[ P ] beach bones

temporary fleeting thrills

It's mid-day, the sun was bright and reflecting off the ocean's clear waters. There is the smell of salt and sweat in the air as Maui worked. Brackish water drenches her coat as she pulled to shore another find. A medium sized conch shell. She put it in the pile of conch shells that she was collecting to take back to her boss. During the day, she was your average shell-collector. Conch shells served a few different purposes among Rionnach, as Maui had learned from her coworkers on long days. They would spout off about how the industry basically supported the Royals and that without them, they would be eating their food on the ground and drinking out of pools like the rest of them. They were born in the crown-lands, but never told her where, Voxi's, they were. It'd been where she'd found her politics leaning towards as well, the longer she heard their stories. But recently, she'd been working by herself. She didn't really know why, but they weren't in their normal spots. And she didn't have much interest in going off and finding them. Maybe they retired. Who knows. It just meant she had to work that much harder until they found someone else to fill the job. She nudged the shells whilst counting them, making sure that none had gotten lost before she turned back to the sea to retrieve another. She'd been doing this kind of work ever since she came here. It was a job no one else really wanted. It made your fur coarse and you smelt like saltwater almost all the time, except at night when the fermented berries spill on your pelt. Most nights it was either that or blood from a quick brawl. They stained about the same color, so no one ever questioned it when she entered the water from a bad night, into the dawn of a new day of working. Nonetheless, she returned towards the ocean, she was almost to where the waves would break against her, trying to send her back to the mainland, waves that had bruised and fought her many times, but she was used to it by now.

"We are all young and naive still."

code by claerie

@Caspian

caspian Had he been born within the soft confines of the Mainland, he might have earned a more lanky physique. His paw pads would have been soft, his fur gently perfumed with chamomile or lavender or cloves. Perhaps his smiles would have been measured and his emerald eyes would have adopted a snake-like character to them as he learned to trade compliments for veiled insults. Fortunately, he had been reared within the harsh, coastal culture of Aberdeen. His paws had cracked and scabbed over early in life and he stank only of salt and seaweed. Never was his fur immaculate for the breeze tossed it to and fro until small knots and tangles could never be brushed free. And in this moment, he was drenched. The fisherman swam with strong strokes back to the shore. As he felt pebbles under his paws, he noticed a strong splash to his right, maybe five feet away. He resurfaced suddenly and looked to the right to see a coastal wolf swimming out into the waves. On the sand was a collection of conch shells. As Caspian shook himself dry, he padded up to the little hoard and gently moved one with a paw. Occasionally merchants would come to gather these, but he did not know the significance himself. Decorations? For theatrical productions? Either way, the practice stunk of the Mainland and he wrinkled his nose. Materialistic bastards. "speech"

art & table ▸ bunny

temporary fleeting thrills

Rough waters pelted against her chest, rhythmic. From the same sea that lullabied her to sleep. Usually, she found herself collapsed on Sussex's black sands. Whether it be from exhaustion or being blackout drunk; she really didn't have a main den she went home to. A few knocked in, small caves rested underneath the cliff that bordered Sussex, giving a nice place to sleep if the rain was pouring - so she didn't die from exposure. Underneath the water, her eyes burned as she opened them to find another conch shell. It wasn't really an easy trade, most of the time if she pulled one up - it'd have some sort of crack in it to make it useless. Some of them, she used to keep, collect. But, she'd lost track where she kept them. And now, they were really all the same to her - work. A reminder of it. What she had to be caught doing within the bright daylight so no one would suspect anything. An alibi. Her lungs start to quiver for a breath, and she pushes up, breaching to take a long breath. Something catches her attention, out of the corner of her eye; a gray figure near the shore. Near her pile of shells.

With quick action; strength of a bull, her legs move in the water. "Oi!" She called out. The quickest way to know that she isn't from Rionnach at all. Her accent. It's thick and unbreakable, with every quirk of her father's thrown it. She'd spent most her early life around pirates, brutes of every size. Which meant she'd never been one to be secretive or quiet. But always, blunt and loud. "Whatcha tryna do?" The sand is underneath her paws in seconds, pulling out of the ocean in a few strides. She doesn't completely rush him; standing in the low waves of the beach. Her shell pile is a few feet away, as well as the male. Everything about him, screams that he is of the ocean too. There's something that softened within her, just for a mere second. He reminds her of her lost brother. Sea salt and tangled fur. She holds back from smiling and tries to keep a stern look on her face, though - the more she thinks about it, why does she care about someone stealing? It's not like she really cared for her job that much - but it did make it a little more difficult to explain why her load was so small. But before her boss could ever ask the question, she was already checking out for the day - hurrying off to the tavern.

