Oystercatcher Tide Pools what an entrance

Tuck had traveled a long way to get where he was now—and where he was now sucked. It was cold and it was windy and he hated it. Tuck was a summer child, born in June, and by the time he’d been old enough to remember anything, it had been the height of summer. He remembered splashing in the water at the base of a waterfall, knocking his siblings over and laughing at them—and then getting angry when they did the same to him. He was always trying to recreate that first summer, so fleeting and ephemeral, but he could never make it right. By the time his second summer rolled around he’d been preparing to leave, and he’d spent up to now traveling the wilderness, wondering why he’d left in the first place. Now it was winter. When he was a boy, he’d had his parents and siblings to snuggle up with. Now he had nothing but his own fur to keep him warm and it was not enough.

The wind picked up all of a sudden and seemed to smack him in the face with salty sea air. Seagulls wheeled overhead, screeching at him—or so it seemed. “Oh yeah!” he called, to no one in particular. “Well fuck you too!” Sulkily, he continued to march along the sand, too cold and miserable to take much interest in his surroundings, which was unusual for him. On a good day, he’d have been delighted to see such strange things as tidepools, with water plants and shiny shells and little fish. Today though, he’d give anything just to find somewhere out of the wind.

an angry bellow sounded through the air, followed by a racuous rejoinder of gulls. caiaphas lifted her head from a tidepool, an ear aslant as she tried to suss out its author's location. dripping wet but not entirely bothered, the siren prowled from the brim of the water and headed for higher ground. she wasn't in favor of being caught unawares in the open - better to see what the ruckus was, before the ruckus found her.

it was then she saw a creature not so different from herself in body-type. it was that alone that made her change her trajectory. like her he didn't make much of a tall figure - he was shaped clearly by coyote blood, and his fur was the familial gold of her halfblooded kin. sizing him up and drawing her own inferences, the wretch spoke soon as she was within distance. "you making all that noise?" 

The wind continued to whip around Tukluk, which just made him angrier and angrier. He drew further into himself, hunching his shoulders and keeping his head down. Because of this, he was staring at his paws instead of his surroundings, and because of this, he didn’t see the woman coming, and the howling wind drowned out her pawsteps.

’You making all that noise?’

Tuck gasped in surprise, quickly looking up and pinpointing the source of the question. She was small and lithe, built like him. A halfbreed, too, then. At least, that’s what he assumed. It didn’t matter, though. She’d frightened him and that pissed him off. He didn’t like it when others got the better of him. “Yeah,” he replied, a challenging, snarky, teenager-y tone in his voice. “So what?”

oh, was he snappy -- the crone's eyes lit up in delight to hear such challenge in his voice. despite her age (five - was five so old?) she could be feisty herself -- and delighted in the chance to misbehave when it suited her.

which -- let's be real -- was most of the time.

he sized her up the same as she had done to him, and once she thought he had his fill of studying, she lifted her muzzle skywards, watching the frenetic flight patterns of the angular-winged birds above them. "oh, nothing. just, it sounded like you were hurt. cant handle a few birds?" her gaze flashed with sleeping mischievousness - could he keep up?

She was silent for a few seconds, and then looked up at the seagulls crying overhead. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said. Yeah right, nothing. There was obviously something.

’Just, it sounded like you were hurt. Can’t handle a few birds?’

Tuck’s face screwed up, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “Fuck you, lady,” he snapped at her. He was too cold and pissed off at the wind to care about making friends with anyone right now. And she’d just insulted him, which immediately made her an enemy. “You wanna go? Can’t reach the birds, but I can reach you. Put your money where your mouth is.” He took a step towards her, all aggression. Ears pushed forward, tail high, growling.

just like that, she had hit a nerve. the sweet spot that took her hours to find in most women was easily found in seconds with most men: challenge their masculinity, and all courtesy fell right out to the wayside.

he advanced, aggressive as all get-out -- her own fur remained smooth, as if she were not seconds away from feeling teeth in her hide. canting her hips with a flick of her tail, the siren neatly rejoined with a sultry croon: "don't threaten me with a good time." she could call his bluff -- and fight it too, if need be.

all the while her body remained poised, her claws digging into the earth subtly -- each a sign she was ready for physical altercation, if it came to that.

Round 1/3
Attack: 3/10 (Discord) hahaha Tuck you suck already.

The way she answered him only pissed him off further, as if she didn’t believe he would fight her. Well, she was about to be proven wrong. He’d just gotten here, to this stupid cold place, and already someone wanted to make him have a bad day. Well, he’d make her day just as bad. With another snarl, he lunged for her muzzle, trying to grab it and hold on in a show of dominance. His grip was weak, however, and only grazed her muzzle. Probably stung at least a little, though.

so much for making friends (or even packmates). already that trigger she had instigated flared well over -- and well beyond her control. perhaps he had problems at home, and that was his reason for being so volatile -- caiaphas didn't have time to contemplate on his assumed home-life before he came at her, furious as a scalded harpy.

