Dragoncrest Cliffs angels in tibet

borders ankyra! @Mireille @Chacal @Val :D

judith had always imagined whatever afterlife there was that her maman had whispered about — it'd be a lot like margaritaville. but from the wrothful torrent spitting against the ebony rocks, astutely, nothing like margaritaville (her mother was very much making fun of her. maliciously.)

the revenant girl retained a whole lot of her past save for why she was pushed off a cliff as the surface blinked away. she'd always though the bottom of the sea would be a fine sepulcher.

everything at the bottom of these cliffs was all peril, and doom, very much aaah! — the water still lapping with condemnatory where it met land. in that sense, the ocean was a very unhealed klepto, a sister who borrowed her sister's clothes, stretched them out, spat them back sometimes, or just plainly designed to keep them.

her fur was cast in disarray, curled and corded, water condensed in her lungs as if on a potlid. sea-froth crackling on her skin like brittle cassava, she shook her pelt and pursued her lip as she searched the shore with sparkling ocean jaspers.

:o

eight children born to sapphique. the thought curled mireille's crimson mouth with pleasure. she patrolled the blackpine forest upon the thick carpet of blunting needles, breathing the saltbreeze and watching bars of light fall across the body slowly returning to litheness.
the siren descended to ankyra to find a saltlaced woman clad in whorls of licked-up jetstone.
she caught the glittering gaze with the greengem of her own. "you be near sapphique." a soft warning, one that pulsed with more interest than threat.

the girl formed a hard squint towards the familiar rum-brown voice that matched the cant of the lapping waves, who were presently lapping her ankles with condemnatory.

she’d let Her tire herself out before taking a skinny dip anytime soon …

the riffs of the obsidian’s accent bouncing off the saltrock tore her back to beneath tamarind trees, fruit pulp, and bloated whales.

“èske sa a ap konnen pawòl fanm lanmè? sure sounds like it!”

her pelage was cast in disarray, as if linearly polarized. sea-froth crackled on her skin like brittle cassava, she shook her pelt and pursed her lip.

her stance was unassuming, pinning her ears to her head with a disposition to charm.

the rayleigh scattering of her eye meets the obsidian once a non-slippery step found purchase.

she trills, “sapphique? an’ w’at dat be?”

to say she was surprised was an understatement! the deep emerald of the obsidian's eyes sparkled with great interest, and soon her scarlet form was descending with seaborn grace.
they met on equal ground and regarded one another with curled lips and knowing eyes;
"sa a se peyi manman m yo," mireille said with a fluted intrigue to the end. "erzulie an' rosalyn. "yo ale kounye a."
and their legacy lived on. "i be mireille, one of t'eir many children."

sorry for the wait i'm closing up the school year soon ;;

"manman tou! ak aktyèlman de nan yo! where i'm from, ta mudders is a novelty, even havin' jus' de one!"
the relief she felt hearing her tongue of her islands soothed her immeasurably, her bouyant features softening with her rosy mirth. she tries to pump the breaks on her own party when the topic of dead mothers enters they fray.
the vivid thought of two, different wives, both ran to the bone but as loaded with spitfire when the pirates chased them down—
durin' a shoalrun raid, the other, other sunday, she pointedly reminds— spat at her face even harder.
the red memory elects no guilt. maybe the night after, where she had thrown up her lunch of the day and cried to sleep, but those weaknesses to her creed was what blood in water was to a great white.
she dips her head softly, "mireille. t'en excuse me intrusion! i t'ink ... " she looks to shore again, as if asking for clarification, "i washed up 'ere."
she tried to make the past she had would implicitly not be mentioned, her bright eyes looking to mireille all the same. "does your whole .. family? speak our language?"