In Shallow Seas We Sail... (BrokenWing)

Lapping ocean wavelets pulled at the shoreline’s fine sand, tumbling small pebbles the colour of slate and sticks of wood that had just escaped its grasp, back into the unfathomable depths that was this body of water’s gullet, the stain of its foam leaving a thin white line that traversed the entirety of the stretch, writhing forward and back as the ebb and flow of the calm waves decided to recede behind or transgress their previous position. Occasionally, such a line was dashed by one of the violent zephyrs that resided in such a location, spiraling downward to rocket through the heady white froth, often carrying some of it further away than the ocean had intended, where it slowly fizzled into nothingness upon sands not so easily held in the sea’s thrall, and eager to assert their own dominance over the small fraction of a power they had no resistance to, given to them by the power that was constantly their ruler, shifting their dunes from one place to another.

At other times, what the Coquette People called “the Path of Aoe Ganug”, was broken by strings of kelp, their shiny green flesh flashing in the unbridled rays of the sun as they drug the foam back toward the sea with them; or it was done by the sharp talons of the tengulls who cried the names of lost loves whispered to them at the autumn solstice with their human mouths, scavenging for the sea creatures misfortunate enough to be washed ashore, whose broken shells studded the shore like gems. Worst yet, the line was broken by the footfall of a person, as was found now.

Vana Huine walked beside the Path of Aoe Ganug that day for a purpose that many of her sisters considered to be fanciful, and yet others grave. Her steps were made with delicate purpose, the unclothed flesh meeting the damp beach’s surface as if clasping a lover’s hand, lifting again only with deliberation and the sensitive need for motion, which they only hoped that the sands could understand. The determination in her chillingly pale eyes accented moreso the lighter sea of violet than the starburst of amethyst that surrounded the slit of a pupil that resided as the centerpiece, their gaze following the path of the stain as it sloped upward before drifting back to a place more following in the trend of its path, only broken when her absent minded fanning thrust a curl of her mane upward.

What she looked for was what mattered. Not that her breathing matched the sway of the blood stained angel feathers she had fashioned into a fan, or that the train of her chemise had caught on a rock whence she had first entered the beach via the path from the mansion now miles behind her, the white silk having split enough so that the back of it was split in two up to the back of her knees, or that in her hurry, she had sheathed one of the small razor-fans strapped to her thigh backward and it had sliced a large hole through the front of her dress.

And when she saw what the result of her two hours of journey had brought her, her normally pale flesh blanched considerably, eyes shutting with effort, thin fingers snapping the feathered fan closed and clutching it between her hands. Atop the carefully laid pattern of shells and slivers of bone, right where the Path of Aoe Ganug intersected to tell her the divination she had spent a month preparing, was a furrowed footprint, the clear treads of a heavy boot, the sort that a fisherman or sailor would wear. When she had seen them earlier, further away from the water, she had assumed that it was one of her sisters who had taken the guise of a sailor and had decided to perhaps add an authentic taste of the sea to their clothing. But, now, the reality of the situation dawned upon Vana, as a Coquette never would tread upon the line of seafoam considered to be sacred to the King of the Sea; the beach had been trespassed upon, an offense that the commoners knew could mean a punishment as high as death should the feline women feel so severe.

And severity was a path well trod by the woman whom now raced down the empty stretch of beach, wet sand flying behind her in sprays, the teasing winds flowing with her, as if excited by the sudden movements of she who usually visited them in such a clam, introverted manner.

They carried on for a bit, stealing the elegant hat from the man who stood facing the sea’s hat, before realizing that they had left their compatriot behind, she having slowed her pace considerably, lithe legs shooting out in a walk that was nearly a jaunt but flowed as naturally as the wind over her skin. They brought to her the hat, right hand shooting outward to grasp it from their grasp and placing to atop her own head, fingering the plumage attached, the tail ends of her split dress flowing forward like the tails of scorpions, cracking with the unsettled nature of the gathered winds that soon departed.

“The fate of trespassers is death,” the mellow ringing of Vana’s words cut across the voice of the ocean that so held the man in thrall, followed by the sharp snap of the feathered fan opening, her delicate wrist cocked as if she would begin to fan herself, but never did. “Surely, such a fact was made known to you.”

Two days, and still no sign of them. The storm must have carried the ship farther than expected, after I was knocked off. As such thoughts implied, the ship on which Allan worked had encountered a storm where he had been knocked over-board, then washed up on this island two days ago. He'd lurked across the beach at first, groggily trying to figure where he was. Eventually it became clear that he was no doubt stranded on an island that he'd never seen before.

But as of now, it had been two days of searching that kept Allan busy. He wanted to make a mental map of he shore before he ventured further into the island, but it kept going, much to his dismay. From where he stood, he could see the shore where he had been washed up due to its curve... even if it was only a white line to him now. He sighed, and let his head down, but right a he did, the breeze that had blown gently only moment before became a wind, and swept his hat off. He didn't even look to see where it went. As far as he was concerned, he'd just pick it up in a moment. It was too heavy to carry far--

“The fate of trespassers is death.” Allan's senses perked, and he brought his head up, though still staring into the ocean. The voice came from his side, slightly to the back, and it was rather feminine. It was smooth and soft, yet held a firm undertone, as if this woman was upset by something. “Surely, such a fact was made known to you.” A threat? Was this woman threatening him? Without even a glance, he whipped out a pistol from in his coat, and fired to where he had heard the voice. There was the sound of metal striking metal... He had hit his target. He turned his head to the woman's position, and watched his hat fall to the ground. The bullet had struck the golden Skull and Crossbones on his hat, and forced it from the stranger's hand.

"No such 'fact' had previously been conveyed to me, madam, until now. Just now. But I'm afraid I have little choice in the matter, as I was brought here against my will. I have no quarrel with you, milady, so I shall take my leave of here, as I am clearly not welcome."

The fiery plumage that licked forth from the mouth of the weapon that the man pointed at her was reminiscent of a dragon’s flame, thinking it to shoot forth fire, she held aloft the hat that had moments ago occupied his head, surprised when an impact with the force of a giant’s punch knocked it out of her grasp, the sound of metal upon metal crashing into bitter existence. The lead ball that smoked in the sand at her feet was so startlingly grotesque in nature that Vana merely stood in her fixed position for the span of many moments, looking down upon it with an expression that straddled horror and intrigue before resolving into a fixed glare at the sailor, lips set in a plush quivering line.

“Those without quarrels to do not attack those with whom they have not the quarrel with,” the Coquette replied icily, snapping closed her fan of Angel’s feathers with a violent jerk of the wrist, her other hand drawing one of the few fans strapped to her thigh, lithe fingers reaching through the torn material of the chemise to grip gingerly the razored slats of gilded metal, spreading it open with the pass of a thumb, to send it singing toward the pirate as she unholstered another.

OOC: I had more, but my word processor crashed, and this is all I have the energy for, sorry for the wait and general lack of quality.

"You made the first strike with your- Egads!" Allan shifted his weight to his right leg, knowing it would give way, and bring him down. The body's reaction was always quicker than the mind's, allowing him to fall faster, and barely avoid the object so well thrown by the woman. The fall itself looked weak, and Allan was now on his back with a painfully numb leg.

He flipped himself over, and got to his knees, eying the woman carefully. Clearing his throat, he tried again to speak. "You attacked first, in essence, by threatening my life. I had every right to fire back." He stretched his back for a moment and put up his left leg, keeping his right on the knee. "And anyway, you've somewhat misinterpreted my action: I don't like others... touching my hat!" Before even finishing his statement, Allan launched himself up onto both feet, and took two pistols from behind his hips. He aimed pin-pointedly at the woman's chest, and eyed his hat, lying a short distance away, bottom down. "If you wouldn't mind terribly, could, or should I say would, you please kick my hat over to me?" Half-smiling, his voice lightened slightly. "Please."

The sea of amethyst expanded dangerously, the pitch-black pupil in its centre nothing more than a knife’s edge. Quelled was the flutter of the fan held behind the woman’s back, its feathers moving only with the slightest of breezes that still wove their way amongst and around the two strangers, keeping the taste of salt in the air and the cold against their skin. Her only movement was the subtle dip and rise of her bosom as breath was drawn, frame tensed as her mind calculated the proper avenue of action, only the single throwing-fan drawn against the twin muzzles of the lead-and-fire-spewing demons, and her options severely limited by proximity.

“If you dislike others touching your hat, why is it that you ask me to retrieve it for you?” Vana inquired calmly, disdain tainting her tone and a smirk her lips. “I am not your chattel trespasser, if you so desire it, risk the action. My contribution to your future, I assure you, will not be in your favour.”

OOC: Bah, where is my inspiration... D:

"Because I asked you to this time. I honestly don't trust you enough to get near you, which is a clear requirement of taking up the hat." He lowered his pistol, but kept it out in his hand, tightly gripping the handle. "Really now, is it so hard to do what I have asked of you? Some people are simply too lazy to take a few seconds time to do such simple tasks... I suppose I'm lucky to work with such a hard-working crew, ah-haa!" His smile quickly faded... This woman was not amused. He returned her cold stare with one of his own, and began to slowly circle around her. "I go this way, you go that way." Allan point to the opposite direction he was going. "No one looses their ground this way, and I get my hat back, alright?" It seemed to Allan like this woman was more of a fighter than anything, but he hoped she'd at least have the fair decency to allow him to get his hat back. If not, he'd just have to get close enough and make an attempt to use the blunt ends of his pistol to knock her out. Even that would be difficult enough...

OoC: Stalemates, augh! They're no fun to write!

It was the glittering skull of the hat that had attracted his attention, the beautiful shiny thing just lying atop the sand, entrancing with its bright golden colour in contrast to the beige of the shore. It smiled at him, inviting to be rescued from owners so careless as to leave it be, alone on the shore. Even as he watched, it smiling seemed to grow more desperate, calling to be rescued as a man grew closer to it, and the deadly Coquette woman from the mansion known so well to be the death of his kind drew further away. He had to rescue it, it told him, the Queen was expecting to be brought it, and she was waiting.

Closing his wings with iron determination, the tengu plummeted like an arrow shot skyward back toward the earth, rocketing through a swarm of his lesser brethren, the gulls knowing not to make a sound as it would be the end of their life. He reached it just moments before the man did, crying shrilly with victory as he passed, a mere blur of gray clutching the black of the hat below, soaring swiftly skyward and to the south wherein lay home, and the Queen.
========

A bemused smile of genuine amusement crossed her lips and leavened the glare present in her gaze, stopping the woman in her synchronistic motion, hands falling to her sides, fans held loosely.

“A tengu stole your hat, how unfortunate,” she mused, regaining her composure and giving the pirate a deadpan look, feline oculars widened playfully, traces of the earlier smile lingering in small twitching motions at the edges of her lips. “I am sure it will enjoy its life in the caves to the south. I imagine it would make a lovely nest.”

Allan had jumped for the hat when he caught sight of the... thing... but was too slow. He stayed on the ground, belly down, for a moment, frowning deeply at his empty hand that he tried to take back the hat with. The woman's words only made it more of a bother. He hadn't just bought the hat off some seedy merchant. It was a one-of-a-kind custom hat. Slowly he got up onto his knees, and brushed what sand he could off. He put one leg up, as if to push off it and stand up, but instead pulled the pistol off it with his free hand before standing up. Now both hands held a pistol, and both were aimed at the woman.

"And that's where you're wrong. Listen to me, woman: You obviously know where that demon lives, and you're going to be taking me there. But don't bother trying anything. I've got more than enough pistols, and I'm by no means afraid to use them. If I have to kill you to live, I will... Believe that!" Allan was staring firmly into the woman's eyes; he said what he meant, and he meant what he said. Her fans... should I...? But what kind of other beasts lurk here? If anyone's got to kill her, it might as well be me.

WAIT. She should know how to hendle herself here! Allan glanced towards the fnas, then pointed to one with his pistol. "Your fans. Toss- erm, no. Just drop them there, and move away." Asking someone like her to toss fans like that at him would be a foolish thing to do, no doubt. His grip tightened on his pistols as he waited patiently for the woman to comply.

All traces of humor left her face when the man turned his weapons on her, determination and resolve reflected in the harsh glint of his mossy oculars, fingers poised to activate the fire and metal dwelling in the beasts yawning at her. Glaring, she dropped the throwing-fan she held, and unholstered the others, resting them away from her feet by the other before rising, keeping in her possession the fan of blood stained plumage. She had plucked the feathers herself from the corpses of Angels, when making war on some place named Heaven, partly a memento of the now dead Zorlo and partly a trophy of her slaying capabilities. She had no intent of relinquishing it at this man’s behest.

“We can get close to the mountain by going south on this beach, wherein we shall need to either swim or take boat to the island,” Vana murmured, pointing to the southern horizon where a conical shape was surrounded by scores of milling dots. “My hope that you have enough of those demons to kill the flying demons is dim,” she continued. “If your powers of forethought were stronger, taking my weapons instead of letting them be ruint by sand would have been more logical. But I wouldn’t expect such from a rule-breaker such as yourself.”

With a huff, the Coquette started off down the beach, lengthy stride carrying her swiftly away from the man, but not so much that he would have a hard time catching up, especially considering the three inches of height he had over the woman. But height didn’t always account for muscle, and albeit a sailor’s legs were sturdy from walking a roiling deck for all of their lives, they lacked the grace of a dancer’s, and thus it would not be surprising for Allen to have to add considerable pep to his step to stay inline with Madame Huine, and was what she expected.

Just past high noon, she slowed her pace somewhat, the sun having brought about a diadem of sweat beads and pink sheen to her forehead. Determination was the only thing that masked her anger, as she stridently fanned herself cool and shot glares back toward the pirate trailing her.

“Whatever is so important of a hat to risk losing one’s face at the claws of a Tengu and embark on a supplies-less journey in the midst of summer, withstanding holding an unknown lady hostage,” she spat, scanning the nearby terrain for a sign of a rivulet or freshwater source of somesort.

OOC: I have a legit excuse, I had the flu... D: