[html]Lightning Bay.
There was little to be seen around the bay, aside from the norm; the water was clear, cold, with a thin film of ice; the sky was covered by a thin layer of grey cloud, shielding the sun's golden rays. The only thing that might have been unusual - although, someone visiting was not all that abnormal, certainly - was the fact that there was a small, cinnamon and black figure creeping its way along the water's edges. The creature might have been invisible, hidden beneath shade, if not for the obvious movement of the chilly water and the glow of his violet eyes.
Merit stood, his eyes staring into the water. A paw was lightly perched above the liquid, tapping and flicking it playfully, sending out small ripples. A small smile was pasted to his lips, and his head was tilted cutely.
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[html] and who's to blame; i could assume
The Shaka Macabre.
the loneliness of my white room
Little to be seen, perhaps, but he found it enchanting all the same. The ice on the sea — which, had Thunder Island not been a feature of the landscape, would not have been there — made him think (he was doing a lot of that lately). Think and wonder how it felt to be trapped beneath, but meant to be trapped beneath; a creature of the water, and so resistant to cold. And without fur! The only other creatures he knew of without fur who might be tempted by water were humans, reptiles, and amphibians, and each of them would die if caught in such an icy trap. He thought back to picture books disturbed only by dust, and all the wondrous gruesome things that lived in the water, like anglerfish and colossal squid. (He was quite fond of squids, and that one part of him that had never grown up mused that maybe if they waited long enough, one would come ashore. Then, he would taste squid for the first time. In theory. In actuality, he hated fighting against claws — just imagine what tentacles would be like.)
Ah, to be something cold and unfeeling and inanimate, like a stapler or a block of wood or a deer skull. But even staplers rusted, and wood separated and blanched, and bone wore away within the clutches of the waves. Blood, ever thicker than water, but you spent your life with your bones surrounded by it and a whole mess of other squishy, powerful things... none of those worked against you like water with a bit of salt could, and it tasted disgusting, to boot. Death drained all of that out of you, and indeed the ultimate burial for the exiled would be at sea — not even a mound of dirt to mark your passing, the last of your body torn and swallowed by the black. The thought made him a little paranoid and a little claustrophobic. Corpse caged beneath the earth or ravaged by the ocean were neither a particularly appealing thought. If anything, he'd prefer a pyre, ashes flying into the wind to rest where they may.
It is worth noting that he wasn't excessively disturbed by any of this, if the prose was purple enough — but the sight of a pup playing near the tide sent him into unyielding metaphorical convulsions, and he willed his natural scent to evaporate. |
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The water was lovely. If course it was, and he had stated the thought over and over in his mind, and yet it still arose. He was almost transfixed by the body. But it did not take too long for the wind to bring a scent around the boy's nostrils, and his ears perked up. Indigo eyes wandering to the source, he spotted the male. A small, rather hesitant smile stretched over his maw, and he approached the other male politely.
Hello, sir. His words were also spoken as politely as his approach, and he even had his ears pinned back as to not offend. It was interesting how he would do that, when he had not even been trained to do so; it was a childish instinct, that he would, over time, grow out of, and maybe even frown upon. He would be different, no doubt.
He decided to introduce himself, then. Perhaps out of politeness, once more, or because he just wanted to; who knew. I'm Merit Acidic.
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