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

Yet another Nerds thread :) @Meteora

Back to the sea she ran! The inky shewolf darted through the terrains that made the wilds, tactfully razing the meadows, ravines and summits that stood in her path. Indie understood exactly what she was doing, knew where she was intended to go and would be remiss to let anything keep from that beautiful glittering coastline. To inhale the salt-sticky air, to play amongst its sands. The waters itself - how profoundly powerful. Indie thundered toward the many forests that further blockaded her intentions and barreled through them with an entirely undeserved sense of entitlement and bravado. Perhaps these lands were claimed, perhaps they were not — this question did not give Indie any pause or leave her with irksome guilt. Breaking the rules was not something that frightened her. Often the dark-furred woman would find… ‘alternate solutions’ [to say the least] in the pursuit of her wants and desires. 

Brimming with purpose and fearlessness, Indie sang her sanguine tune.

Papa de, da, da da da
He's the hottest man in town
He's nice and soft
Never scoffs
Red hot mamas
He cools them off
Papa de, da, da da da
Papa de, da, da da da

Indie’s voice boiled from deep within her chests, the sound of which was low and rolling. Perhaps she would sing a song to the ocean when she arrived to it, skittering to a halt at its shores. Yes, she would appease the briny deep with her words — hoping to return even a fraction of the sublimity that it gave her. Her poem [or would it be a song, or a sonnet?] would speak of the mysteries it held within its depth and paint vivid images of oceanic lore. Well… the tempest didn’t know much about this deity, but she could draw inferences from the coastal wolves she encountered. Indie knew it was a hungry god, desiring much from its disciples. Indie knew it controlled all of earthly existence, from the movements of the billowing clouds above, to the bubbling aquifers deep below, to the movement of the moon. Indie did know if she necessarily believed these stories to be the gospel truth [as that seemed so rather farfetched], but this mythology was exciting and made her heart swell and she longed to honor it. 

She burst onto the cape and huffed from her physical exertions, drawing breath deeply as her gaze fell upon the cerulean, winter waters. 

Each day turns into another that Wildfire has not been seen. Her scent has diminished through the territory and her own heart feels the weight of her absence. She has not allowed herself the proper time to grieve the absence of her mate as she has yet to give up, finding no signs of her anywhere. After their disagreement, she can’t help but worry that she’d abandoned them when she’d prevented their family from growing. She won’t allow herself to think the worst, either, but they still search the neighboring lands and Thuringwethil finds herself further down the coast than she has been in a long time. She things to the few days she had disappeared without a word and the karma settling into her chest is a feeling she least desires.

The outline of another catches her attention but it is not the fiery coat she longs to see. The other does not deter her from moving forward for another may have clues on where her mate may be. It doesn’t hurt to ask, at least, and so she moves along the edge of the water—she does not try to hide herself, for there is nowhere to hide—and once she’s close enough she chuffs to fully draw the other wolf’s attention to her own.

A wolf approached. Indie pivoted her outstretched neck to take in the sight and smells of the oncoming stranger. The bouquet which drifted lazily upon the winter winds was brackish, as if the seawolf lived belonged on the coast. Another coastal fellow with whom I can trade stories and learn the secrets of the sea? she wondered. A pack dweller, too. So many of the wolves she met in these wilds had been loners, these classical amazonian princesses and weakling brutes. Traveling all alone, as she was doing. Indie had no doubts that these women would all find each other and find solace in their likeness — the dark tempest entertained thoughts of joining them and hoped the blue waters, so pleasantly spread in front of her like a million lakes, would provide her some insight.

The woman drew nearer and she too moved closer to receive the stranger, Indie’s trot lively and loose from her previous jaunt. Indie drew herself up and composed herself as exhausted huffs gave way to an intriguing simper. Who was she? Did she have an interesting story too?

“Hail, stranger.”

cameo for now, feel free to skip!

She was often tired in the day, preferring the light of the Mother Moon over that of the sun— it was the Moon that danced with the Mother Sea, or so Meteora had been taught to believe, and it felt more natural to wake when the silvery light of stars cast down upon the earth. And so the silver woman lay napping, perhaps with others piled around her for all of their safety, and hidden away by some shelter— a boulder perhaps— the woman stirred at the muffled sound of voices.

Sorry for the wait!

The other wolf receives her without aggression and there is a little relaxation in her posture but she remains guarded still. The huff she hears pulls her forward, as well as her inviting voice, but Thuringwethil shakes the thoughts away as she easily remembers her purpose. She does not find leisure in the moment of her search, with Wildfire still missing, but she can only hope there are answers this woman can give her.

“Hail,” she responds with a single nod of her head. “I am looking for someone.” When her purpose is on track, she doesn’t need to waste any time. “Small, fiery red fur, her name is Wildfire.”

Thuringwethil goes silent, head forward inclined for some sort of good news.

Wahh I’m sorry for the wait

The other woman drew closer with zest and purpose, but not in an overtly powerful manner. For this, Indie was thankful; how she dreaded wolves who flaunted themselves! …except herself, of course. Indie took several easy steps towards the strange shewolf, receiving her kindly. Almost immediate the vaudevillian was addressed by the other’s statements and facts [albeit with a slight intonation of questioning]. Indie canted her head, the slight movement rippling down her thick, velvet-lined pelt. Who was this wolf before her, and who was the red woman she sought? They mystery inflamed the vamp f’s curiosity even further.

