[ P ] Coma White

Sif Asgaut A sharp amber gaze bore into the mid evening mists along the coast, swirling tendrils blanketing the dark sands as matching paws disrupted the grains but it was barely noticeable against the backdrop. Blood slid down along the slender muzzle of the woman, making crimson veins that dripped perfect drops of ruby as she walked and tinted the miniature beads, maw holding a kill that looked large when compared to her smaller stature. Jaws would clench as she jerked her head up, readjusting the item so it’s lower half would not drag upon the ground as she traversed the sands causing a light huff to flare her nostrils before she’d toss the beast onto the the ground near the shore. Taking in a few deep breaths, lungs compressing and expanding with each heave, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over her. There was a faint growl that would sound from her throat before shaking herself, splattering the life essence everywhere in the process. Never had she thought prey would have been a worthy adversary, scanning the ivory and ash colored creature that now lay dead before her, cutting off distance with each marching stride to get a better look at it while it was no longer trying to bite and claw her. It made her realize she truly needed to work on countering her disability. During the war it hadn’t been much cause for concern for her, a missing eye hadn’t stopped her from shredding a man to pieces in the heat of battle but when adrenaline wasn’t taking control, her perception was far from impressive compared to what it once was. Sight was so easy to take for granted till it started to lose light, lessening more and more of one's visual radius. It could have been far worse, a singular eye nothing compared to a leg for a soldier. She would adapt, it would just take some time. Making weakness a double edged sword had always been her specialty, it wasn't the first hurdle she had to overcome and make a strength. Looking out to the mists then back behind her, she knew where she was, between a land of criminals and the vast ocean that seemed to lead to nowhere. It wasn't everyday she found herself so close to the Drunken Seagull, generally keeping to the town above when on patrols. A smile cracked, feeling like she reached some kind of bordering insanity as she thought of getting a drink within its chambers. A lone firefly scanned the ocean as it roared and tumbled, the salty brine not tamed by the chill of the air that made Sif look more like a dragon as her breath melded into the mist. There was a tinge of alcohol but she contributed that to the pub hidden within the cavern network behind her as she took in a breath and refocused on the badger at her feet. The ebony and gold wolf might as well take her prize as she sank her fangs into the soft underbelly with a paw smashed into its side to hold it in place, pulling out the organs besides the liver she'd save for her daughter. More red dappled her visage in an elegantly messy way like the petals of a rose, half wishing it still alive so she could hear it scream and watch it squirm. That would be a dangerous game, badgers just as much predator as prey. She could always trade the rest of it elsewhere, get something more appealing in return as she only cared for organ morsels herself. Perhaps some more painkillers to take the edge off. "speaking"

table by rae

mephisto & sea

not all
treasure
is
silver n' gold
It was always Sussex that Maui had called home. Ever since she rolled up on the untamed, rocky shores. They reminded her much of home, too. When she was sober, she hurried across the beach to the Drunken Seagull to drink. If she wasn't working, she was most likely in the Tavern. When she didn't get caught looking at the end of the ocean, and wondering what laid beyond it. Home was far, too far to go back to. When she was drunk, however, she found herself in the assaulting water. No newcomer or idiot would be dumb enough to swim within the treacherous waters during the day, and surely not at night. Whether Maui was fearless or just stupid, never really seemed to break either scale. She was what she was, and mostly it was fearless, but the booze set in a liquid confidence that everything would be alright. A drunken pirate, whose guise is to hide under the moonlight, without a care. She had little to care about. She had made some friends and her cause in the plight of Voxi; it mattered. But on the beach, she's just a young, tipsy, brutish gal.

Tonight does not differ from many nights out. The salty spray of water passes by her as another low wave thrashes against her ankles, salt catching in her fur and making it coarse, sticking up. She an anchor in unruly seas. A woman baptised under salt water. She remembers the stories her mother told her, laughing fondly of her father's excitement about a girl, taking her out to see the salt water as soon as her mother wasn't looking. Each moment feels like that when the waves wash over her. When she was picked up, the morning of her eyes opening and being taught where the sun rose and set. Forever caught in a moment of nostalgia when the salt sprays her face. A view that never leaves your mind. Imprinted as a young whelp. With little care, she swings around in the wild ocean, twirling before falling down, letting out a laugh that the passerbyers would laugh, muttering 'drunkard' underneath their breath but never actually doing anything to keep the brute from drowning herself (if that was even possible for the sea dog.)

