when the sun goes down

Percival Teach · 05-23-2012, 02:37 PM

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Perci isn't very social, but I would really like to get to use him more, and if I ever want to get my other charrie on here, I must post post post! ;u;

Word Count → 493

The golden jackal hybrid huffed, water dripping off the tip of his nose, droplets traveling down the length of his long muzzle as he washed himself in the cool water. His sweat felt filthy, and the dirt and grime that came with his job was visible on his person, so the bath was more than warmly welcomed by the pirate.

His dark coloured trousers were rolled up to keep from getting too wet as Percival Teach stood in the shallow water. Aside from that, the male bore an off-white button up shirt with a loose collar under a tighter fitting maroon vest, the top few buttons of each undone, showing his chest to a degree. The sleeves of the shirt were held comfortably out of the way at his elbows by a set of black bands he'd tied around his arms, his limbs bare from the elbow down, revealing plenty scars and signs of labour.

Cupping his hands together, he brought another handful of water to his face, enjoying the feel of the cleansing liquid on his hot skin and matted fur. He gave his head a quick shake, black locks tied back hastily with a piece of leather he typically wore around his wrist. On it was a small metal plate with the initials S.T. carved into it neatly.

The hybrid looked out to the water, stunned some by the view; he'd always been able to see the seas, water on every side of his being, but he rarely ever took in the simple beauty of his surroundings.

Percival was unaware of any company, as he most often blocked himself from the attention of others, placing himself in a sort of trance as thoughts and memories stormed through his ever active mind like great wave, crashing, building, roaring over the sounds his large ears would otherwise detect.

He closed his eyes, relaxing after such an appreciated wash, the sun drying his now cleaner golden pelt.

Starting softly, as usual when he was alone and drifted off, Percival Teach began humming. He always sang sea shanties, melodies passed along from generation to generation. His family had never heard them, but he felt as if they could have been sang to him as lullabies, the lyrics pouring out so easily, the tunes coming to him naturally. The jackal-hybrid loved to sing, and did so since he'd ever heard his first shanty, floating about on that old ragged ship, the smell of salt water and fish filling his lungs, an old raspy voice ringing in his head...

"They say, old man, your horse will die..." He sang aloud, voice still soft and hardly audible, and as always with the man, monotonous, "And they say so, and we hope so... They say, old man, your horse will die..."

Percival opened his grey, hard eyes, his large jackal ears perked as a sudden sound caught his immediate attention.

"Oh poor old man..."

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