Cerulean Cape earth to herc, come in herc -

The waves gently seized his ears — a lulling tune, which his consciousness could no more fight than he could deny the wiles of a (totally far-out) woman.  He was betwixt the veils of reality, floating upon the precipice of total submergence — that thin fold of the mind which one could ride into astral projection — so when she spoke, he was firstly unphased, the elegant tone of her voice slightly drowned, distant.  Though then her woodsy perfume tickled the hairs of his nose, and he startled — reality!  It hit him as though the broad horns of an ox, his limbs flailing as the oxygen seemed to vacuum out of his lungs.  He scrambled to his feet, though once he seen the quite literal ethereal beauty before him, he immediately straightened up, sharp as the edge of a whetted razor.  “Woah,” he murmured, head pulling back upon his shoulders as his sky-blue gaze glanced over her with a vulpine wit— “did I like, die and go to heaven?”  He grinned, woefully cheesy.  He could have perhaps been some type of smooth, yet his sand-clogged and disheveled appearance left him with an image that was anything but debonair.  In fact, a small tower of sand still rested square upon the top of his head — a ridiculous crown for the king of salty fools.