“Aye, I might have.” Indie suggested coyly, a hint of smile dancing across her stained lips. She had not seen any wolf, small and fiery as the Thuringwethil described, but that was not enough to keep Indie from bending the truth. Continuing the act, Indie easily conjured an image of the lost fire wolf; most fiery wolves Indie knew were hot heads and quick to anger, so Indie easily feigned her knowledge of the lost soul. “She was angry, right?”

The other gives her tease of information and Thuringwethil narrows her eyes, knits her eyebrows together, and remains suspicious for the moment. When she confesses the mood of the girl in question, her own heart seizes up and lurches out of her chest. It had been tense leading up to the disappearance and Wildfire had been upset enough that it could have turned into anger. Her jaws tighten and Thuringwethil bounces her head once. “Probably,” she answers, clearing her throat. “Do you know anything else?”

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?”

She admits she has no other information of the wolf she’d run in to. If she’d been angry, there’s no telling where she’s going and if she’d return. There had been something near the sound she’d mentioned once but she hadn’t made the time to go see it. The fact someone has seen her doesn’t give her any more clues than she had before and so she sighs with defeat.

The dark wolf speaks again and her grey eyes scan off toward the ocean that she looks, white caps forming farther back than usual. The request seems silly but she feels the weight of it, even if she can’t decipher the meaning. When she throws her head over her shoulder, expecting an answer, Thuringwethil slowly shakes her head. She scans the rest of her before tearing away and turning the rest of her form to return the way she’d came.

“I must go,” she says despite the churn of her stomach.

Oh, no! Indie’s offer had been too much for the stoic, dark woman. This stranger fascinated Indie and Thur’s… intentional way of being had captivated her from the beginning — for Indie was so opposite of that. To Indie, to sing, to dance, was to breathe… but it was not that way for everyone. So the chanteuse swallowed her sweet tone and her potent, golden gaze followed the unhinging stranger as she began her departure. But this Indie would not allow! The sleuth had not yet accomplished her goal; she did not yet know everything there was to know about the nameless, shifting shewolf. Normally, mirroring behavior was Indie’s preferred mode of relationship building, but Indie knew that quiet wolves rarely got other quiet wolves to talk — so quiet she would not be.

“Ohhh, before you go, what is your name? From which place do you hail?” Indie called, spinning on her heels and drifting directly behind Thuringwethil, walking so that her own paws placed themselves perfectly inside the prints that the shewolf left in the soft sands. “I am new to these parts; I would not turn away a friend.”

Thuringwethil stops when the other calls out for her. She slowly turns back around to see her having taken a step or two out of the water and closer in her direction. One brow lifts but she does not advance in return as the other calls for a friend. A little information is hardly worth extending any further invitations, especially after the first has been denied, but she brushes it off anyway. “Thuringwethil, from the northern shores,” she says, pursing her lips tight afterward as she waits for another chance to leave.

Thuringwethil dismissed her curtly, and the shrouded women lifted her veil, visibly saddened by the ending of their tête-à-tête. Her arched, feathered banner hung behind her most pathetically and Indie swept her head to the side and flicked her ears back in a rather dramatic demonstration of her unwillingness to leave. If Thuringwethil truly wanted to leave, Indie would let her — but in the vamp’s own experience, wolves such as this were just begging to be broken down. For someone to provoke them and be persistent, for they were much to restrained in their own actions to do so themselves. Indie was more than happy to provide such services. Overtaking Thuringwethil, Indie dancing around to the front of the quiet woman and unintentionally [or was it intentionally?] blocking her path. Indie studied her her face, making note of its curves and crevices, how the velvet of her cheeks darkened around her eyes.  There was power in her. 

“You must go?” Indie said honestly, a touch a hurt shading her voice. “May I see you again?”

She moves closer, this time blocking her past and pressing the matter. Thuringwethil blinks a few times and searches her face but she nods once. There had been such a small exchange between the two, the sharing of minor information from one to another, and she insists on hanging around. Perhaps if she is so new to the other, she has been without the company of others but her gesture doesn’t quite extend as far as it could.

“Yes,” she answers after a beat. “If you come north some time,” she adds though she does not give specific details. The less the outside world knows about their current whereabouts and weakened claim, the better. Once their roots have resettled in the cliffs, the rest of the world will know.

Indie nodded her head distinctively. It was clear that the strange shewolf craved her departure, and Indie would no longer keep her from it. After all, that was not how one made friends — and this Thuringwethil seemed like someone she wanted on her side. “Very well,” Indie agreed in a succinct matter, with every intention of making her way up North to pay homage to this stranger’s lands. The buxom woman backpedaled several steps, leaving Thuringwethil’s path forward open and sharing with her a wide berth. 

“I hope you find your fiery woman, Thuringwethil” Indie intoned cheerfully, quite suddenly showing no signs of her prior sadness. With another, single nod Indie concluded with a dulcet “I’m Indie” before bounding off down the beach, unceremoniously ending their meeting with a most overdue introduction.