[html] For as long as he had lived already, he hadn't tried to do any fishing off of the shoreline before. Laurel considered himself fairly decent when it came to fishing out of streams and lakes, but in the faster currents of oceans and rivers he wasn't necessarily anyone's first pick of the litter. Maybe it was because the faster paced bodies of water required attention, while the lazier, slower bodies let him get away with spacing out for hours on end without doing much of all but putting a worm on a hook. For the same reasons, he had lost a rod or two from not paying attention no matter the type of water. With his pant legs rolled up to just above his knees, he had almost gotten bowled over by the chill of the water and the strength of the waves mere seconds into standing in it.
But minutes later, when he had finally began to ignore (and remember just how for north Canada really was), it wasn't too hard to get a feel for what he was doing out there in the water. It was warm out—muggy per usual—but the sun was absent from the sky, replaced with menacing clouds out to the east with ones further back and out of sight for the time being to the west. But the salty air was a bit welcome to a coyote who was very much a mainland-type instead of one made for the coast. He liked the ocean, but at the same almost possessed a fear of it and how endless it looked, so for that reason his line of sight didn't linger long at the horizon. Letting a sigh fall easily from his mouth, he cast his line out once more, just hoping to snag some unfortunate fish for a meal. [/html]
I'm sorry this took so long, Kumu!
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Dressed in freshly washed clothes, her cream peasant top with her khaki capris, with her belt and knives fastened around her waist, the female wandered along the Shattered Coast. She really had no destination, other than not toward Dahlia. She didn't feel like being around her pack at that moment, medic or no; rather, she felt like being alone. It was a bit of a surprise when she came across one Laurel Booth (though she didn't know the man's name) fishing along the water's edge. A hand was raised in greeting, just in case he spotted her, and though her hands itched to touch her knives, she kept them away from her waist, putting her medical bag between the off hand and its corresponding knife. Hello, sir, how fares the fishing today? she called out lightly, upon reaching the same stretch of beach as he.
Upon a whim, the female slung off her pack and began undressing, right down to the heretofore unseen scarlet panties. Bracing herself, she raced down the beach, and belly flopped into the water. Her breath caught in her chest at the temperature, frigid even in late summer, till she forced herself to slow down. She watched the man on the shore, studied him, tried unsuccessfully to identify him. As she treadled water, she called to him again. Join me?
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_____Though he caught sight of someone moving along the coast out of the corner of his eye, he was fairly engrossed in the habit of fishing. But really, he was staring into some void of space, though when she spoke he was quickly pulled back into reality. “I wouldn't know, I just threw the line out here a few minutes ago,” he said with a chuckle, then casting his gaze to the then undressing werewolf. Per usual, it was pretty strange to see someone who was equally dressed as he was; though he wasn't exactly armed, but the hilt of a knife was a little hard to miss amongst the pile of clothes. She was down the coast from him and for the most part things went quiet once more, until she asked him to join her. “Maybe later,” he offered.
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The she-wolf nodded rather absent-mindedly then dipped underwater, doing a somersault before reaching for the bottom of the water. She opened her eyes against the stinging salt-water, peering into the depths, though they weren't exactly deep depths. A movement caught her eye and she tracked it, swimming a little closer to it. A red creature about as big around as the palm of her hand with tentacled eyes and six armoured legs walked along the sand and silt at the bottom. Hanna reached out a hand to pick it up to return to the surface with it, but before she could react, the little devil had attacked her fingers with heretofore unseen pincers! Stifling a yelp, Hanna swam toward the shore and the surface, trailing the crimson crustacean. When she broke the surface, Hanna's hands came together, holding up the crab to prevent it taking any more skin or fur while her hind legs kicked and powered her toward the beach.
She came ashore very near to the man and displayed her hand, unsure of what action to take against the little bugger. "Have you ever had this happen to you before?" she asked, observing the crab, which was waving its other pincer menacingly, eyeing her warily and dripping all over the place.
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_____She disappeared beneath the surface and he hadn't thought much about it, other than hoping she didn't swim up towards him on the coast. It was a fear of her grabbing him while he was standing in knee deep water that was on his mind, but more of her getting caught up in his fishing line. Taking hooks out of eyes wasn't really his thing. With the taste of salt water in his mouth, the next few moment were spent without much action at all, at least until the beach-goer resurfaced and had something in her hands. Or more like, something had a hold of her. He recognised it to be a crab by the colour of its shell, but was a bit surprised to find that they liked the cold water. Cold water that at any point was making his toes go numb. “Never a crab, but I've had other things with pincers like that grab my feet before. Crawdads mostly,” he offered up with a shrug. “You should be able to just pull him off though, he's pretty tiny.”
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Yuck, short, but I'm trying to revive this thread.
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Sure enough, when she grasped the shell with her other hand and pulled, the crab let go and waved both pincers. She drew back her arm and frisbee'd the little thing into the water, smiling appreciatively at the splash and water rings the impact created. For a long while she just looked out to sea, at the line he was fishing with, at him, in brief intervals. Finally, she could take the quiet no more and spoke to him, "Well, my name's Susquehanna, Hanna for short." Introduction given, she politely stuck out a hand to shake, if that was his thing. If not.. she'd withdraw it. She searched his features again, then dropped her eyes to the cold water that washed around their ankles.
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_____When she extended her hand and introduced herself, he shifted the fishing pole to one hand to reach out and return the offer with a handshake of his own. “I'm Laurel,” he answered, a little amused with the way that she had approached things so far. Long pauses and silences, random questions, things that after so many years of travel he had gotten used to. Some folks weren't just as direct as others. “You from around these parts?”
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