"who took the---" she didn't have time to finish. his attack was not necessarily the reaction she was expecting, but she had been partially ready -- at least enough to pull back from his first attack. his teeth scraped by her muzzle and while the feeling was far from pleasant, it wasn't ruinous -- with a snap she attempted to deliver the same deadly kiss, only her teeth found nothing at all save for whiskers.

Round 2/3
Attack: 2/10 lol

She did, indeed, pull away from him too fast for his attack to do any sort of real damage. He started to growl in annoyance—this was already not going how he had planned—but suddenly her own teeth were in his face and he jerked his head back and stumbled away. He didn’t want her to get any kind of advantage on him, though, so he moved towards her again and tried to shove her backwards, hoping to knock her off balance, but only ended up losing his footing in the shifting sand and sort of bumping into her—harmlessly.

Svalinn was suffering from his own teenaged angst at that moment— doggedly pursing his mother, who had become intractably fixated on her aspirations for the Sound and catching up with her woe-begotten son. He hadn't gotten lost. Why was she still chasing these ghosts? He wanted to ask her this; beg—nay, demand she stop her roaming. He was roiling by the time he'd caught up to her, and she was under attack.

He recovered clumsily from his shock, before launching forward on a pellmell offensive, aiming to snag in his jaws whatever he could of the filthy cur who dare turn his jaws on his mother.

their exchange was fanged and swift, and ultimately, fated for failure - neither got a satisfying hit in, which was somewhat of a disappointment for the siren. strangely enough, it was not the draw of her enemy's blood that incited her the most - it was when she got struck - it riled up some ancient, gibbering hatred in her -- and it was when she was at her most tenacious.

he swung for her and lost his balance, pushing up against her in a way that neither derailed her next attack, nor hurt her. she in turn swung for his muzzle as he was momentarily unbalanced, aiming -- and attempting-- to shove him downward and teach him a thing or two about respecting his ELDERS!!

Svalinn did not roll for damage so I’m gonna say that Caiaphas pushed Tuck down out of the way of his attack.

Tuck grunted when he slammed rather hard into the ground. She’d blindsided him, using his own stumble against him to push him away and down. And just in time, too, for now there was another wolf here, standing right at at the spot where Tuck had been just a moment before. The young coywolf let out a yelp of surprise at the sudden entrance of another attacker and scooted away, no longer interested in fighting. Two against one wasn’t fair anymore and the cream-colored male looked pissed. He kept his body low to the ground while trying to get his feet under him, ears tucked back in fear now instead of pushed forward with aggression. Still, he managed a defiant—if wobbly—“Who are you?”

another unexpected diversion -- the flash of her golden son -- sailed through her vision. it was enough to break the mood caiaphas had been delighted to see accruing -- but instead, the hostility in her fighting partner went out like a flame held to the wind.

she stepped back, finding little sport in taunting a wolf that was outmatched. too often the tables had been reversed and it was she in that role; she did not envy him for it. "caiaphas. and this --" she motioned with a rather proud tilt of her head towards the threatening presence of her son-turned-guard-hound - "is my son. nice to meet ya."

Svalinn skittered to a halt as Caiaphas pinned her attacker, snapping his teeth threateningly in the male's direction as his mother commanded the brief spat. He looked to her, wanting very much to add insult to injury by overwhelming the half-breed with teeth, but he would defer to Caiaphas for the amount of mercy she wanted to dole out here. He remained there, just to ensure no air of a fight returned to this wiry straggler.

Caiaphas. Tuck was determined to keep that name lodged in his brain for further sulking later. She’d caused his bad day to become worse, and then her son had barged in and ruined their fun. Tuck glanced at the cream-colored boy, wary of his snarling, and scooted farther away, although neither of his enemies were attacking him now. “Thanks for barging in like that, asshole,” he spat at the boy. Then, without saying another word, he turned and fled.

[Will exit unless stopped]

instead of a name in return, an insult was slung -- younger caiaphas would have roared in outrage, and fell quick in step after tuck's receding, bushy tail -- but wintered, tired caiaphas simply regarded the male's backside with a smug sneer -- asshole was far from the worst she had heard thrown her way.

svalinn was still poised alongside her - his timing was exquisite, and she butted gently into his shoulder before making motion to head for home. they would grab a quick sup of water, and possibly even crunch on an oyster or two -- and then the pair would delve for home.