass, he stretched out beneath the sun, his eyes closing with a subtle sigh, before those deep cyan, pupilless eyes stared out once more, a faint grin to his features as he soaked up the sun, feeling his wet mane and tail already beginning to dry in the loose, if not slightly wild waves he was familiar with when on land. Yes, so far; even in the short day and some he'd spent on Novus - he wasn't yet ready to complain. And there was still the rest of the island to explore, and the Novians to meet and greet as well!
The trek from the Dawn Court all to the way to the southern ocean's edge was a lengthy one. Difficult terrain aside, it was a journey that required advanced preparation to ensure one arrived in a timely manner, and thankfully Rosemary was the practical sort. She fed and watered herself before she left, ensuring her body would not tire before she reached her destination, and recounted the path along her mental map to ensure she knew how to get where she wished to go. The Terminus Sea. There wasn't anything tangible to gain by going--the sea would offer nothing directly to assist with her newest mercantile pursuit--but it did offer clarity. It was so much easier to let things go when beside the vastness of the ocean, to set aside her small worries in the face of something so much bigger than she was. If nothing else, Rosemary hoped simply for a moment to breathe.
Admittedly, she was doing plenty of it by the time she reached near enough to the shore that she could smell the salt upon the air. Fit enough to make the trip, it still winded her slightly, but she didn't stop to catch her breath--she wouldn't until she found herself a decent spot from which to make her sketches. Thinking about them again, her spring green eyes drifted to the bound pages floating along beside her, held aloft by her thoughts, while a writing instrument remained carried gently in her mouth. Of course, both made the journey that much more challenging as she tried not to dirty, break, or lose either object, but both were entirely necessary to sketch an ocean side scene. It was just a shame she hadn't given more thought to easier methods of carrying her supplies beforehand. I really do need to invest in a bag...
No matter. She was just about there, crossing the last bit of rocky landscape before the rocks would give way to sand and sand would inevitably give way to sea, when her eyes landed upon another figure. It was so unexpected that at first the dappled mare almost glossed over their presence, until the scene fully hit her for what it was. Rosemary stopped, stared, studied the individual laying upon a patch of seaside grass, posture content and yet alert, anticipatory of a good time if the little smile upon their face was any indication. The pose itself may have been simple, but the equine in question was absolutely dynamic, the pattern upon their coat immediately drawing the eye. Rosemary wasn't sure she had seen such a pattern before...but she was definitely going to make sure she didn't forget it.
Almost, in her inattention, the pages slipped, and with a short gasp she quickly refocused her telekinesis upon them, mindful not to bite too hard on the writing instrument in the same movement. Carefully--Oh, this would look so much more lovely from a little to the right--Rosemary attempted to sidestep in an effort to find a better angle. Even if she didn't manage to get the entire pose sketched, than she at least wished for a clearer view of the equine's markings to capture them to the full of their beauty. Only when she thought she'd gone far enough--and assured herself with a quick glance that she hadn't been spotted just yet--did she begin to set down her pages and try to prop them up on the rocks at her feet, where she could hold her pen more easily to sketch. She glanced again at the individual and smiled vaguely to herself, whispering, "Yes, this will do nicely..."
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.
A few lines in and she could already see the image beginning to form on the page. Her brow furrowed over her green eyes as she quickly worked, getting down the basic shape of the equine, defining a few minor details of the surroundings to have somewhere for the figure to rest. She glanced back at the individual on the beach, confirming the pose, and her ears perked with a look of surprise. Rosemary couldn't be sure they had moved at all, but there was definitely something different about their posture now, a new tension and emotion behind the tightened curve of the equine's neck, the leg poised to lift them up at but a second's notice. It hadn't been her intention to focus too much on pose--not when those beautiful spots were simply begging to be drawn--but she couldn't help herself as she began to redefine the shape, to add in those little details that created a more solidified, real figure.
You're not so adept as secrecy or slyness are ya, ma'am?
