Heads and Tails

I

t waxed and waned, pressed and pulled, like the briny air of the the ocean breeze—these riveting thoughts in his head twisted and turned, brandishing ideas and salutations far faster than a man could endure them. Pan lifted his head, ears flicking upward to greet the last of today’s seagulls as they dove toward the shores for dinner. Birds were a matter of interest to him, their wings granting far more freedom than the waves—so long as there were no storms, of course.

Then again, storms were his specialty. He navigated them with wisdom, garnered, of course from age, his silvered, grizzled muzzle evidence of such passage of time. With this damaged eye, white from blindness, he remembered his past; with his good eye, molten and gleaming like a yellow crescent moon, he looked to the future.

And what a future it would be, filled with riches and pleasures—Pan was no stranger to luxury.

Yet, he was no stranger to poverty, either. He knew both sides of the coin, being the metal between both heads and tails. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, bringing forth the tapestry of darkness, he continued, an odd, rugged grace to each step, each forward movement of his paw.

@Lorcan

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

The tide rolls in as he stands submerged up to his knees, the waves washing over robust limbs and a broad chest. He doesn't blink, those ember eyes turned up to the blackening sky. The rushing of water is soothing and keeps him tethered to the Earth, never letting him forget his place.

The smell of seawater takes him back to an evening with his former comrades, when he slaughtered a family of seven that lived in a seaside alcove with the help of his two late friends and the man who was the closest thing he ever really had to a father. The salty breeze mixed with the fragrance of spilt blood and the crashing of waves drowned out the sound of screaming.

He used to smile back in those days. He'd laugh along with that boy, his beloved friend, as they explored that coast together — the stupid things Alaric would do... the face he pulled when he lapped at the saltwater... his shit-eating grin when Runa would express her vexation. Lorcan remembers noticing just how green his eyes were when alight with mirth.

He swallows down a tightness in his throat as he stares out into the hollow sky with a furrowed brow. He hasn't thought about these wolves in so long, but their memory will always haunt him, an ever-lingering reminder of why he is better off alone.

@Pan

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume

there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins

he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

G

iven the nature of his occupation, surrounded by brutes and cutthroats, Pan had to make a golden assumption—he was never alone. His ears flicked toward a sound a ways away, and he began trotting toward the form he saw along the beach, drenched in seawater up to its knees.

Pan could be elusive at times, fitting for the life of a thief, a scallywag, really, cloaked as a pirate. However, he was also a social creature, a man of the ale—though he preferred the finer wines—and he sought out interactions with others, not because he was lonely, but because had a sense of curiosity that required satiation.

“If ye keep starin’ like that, ye’ll part the sea, intentionally or nah,” he said, a friendly note in his voice. He noted the large man, his eyes directed at the sky as though he were deep in thought. Pan knew better than to ask a stranger exactly what they were thinking, but he couldn’t help but be curious about it.

Wolves were, after all, such interesting creatures.

“What brings yet out on a night like this?” he prompted, tail swishing behind him slowly—it was a signal that he meant no threat, no harm. “Ye got business with Lady Sea, hm?”

@Lorcan

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

“If ye keep starin’ like that, ye’ll part the sea, intentionally or nah.” In an instant, the voice breaks Lorcan free from the shackles of his mind, dragging him back to the present. The dark beast slowly turns until he is facing the stranger who calls out to him from the shoreline. Amber eyes search the man's hoary form — he is rough and aged and weathered, like the sea cliffs themselves, with scars almost a perfect mirror of the ones borne by the latest and freshest of Lorcan's losses, but this man's good eye is the color of bourbon, rather than that of pine.

He finds himself staring at those scars and that blind eye a moment, recalling moments long gone with a man who understood him when no one else could. The man before him now asks what brings him out tonight with a slow sway of his tail. “Ye got business with Lady Sea, hm?”

"The sea is a realm far beyond me; I can only imagine what business I could have with it," says Lorcan. Noting the smell of brine and sandy shores clinging to the stranger's fur and the peculiar way in which he refers to the ocean, he is willing to wager it isn't beyond this man, however.

Now to address his prior query, "I am here for no reason in particular. The day's work is done, and so I look for a way to pass the time." His expression dour, the brute quietly assesses the stranger's body language and the look in his eye, watching for his intentions. "Your turn. Why are you here?"

@Pan

he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume

there is fire in his eyes and ice in his veins

he is a star, burning with the light of a thousand suns

T

he evening was young, a lilt in the day, an introduction to the twilight and stars that would come later as they shed the sun. The sea was peaceful, as it was at times, a vast contrast to the deviant it could be among frothy storms and winds that dare tear victims asunder.

Pan liked the sea, no matter its mood. It was just nature, and he personified her as a woman, the most beautiful kind—but also terrifying when mistreated or scorned. He chuckled to himself in thought, shrugging his shoulders back at the stranger’s response. “‘Tis a sentiment I think many would agree with,” he said. “Unpredictable at best, aye, but when she is calm—why, tha’ be a sight to behold.”
The wind ripped through the mane of his fur, tousling it this way and that, as if Lady Sea replied to his compliment, tickled pink at at the insinuation of beauty.

“End t’ yet ‘nother work day, hm? Life is short; I hope ye enjoy yer work.” Curious as he was, Pan knew better than to ask the man what he did; some company did not invite direct questions, and until he knew him well, it was best to leave some threads cut and unknotted.

“‘Tis nah a rarity t’ find me walkin’ the beach,” he said, speaking the truth. This was his home, a bounty behind what the land could ever offer. “I do it every day—I like the feel o’ sand between me toes, I do, the chill rush of the ocean tide. Brings me a measure o’ comfort.” The pull of an ocean wave nipped at his ankles, and he sighed. “Ye see? Don’t it feel refreshin’, like Lady Sea may take yer problems and wash ‘em away?”

@Lorcan

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck