Shimmering Sands the hawser rolls, the vessel’s whole and christ, it’s thin

Please allow @Rannveig to post first.

The breath of saline and brine was enough to send the hound into a state of heightened bliss. They had trekked for so long without the touch of the ocean; he had grown wilder in that time. Having found himself so close to the depths, Ford had sated the burning in the pit of his gut. His soul felt at home once more.

The sands were new to him. Though he should have been born in the bay some miles down the coast, he had experienced a different upbringing. Instead of the depths claimed by the blackrock, Ford had known the wilderness that was Warsaw. It had made him stronger, he believed. In turn, the titan knew that his siblings were equally as powerful. They had all survived the drop, hadn't they?

Stretching the length of his stygian limbs, the titan felt a swelling in his chest. Only once, Ford turned his attention to glance back over his shoulder in search of Rannveig. Surely, his brother would not have been far behind.

warsaw was far behind them, but rannveig hadn't looked back. he might have missed the familiarity of his home and the insouciant teasing of its women, but he was a man -- and men roamed, damn it. the last thing he wanted to do was live, eat, fuck and die in the same corner of the world he was born in; there were other worlds out there, made for him to discover.

he wasn't thinking of warsaw or the drop or how powerful they were when he saw his brother slow ahead, and glance back to him. rannveig gave the wraith a dumb smile between thumbing thoughts of what was in store for him here. so far, it seemed like nothing but the boundless end of sand and salt - he might have liked it were it not for the cold bite of wind that coursed between his heels.

Ford thought nothing of the idea that some would live and die where they were born. He anticipated that there would be many like that in the terrain they were trekking. Some who would never know the inspiration of venturing across miles and miles of foreign land with no real direction in mind. He would silently think lesser of them for it, but it was not likely that he would ever share these thoughts with them. In truth, the titan thought most of his peers to be lesser creatures; they had so little to prove in comparison. He had learned well how to curb the sharpness of his tongue.

In that, Ford was less like his father.

Having turned, the savage hound caught sight of his brother and the idiotic smile that was offered. Inwardly, he cursed the lackadaisical stupidity of Rannveig. Outwardly, Ford offered a soft smile and turned to face front once more. He picked up his pace some, knowing that the dredge would do well on the shore. The titan was eager to close the space that stretched ahead of them. More than this, he was eager to bathe in the sea.

rannveig thought nothing of the soft smile delivered back - he certainly did not catch the inward scorn that tempered that smile and made it small.

buried neck-deep in his own thoughts for a while, rannveig didn't notice his brother had quickened his pace - up until he glanced up from the passing trees and rolling sand and noticed his brother's form had dipped behind the rising flank of a dune.

he moved quicker, adopting a rolling canter as he traced the coursework left by ford's searing paws. at length he closed the distance, his jaws parted and tongue lolling as he wordless fell into tandem alongside the powerful gait of his brother.

That was their domain. The two Mayfair-Cairn children belonged to the sands and the lapping water. They were proficient beyond comprehension in the great stretch of sea. More so than they would ever be strictly on land. Ford would never have an interest in learning how to battle the way that most did. He knew well how to defend his home, and he was deadly beneath the swell; that was woven in his blood.

One ear swiveled back to catch the sound of Rannveig's beating paws against the sand. He was fast and gaining ground. Ford did not increase his speed any further for fear of exhausting himself before they were to reach a sound stopping point. Instead, he reveled in the time that he was able to sprint alongside his sibling.

rannveig's breath was slow to return to him as he caught up to his brother. he panted heavily, inhaling the cold whip of wind and brine. his brother remained silent - not an entirely uncharacteristic feat for the oldest of the siblings. in some ways rannveig thought ford too serious. it was not an opinion he would share with his brother, despite their closeness.

in truth rannveig enjoyed keeping to the coast; and while he was not the leader of this outfit, he was silently pleased with the path ford had arranged for them.

finding little to keep his interest, the maycairn male started to drift closer to the shore.

Ford was too serious and Rannveig had his head too far up his own ass. They all had their issues, but they seemed to work well as a unit – a partnership – which was something that their ancestors did not always possess. For all the headaches that his siblings caused him, the titan knew that they were paramount in accomplishing what they wanted. Each had strengths that the other did not, and he was confident that would be needed in the task ahead.