With another gasp, Rosemary startled, shied on her hooves, and heard the writing instrument clatter against the rocks without even realizing she'd dropped it. Her heart skittered in her chest as her mind caught up with what was said, where it was coming from, and her gaze again fell upon the figure lying on the beach. Or am I too pretty for you to keep your wits about you? She'd been so engrossed in her drawing, the gray mare hadn't noticed the little knowing smirk upon the figure's face until now, and with it Rosemary felt a red hot embarrassment wash over her from head to hoof. She'd been spotted--for knew how long now--and she'd been allowed to go on sketching like a silly, inspiration-possessed ghost. It was mortifying.
Ears folding, she struggled to make any sort of eye contact despite all her staring from a moment ago. "I- I'm so sorry," she stammered, wanting very much to stick her face into the sands and pretend this whole, awful ordeal wasn't happening. As it was, she hoped her sun-bleached mane and forelock were doing their best to hide her very visible embarrassment. "I didn't think I-" No, she most certainly hadn't been thinking--at least of nothing but how pretty he looked there by the ocean. "You just looked so peaceful-" And had that given her the right to capture--and interrupt--that moment for herself? "And your pattern-" Oh, Oriens help her, was she really going to comment upon his appearance?
She wasn't helping her case in the slightest.
Just go, before you make it worse. Any other defense died upon her tongue and she seemed to deflate, defeated by the situation and her own thoughts. "I...I should go." It was the best thing she could do for the stranger, remove herself from the situation and give him back the peace and solitude he'd obviously sought here beside the sea. Glancing down, her bound pages were just as she left them, the faintest out-of-place line indicating the moment when she'd been frightened and lost her grip on her writing instrument. Oh, and where had that gone? Gathering the pages up with a thought, she added another mumbled, "My sincerest apologies for troubling you," as she began a frantic search for her pen amidst the rocks, desperately hoping it would leap out at her so she could scoop it up, rendering herself mute, and could leave without any further embarrassing mishaps.
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'.
The stallion walked forward and Rosemary felt her anxiety slowly, agonizingly, beginning to spike. Oh, no, no, this was all going wrong! She wasn't supposed to be caught in the act! She was supposed to remain unnoticed until the end of her sketch, and then she was supposed to leave without the subject being any the wiser...or at least that was usually how it went. Typically, her subjects like this were found in more populous places, where another set of curious eyes could more easily pass amidst the crowd without drawing such attention to herself, but there was no else beside the sea to mask her presence. She felt wholly and uncomfortably seen.
And suddenly self-conscious of her work. She took a sheepish step back as he came slowly nearer, shifting her pages behind her, but immediately hesitated; though she wanted to continue putting distance between them, she still hadn't located her pen yet, and it would have been a chore to replace it. She couldn't leave without it. Her green eyes continued to search for the pen as the blue-dappled stranger joined her beside the rocks, very pointedly avoiding any direct looks now that he was close--despite very much wanting to. Even from the corner of her eye, she could see the subtle illumination from the pale blue markings that adorned his coat and mane, something she hadn't noticed from afar, and she had the intrusive thought to wonder if his eyes did something similar. She shook her head, as much to dismiss the curiosity as to further deny his reassurances. "No no, I really shouldn't-"
As if sensing its location, he picked up her pen without much effort to find it, and her words cut off at the open betrayal by the instrument. A brief look of indignation flashed upon her face as her gaze alighted on it, held out for her to take, before shifting beyond to really take in the friendly stranger. He really was a lovely creature, full of boyish charm and youthful light, with just the hint of endearing awkwardness beneath. Rosemary felt guilty all over again for their meeting like this. With a disgruntled sigh, she carefully set her pages down upon her rump to grasp the pen with her mind and tucked it carefully behind an ear and into her mane, allowing herself the freedom to speak compared to when she had walked up carrying it in her teeth.
"I..." Honestly, what was the point of avoiding the questions now? "I suppose that's up to interpretation. I sketch, I draw, I paint a little, but...mostly for myself. Whether that makes me an artist...I'll let you decide." With the pen secure, she grasped her drawings up again and shuffled the pages as if to straighten them, trying discreetly to hide her drawing of him behind a few blank ones while continuing to hold them behind her. "Usually, this goes much more quietly...and I am very sorry for disturbing you. It wasn't my intent." While the embarrassment remained like a low, simmering heat, she found it the slightest bit easier to look Ant's way now, and she gave a vague, almost helpless, apologetic shrug. "I'm Rosemary."