"We are all young and naive still."

code by claerie

@Caspian

caspian A sharp Oi! caused a dark ear to twitch. Water dripped from the ruffian's chin as his eyes, green as sea glass, panned over the expanse of gray and blue. There. Swimming back with haste was a black dot that quickly morphed into a wolf. A woman, perhaps? A foreigner, even? Her voice had been wrapped in an accent so thick and heavy that it seemed to settle rather than float. Caspian's brow lifted as she surged onto the sand with the effortlessness of an experienced sailor. It was not an easy thing to escape the ocean's clutches and find refuge in the earth once more. The sand was prone to shifting, the stones had a way of cutting, and the added weight of waterlogged fur made it easy to wobble and fall. Most took their time sliding onto shore, but pirates had to be ready to fight. And had she rushed him, it would have been a fun little brawl -- but it was in the absence of that tussle that he was forced only to imagine it. Perhaps it was the sailor in him that would have appreciated, bruises and bites aside. There was something almost friendly about a fight, an intimacy that came from labored breaths and salty insults. At the end, they would have been closer, positively or negatively. But alas, she had softened somewhat. And, subconsciously, he had softened equally. The ocean gave them all an unspoken bond. "Just lookin'. It's hard to find these and the bastards on the throne seem to fancy themselves ocean dwellers despite never having had a proper swim in their lives," Caspian scoffed before granting her shell a respectful distance. "Outlander?" he questioned then, suddenly more intrigued by the woman than her wares. "speech"

art & table ▸ bunny

temporary fleeting thrills

Maybe she's too soft because the man in front of her resembles that of her own bloodline. Anyone else and she may have wrung their neck out without a single regret. It was a surprise to most thieves that she was so vigilant. It took one to know how to handle ruffians. She wasn't opposed to brawling. In fact, it was fun for her. A testament to her true skill and the lacking composure of men when they are about to lose. Where she was from, men weren't like that. Though, it was rare for a female to come along within the Marx bloodline; there were many wives and daughters that weren't of captains. It didn't matter though, in their community, they were all the same. The men at home would take a tumble with her and learn what they must work on in order to defeat their opponent the next time. It was almost daily that there was a lesson or two within the shipyard. It was a good pass-time when waiting to ship out. Her weakness had always been family, though. And she missed them so much sometimes. She saw them in the ocean and strangers alike. 'Just lookin'.' The sea bound man explains. She took a step closer, observing him and her loot she'd dug up. The grin that was sly on the sides of her lips overgrow their small porportion on her face and made up most of her features as the young man spoke. "Yer tellin' me.' She sneers, joining along in the ridicule of the royals. He takes a step away from the pile she's collected and she glances among them,imagining each shipped off to the nobles, using them to eat instead of their own paws. "They don't even know where these come from, the lot of 'em." Or how hard it was to get them. Or maybe they just didn't care about the lower class that worked day and night just to scrape by. It'd be easier to ignore if they just closed their eyes to it. As she looks at the shells, she looks back to him, and with one paw, slides one of the conch shells his way. "Keep it. You obviously know where they come from. It'll be nice to know someone knows the place it came from." What's one shell opposed to a man that reminds her much of home? A gift. To him. Good luck to pass on for the universe's smiling eye upon her today.

'Outlander?' A question she gets a lot. Obviously, it's hard to hide the thick accent that tags along underneath the rows of her words. Nationalties here were stretched far and wide, with those being first generations and most families that had been settled for centuries. "Ye. Been 'ere for about a year 'n a half." She settles on telling him. In only a year, she had learned that the royals cared for nothing more than their own bellies full and sucking on the tit of 'nobility' to provide for them. She'd learned to fish when she was just a mere three months old. Her father had no time for weaklings, and if she was born special already, then there would be no miracles left for her. Just hard work and sweat. "How about ye? You from 'round 'ere?" She doesn't try to hide her accent, not that she ever really has. There's no shame in who she is or where she comes from. She's worked hard to prove that.

"Speak and be heard."

code by claerie

@Caspian

caspian Disdain for royalty—particularly mainlander royalty—was practically genetic in the highlands. They were born with a snear when facing south and blood that boiled at the thought of luxury. It was a petty way to create a caste system, unspoken yet not intagible. Those that could afford more were more, and the opposite was equally true. The only alternative to slaving in a system where you were designed to fail was to reject it. Sure, most in Aberdeen barely got by—but they had their dignity still. When the time came for them to see the pearly gates, that would pay its weight in gold. At her comment reflecting on the nobles and their naivety, Caspian couldn't help but snort and shake his head. A dark ear flicked and felt his stomach twist. It was a familiar sensation, one that accompanied feelings of rage that had no outlet. If only more nobles visited Aberdeen, then he'd have a chance to cuff one over the years. Alas, not many had dared to visit since the rebellion. Then again, he was thankful. They still had so many wounds that needed to heal. As she slides a shell to him, Caspian glances down at it. "Thanks," he says with a smile. Then, a fraction later, his grin widens and he meets her eyes with emeralds both mischievous and warm. "But I have all I need out there," and he gestures with a paw at the waters before them. "There's a weak-willed noble that needs to properly overpay to have this gem." And he hoped she gutted the man or woman for all they were worth. Caspian clicked his tongue and nodded as the woman confirmed his suspicions. "It was a bad year to settle," He mused, a somber note in his smile as his gaze pans back to her. "Sorry." Not that he had caused the rebellion, but he had fought in it. "Yeah, born right here in Aberdeen. It's seen better days but the same goes for all of Rionnach." And here he shrugged. "Planning on staying long? A year is just long enough to put down roots." A silvery brow quirked. "speech"

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