Barreling through the sand, the swarthy creature noted the direction that his brother was swaying. Following the motion, Ford moved toward the pulling waters until he could almost feel the brush of sea breeze against his whiskers. There was something in needing it and not allowing himself to have it. The restraint was a key for him, and – oh – it hurt. Slower and slower, the titan loomed until he felt the touch of the ocean against his paws and he almost sighed with relief.

rannveig listed like the sinking hill of a felled ship, pulled to the undertow by unseen and fathomless currents. his brother had noted rannveig’s drift, feigning then to stand on the cusp of the sea’s frothy tide and deny himself the pleasure of the water’s cool touch.

masochist.

rannveig was already to his ears in the brine, paddling with a mad man’s cheeky delight as the grey surf furled in stormy boughs over his body. he sunk into the depths, paddling reptilian and slow — all but his muzzle submerged in the rolling water. slowly the male turned to face his brother, an impish expression hanging in those crocodile eyes as he floated, immobile while every cant of his body told of the explosive tension about to erupt.

It did not take long before Rannveig found his way into the swell. He was always quick to give way to his desires. Some part of him felt envy for that freedom. The eldest Mayfair-Cairn was not like his two younger brothers. There was something else in him that did not know how to act unless he knew it would benefit him. Everything was a calculation. It needed to be for them to succeed. Still, that familiar prick of resentment touched the back of his chest.

There was nothing about him that was masochistic.

Ford was a skilled sociopath, and he was perfecting his art with every passing day.

Halting his looming stride, the inkhound felt the water lap against his ankles and he shuddered against the touch. Rannveig was already sunken to his chest, and then further until his head bobbed about in the water with each motion of his limbs. Ford drew closer, feeling the tug of the ocean as it beckoned him deeper into its depths. The water had moved up his limbs until it brushed against his chest and underbelly. He turned his attention to his brother and watched.

the stormcloud male drifted, feeling the ebb of the current swirl under his belly, holding his barrel up. the whitecaps frothed, rolling over his thin back as he studied his brother. rannveig had watched ford many times, thinking - and whatever rolled on in that weird brain of ford's was sometimes a game of great amusement to rannveig.

sometimes he'd imagine his brother's thoughts: oh, there's that look - he's thinking of that time velen tea-bagged his face.. or that time dad yelled at him but not me -- sometimes, rannveig thought of sillier things, like he's thinking of nutting right now, or simply not thinking at all.

the game was only as fun as those that participated in it, and after a while rannveig grew bored of devising theatrical reenactments of ford's secret heart.

it seemed he had ford's full attention now; rannveig grinned a stupid grin. no one ever suspected him and his dumb grins.

and then, like a crocodile, rannveig sprung for his brother with a rush of splattering water.

There was that idiotic smile again.

Ford forced the edges of his mouth to curl upward, not to match the expression of sheer ineptitude, but to show that Rannveig brought him 'joy'. In truth, the warhound thought that the premise of such an emotion was base and had no place in his arsenal. He knew that acting on rationality and logic was the only appropriate way to behave. It was a shame that others were so emotionally motivated.

Rannveig lunged from his position in the water, aiming to strike against the swarthy brute. The titan waited until he had no further room to play and forced himself into the deeper parts of the water. The sandy foothold gave out on him and disappeared. It had faded to nothing but saline water and reaching seaweed. Ford swam and then dove beneath the swell to avoid the next wave that moved for the shore.

as rannveig sprung for ford, he caught again that forced smile. it lingered on the lips, which seemed held together by terse flexion. to rannveig, a studied scholar in his brother's mystifying ways, he thought it ingenuine -- and then it (and its wielder) suddenly disappeared, eclipsed by a dark blue swell.

rannveig padded after, his breath simmering around his submerged muzzle; he enjoyed the froth of bubbles as they rose and frothed his chin and lips -- and then, he too dove underwater to give pursuit to his elusive and weird brother.

Ford's peculiar ways were more than just difficult to grasp; they were nearly impossible. Rannveig may have believed to know the forced smile – fabricated and stiff – but he knew nothing about what warred underneath the surface of the skeletal brute. As much as the stormcloud brother would have liked to think he was well-versed in the art of studying the titan, he had about as much skill as a blobfish. Studied as he was, he was no reader of Ford Mayfair-Cairn; he never would be.

The dredge dove into the water in pursuit, bubbles rising from his nostrils and disappearing against the surface of the swell. The warhound paddled carefully until he knew that he was risking his lungs. Once there, he turned around to peer through the murky liquid in search of Rannveig. Part of him expected to see that daft smile, even through the sea water. Once he felt his lungs strain and his heart begin to pound, Ford paddled for the surface and broke it with a deep inhale.

