Seaside Moors redline

erzulie watched as the older of the two spoke, the expression that passed through the poured-caramel eyes. striking in the redleaf creamery of his tufted coat. aesthetic in a tired way that suggested honesty around his wants. in the next moment the harlot's gaze flicked to the boy, aught but a yearling. eyelids smeared with silver, gingerbread points highlighting the youth of his spindly figure. the age of her first quartet, all gone off to range save for clementine. the thought made her heart ache.
"dis be rusalka," erzulie repeated; perhaps she had been too swift before. she gestured toward the rainy moors, scarred muzzle gesturing in the direction of the darkened forest clustered at its edge. "an' i be erzulie," the jezebel went on, appreciative of the physical strength that nine held, the potential for speed gifted to jojo. 
"we be warriors here, hunters of de sea. rusalka is ... adaptable." a curve to her lips. "you seem capable enough. tell me what be bringin' you by dis place, an' what is it you do well."