Cerulean Cape take me to your waters, lay me on your shore

It seemed Indie had been right on target [as she always was]. The vaudevillian liked to think that she knew wolves — knew who they were.  They were all the same, easily simplified into tropes and they all fell into their replicable patterns. This was why Indie was such a talented charlatan; she broke her fellows down into their most basic, root principles and mirrored them flawlessly.  The perfumed mummer had only known one other wolf could outwit her; but she had not seem the mottled gangster in quite some time, and never would again. “Unfortunately, I know nothing else.” Her voice was smooth, low, unassuming and somewhat uncaring. Indie was unwilling to give more details about the suspect she had built in her mind, lest she break the smokescreen she had conjured between her and the dusky shewolf — so, it was time for a subject change. 

“It seems like you have places to be, wolves to see, small fiery women to find,” Indie noted in a bright, suggestive tone, wiggling her eyebrows at the thought of two ladies together. Even a creature of the night like she had not ever seen such a thing! The thought scintillated Indie but she tucked that information in her back pocket. She was sure it be most useful at some point. “I invite you to stay. I was just about to serenade the ocean…” Indie flicked her angular chin towards the sea. If the other sirens did it, then Indie would do it too. “Would you be my audience — or my duet?” With a melodramatic sweep of her arched shoulder, Indie stood and stepped her long body closer to where the tide lapped at the shore. Indie felts her inky paw pads press into the sand, leaving light impressions in her wake.  She threw her head over her shoulder and called back to Thuringwethil.

“What says you?”