Army men and women barely ever step paw onto the charcoal beaches tainted with sin. The Tavern was a known part of the land. Every so often, patrolling officers would bust in, but all of them, usually behaved themselves or scattered off into the cracked bits of alleyways into the cliff side. It was dangerous for them. If the Thieves wanted to hide a body, especially one they didn't like, it could be done within a few hours. Though, there were Thieves in the Drunken Seagull that were Royalists, as most Soldiers seemed to fall in line with it and would grumble underneath their lip anytime a thief would try to make a move. It was better to avoid the Taverns when the smell of the Mainlands rolled in. She barely captures the image on the beach with the salt that follows the water's every move. She squinted, looking at the woman who was digging into some sort of prey. It was hard to see her. It almost looked like a teenager on site, alone amid the Guild's homeland. Not that it was unusual. Some whores' children ran amuck, with no worry about their lives. It had been the way they were raised. She somewhat understood. After she had been a year, she also was allowed to join her father's crew, as a young pirate, and she went through whatever they did. Maui trudged forward, somewhat swaying - whether it was the way the waves "pushed" her or the wave of drunkenness that overcame her, it was unsure. She makes her way close enough to find the water now barely washing past her paws, but still within the sea.

"You must be swift." She calls, voice louder, deeper than the waves that growl and wash in from behind her - as if threatening to toss her back to which she came from. A mermaid among land-walkers. "Never seen somethin' as small as ye get out of a badger's swipe unharmed." It's easy for most natives to tell, that she is not from Rionnach. Whether that sways their opinion of her, she does not really care. Nothing affects her, truth be told. There is little that she gets mad about, but when she's lit ablaze, not even water can calm her. The salt in it only fuels her. There is a small slur to her voice, but the ocean's tainted waters drip off her, in place of where fermented berries should stain her chest. Maui does not take her eyes off the small thing that catches her attention on the beach. Things that shone golden always enchanted pirates. They always proved to be worth their value.

@Sif

Sif Asgaut There were a few cracking sounds as she reached for the heart, swearing she felt it strum one last time but that was highly unlikely as it had been dead for several minutes already, the heart would have given some time ago, not continued pumping blood into a dead corpse. She had seen tendons and muscles twitch for a good couple hours in a corpse but never a heart beat after the fact. An ear flicked the thought away, not about to go mad and think of a million impossible things before she was done eating, though perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst thing she could do. It beat thinking about hell and high water; about the war, about the many lives that had been lost for what was in the end a fruitless fight for the ones that caused it. It was no wonder some held onto fairy tales and make believe, eager to listen to the strum of the lyre rather than the one telling a less than merry tale. His tales were always cheerful and magical, something that had brought her such joy but had been forgotten in the chaos. How did this shift to thoughts of her father? Loss. The death of many could never fully outweigh those closest to one's heart and how she wished he and her kin still had hold of Ayr like in her infancy and early childhood. It wasn’t just that, the black market behind her was another cold reminder of what could have become of her that unforgiving day. Sold to the markets; an option she never went too in depth within her mindscape, a what if she rather not allow fruit to haunt her. A slave promoted to handmaid to the patriarch is what she had become and she was certain it could have been far worse had he decided not to keep her, making her unwaveringly faithful to him to the point she had nearly forgotten his abuse but all forgave it; it was necessary. It was out of love and he was her family now, even if she refused to take the name. Sometimes death sounded like the kindest option, at times craving its release from the world and maybe that’s why she was here now where soldiers shouldn’t tread lightly. It wasn’t an option though, not right now. Her head would pull away from the carcass as her mind sunk in upon itself, her thoughts wild and unwanted. Only when a voice entered her mental chambers did she fully come back to reality, certain she was hallucinating as it sounded like it was coming from the hearty ocean tides. Little did she know that was exactly the case as she caught the sight of a dark figure manifesting within the haze, much like a ghost or something of fantasy. It had her in unbelievable awe for a long few seconds, her head lifting a little more and more as they came to full view. The light drip drop of water somehow could be heard over the rolling waves, past the deep bellows of what she deduced to lightly be a woman. Someone believing in the fae may think this a mermaid but Sif didn’t take to the commonfolk’s lore but rather Selkies were far more in her cultural beliefs. She was a skeptic that such beings existed outside of fantasy but everything came from some form of reality, experiences and she would not turn a blind eye to it entirely. Her brow scrunched at the next comment however as the woman continued her journey from the water but did not entirely leave it either, paws still out of sight as they were flooded over by the dark waters. Then came that bleeding ooze of booze as a gust of wind brought the scent of the stranger to her nostrils. “Size matters little if one knows how to use it for their own favor,” she responded in the norse strum of her voice, tail giving a single sway, not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Carefully she’d walk away from the bounty and move closer to the woman, cutting the distance with each calmly placed step, head tilting as if still having issues believing this woman was really there. “I’m hardly the spectacle here…” she started, taking in the clearer and clearer image that would form, that enchanting blue pelt that looked like the very ocean soaked from head to toe. “A stunning amazon woman emerging from the dead of winter’s unforgiving waters is a much more fanciful story, no? Yet you do not shiver as if you had,” she mused, stopping just outside the water's grip upon the shore. “Mustn't you be utterly freezing?” "speaking"

table by rae