Stavanger Bay with a crash

Étoille had always possessed a special talent for giving in to the nothingness of his idle thoughts. It was not quite daydreaming. That would require a more active imagination than the beast claimed to own. It was almost a form of meditation, though decided unspiritual - a measure of self-absorption that allowed him to tune out to the sounds of the world around him. He could just exist.

Still, it did not mean he was incapable of noticing when he was no longer alone. A stranger's scent caught his attention, mingled in the salty air. Blinking back into his surrounding, the man glanced around. Huh.

The woman was hard to miss. Her appearance was striking. Étoille'd met several fiery-red women in his life, but none with such sharply designed proportions. It was exotic, but Étoille did not think too hard on that. Instead the man tilted his head slightly, dark eyes squinting at her posture. She held herself low, drawn tight like a arrow on a bow. Was he the cause of that tension..? He couldn't really figure it out. So instead he politely chuffed a greeting, turning his large form toward her slightly. "Er," he said, deep voice uncertain, "have I done something."