Cerulean Cape we have always known how to be monsters

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Axolotl’s gaze is drawn back to the tree, watching with glacial eyes as she — he could smell her now and the pheromones she put off in her fear — as she skittered from the tree she’d originally taken shelter behind to another tree’s shadow this one closer. Definitely corporeal and not a spirit, then, though she is certainly pale enough to pull off the role of spectre if she wished to don it. In the presence of Atlan, separated from his deity as long as he’d been to make this journey has the unpredictable mood of the Atlanian placated. As if Atlan is a sedative to his raptorial personality; though they can easily encourage it to rise if territory and claim is being threatened. Not that he is claiming this Cape. The leviathan has no interest in that. It is neutral territory and he seeks simply to enjoy all that Atlan has to offer. Axolotl feels halcyon, now, amidst a low burning curiosity towards the woman who hides.

Well, perhaps she is not hiding so much now. He has seen her and smells her now and knows she is not an illusion: she is corporeal; but Axolotl believes that Atlan is a master of “fate” and that this is presage though to what eludes him. He remembers the distinct hint of pheromones that tease of fear and wonders if she “hides” because there is something physical and imposing between them. A shield between him and her though he does not move from his spot upon the dry sand just out of the reach of Atlan’s grasping waves. “I will not hurt you.” The sea monster speaks, deep voice like whisky steeped in smoke breaching the contemplative silence. He does not implore her to come out. If she feels safer behind the tree then that is all good and well. He does not expect her to take him at his word. As a shaman he is drawn to the darker mysteries of life, to what her perceives to be magic of the world; she certainly presents him with a mystery.

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