Gilded Bay and i'm so hot cause i'm in hell

there's not a lot to do at noon when you're a fat fucking bird with no life, really; if there's anything shell has learned by traveling so far, it's that the boredom never goes away. nothing changes. he can be an antisocial loser on this beach or on the next beach over or — hell, if he's feeling real crazy, maybe over some cliffs. not that he has any real interest in a social life anyway. been there, done that, no thanks.
he'd much rather just find himself some late breakfast and maybe a nice place to nap. which is exactly what he's doing now, actually. or, he's trying. admittedly it's difficult to focus when there are a bunch of loud assholes crowding him, but he's certain if he can just get a good grip on this crab —
hey what the fuck, his cry is shrill as his find is quite suddenly snatched from him. by the time he looks up, the thief has already darted off. asshole! he calls after the other, shaking out his feathers indignantly. nope, nothing has changed at all.

Apple was a practical wolf, who could adapt to any environment with so much ease and swiftness, that one would think she had spent her whole life there. Oceanside was definitely a new place - it had taken a little while for her to get used to the water constantly moving and making noise (and reassuring herself that it was there merely to tickle and wet her feet, not to grab her and drag her in the ocean's depths) - but once she had found the first morsels of food, she forgot about this initial insecurity. 

She was ploughing through a tangled mass of seaweeds, when a surprisingly clear voice swore in her vicinity. She turned, expecting to see another wolf and seeing no such thing. Maybe her mind was going? You never knew that for sure in your old age. Therefore by a random choice she focused on the little sea-bird and asked him jokingly: "You do not happen to know, who needs his mouth washed for speaking bad words, do you?"