A single wave crashed over his frame and forced him toward the shore, threatening to send him back down. He allowed it for a moment before bobbing again to the surface and breathing the saline air through wide nostrils. Part of him cursed the need for oxygen. Given the choice, Ford would have remained beneath the swell for the rest of his days.

it was kind of fitting that ford wanted to be a fish: he was weird, for one -- funny looking, for two -- rannveig could see him being a moray eel's doppleganger, all things considered.

i mean, he was full of teeth, full of vinegar, and kind of terrifying looking -- that definitely shared some qualities with the pelagic's mighty weasel-fish.

rannveig had surfaced a long time ago (or, what seemed a long time ago -in matters of time, it was really a few seconds) but ford was yet to be seen. as he crested the water he wondered if the swell of a wave had forced his brother's head down -- but, as soon as he began to worry, ford's weird head poked out from the foam-caps again -- cue daft smile.  not that rannveig was without his flaws; but if you asked rannveig if he had any flaws, he'd cheerily say no - his humble humor being the best part about him, of course.

paddling in these swells had not been easy, and finding himself tired, rannveig slipped to shore. part of him wanted to pester his brother further (was that not his duty, as the leetlest brother??) but a part of him knew -- or at least, thought -- that ford liked his time alone; he could have all the time in the world he wanted with the salty sea, for all rannveig cared -- especially if it made the skeletal brother extra-prune-skinned, therefore, repulsive to all the ladies.

The time that he spent alone was certainly well-needed.

Ford could not say that he loved his siblings, or the family that he came from, but he had been raised under a certain conditioning. He had been taught about loyalty to his blood, and the need to protect. If he had been born to Skellige at a different time, the prospect of family would have been one that had been cast aside without question. Perhaps, he would have thrived underneath a different type of raising. If he had been taught only to follow his deepest desires and needs, he would have turned into an entirely different beast. Still, formidable, but someone who did not feel inclined to note how others might react to his harsh nature. There was a chance that he had turned into a greater monster with the gifts he had been given; unyielding and fiercely protective of what he knew was his.

Once the ocean had taken his strength from him, the warhound made his way to the shore. When his paws met the sand beneath the swell, he could feel the muscles in his limbs quiver. It was a weariness that he welcomed, knowing that it would make him stronger. Sea water drizzled from his broad frame and spattered against the shore, riding the length of his dark coat down until it was set free again. The titan turned to Rannveig, no longer irritated with his younger brother's daft expression. The ocean had subsided his need to reprimand the lackadaisical slate surfer.

“Do you think Morrigan will be able to leave Warsaw behind?” he inquired. The smoky weight of his baritone was softer than it typically was. There was a sidelong glance toward Rannveig, waiting to see what might transpire on the dredge's face.

while ford got intimate with getting exceptionally prune-skinned, rannveig sunned on the sand like an old dog sunning on a stone coop: he enjoyed the gentle rift of wind, and the way the sunlight seemed to envelop his pelt in soft, warm waves. he might even have drifted off to sleep a time or two, though by the time ford resurfaced from the water rannveig was awake with quiet contemplation.

he made no motion to move as ford lumbered besides him, drawing rivulents of seawater from his pelt as he settled. the question the male posed was one rannveig had wondered himself many times. "i want to believe so," he pulled out his right foreleg and itched it between needling teeth. "but believing isn't enough. you think she wont?"

Rannveig was right; believing was not enough. The warhound wanted to believe that she would have the strength, too. Still, there was part of him that knew better than to expect anything from his sister that she did not want to do herself. It baffled him to imagine that she would relinquish her destiny in order to stay close to the comforts of home. It seemed pretentious of him to think that he had had the strength to step away from their rightful place in the world in order to seek out the unknown. Really, Morrigan might have been making the right decision in remaining behind. Surely, she would learn more from their mother and father than the others would by having left.

That was what he had wanted, though. There was freedom in the distance he had put between himself and Skellige. There was a sweet feeling of independence that could not be found in the safety of the islands. Part of him felt as though Morrigan would have understood if she had found the courage to walk away. Another part of him felt as though she would have blamed him for taking her from what she knew.

“I have my doubts,” he rumbled softly. Then, he turned his crown toward his slate-colored sibling and cast a lopsided smirk to his features. Still, his mismatched gaze remained hollow and void, but the end of his tail wavered at his hocks. “She does not know what she is missing,” he stated with a nod that made it seem as though he believed every word. It was true, no matter what kind of message was behind the utterance. Morrigan could never know what they had found unless she made her way to them. One day, Ford hoped that her desires to roam would lead her to the edges of the bay and to her rightful home.

ford had thought in-depth about the waffling nature of their sister: rannveig preferred not to.

whether an idiot, or simply one cleverly lazy, rannveig spared morrigan only the scantest of thoughts. he had been sad she refrained from coming along, of course - but it was more because of his own selfish interests - it was strange, the five of them leaving as four.

he shrugged, ready to think of less sad and depressy things. morrigan was probably safe and well fed, so, like whatever.

"can't be helped." he said with a roll of his shoulders, a thick smile plaguing his features. "but i can show you what you're missing --" he launched for a distant ear, though his teeth had no intention to catch the fur of his brother (doing so would probably cause ford to kill him, a prospect rannveig wanted to avoid because he quite enjoyed being among the living) -- then, with a girlishly high giggle, rannveig danced away, his tail wagging naughtily behind him.

As much as it might have irked Ford to hear Rannveig release their sister so quickly, he did not think that his brother was wrong. They had different reasons for having drawn the same conclusion. While the warhound was loyal to his family, and would protect them with fang and claw until the day that he died, it was only because he had been created to behave that way. There was nothing attached to the actions he took for them – no emotion to sway him one way or another. Just the same, if he were to have lost one of them, there would not be a moment spared for any form of sadness. He would enact revenge because it was what his father would have demanded.

When the slate figure lunged for him, the titan stiffened his limbs and turned his skull away from the attack. Still, Rannveig found his teeth against the dark ear of the skeletal wolf. He growled softly before he pushed his figure forward and aimed to knock the beach bum into the sand. The sting of his brother's fang against his ear was nothing more than a reminder of what he was, and what he was intended to do.

well, the girlish giggle happened -- but not the daring escape.

rannveig's feet, which had just seconds ago been beneath him, were now pushed aside like little twigs. he fell, abruptly too -- crashing to the earth like a toppled leviathan.

it was a good thing sand was soft, but he made a good show of groaning and caterwauling, just so ford knew how much of a jerk he was and how much he had hurt his beloved, kind little brother. all the while he kept ford in his peripherals, checking to make sure that the (not)"empath" was full of appropriate amounts of guilty for so rudely assaulting his favorite bruddy.

The stargazer toppled into the sand with a delightful little giggle. Had Ford carried even a modicum of humor in his bones, he would have laughed himself raw at the sound of it. Instead, he grunted against the weight of their shared toppling and jogged himself free of Rannveig's hold. There was no guilt inside of the massive warhound; he did not feel such things, even for his siblings. Instead, he sensed a flood of pride at having knocked the stargazer to the sand. With a quick flash of his canines, Ford snapped a smirk at the beach bum.

“Is that all you've got in you?” the titan inquired with a cant of his skull to the left. Surely, Rannveig hadn't grown that soft since they had wandered away from the islands. Perhaps it was that they didn't have their tyrant of a father breathing down their neck. Either way, Ford had every intention of hurting his brother's pride more than his physical body.

rannveig had expected his dramatics to earn him at least a blink of garnered sympathy -- but his audience was as wooden as a petrified oak, and eyed him with such deadpan scorn that he abruptly quit his act.

a lesser wolf might have been humiliated enough to give up -- but rannveig came alive in such situations; after all, he was conditioned by ford, and had a lifetime of trolling his brother under his belt.

rising slowly to his feet, rannveig gave an unsteady pause. "oh... i just...." he lurched forward suddenly as if he were nauseous, and a virile yellow stream of urine arced from his undersides as he hiked his leg up, aiming directly at the brother that very likely could kill him.

Perhaps, if Ford had any sympathy in his body, he would have felt a pang of it for his brother in his moment of dramatic display. Unfortunately, he was incapable of feeling any such things – sympathy, empathy, or otherwise – and it was clear by the gruff expression on his face, as well as the distrustful narrowing of his brows. The titan was not an idiot. He knew well enough of Rannveig's games and sick pleasures. Just as his brother had spent the first two years of their life learning how to be a nuisance, Ford had learned just what the jester was capable of.

So, when he lurched forward with a gurgled sound, the warhound was quick to make as much space as possible between them. He bounded on lengthy limbs until he felt as though he was safe enough to turn around. Thankfully, he had given himself enough space so that the stream of piss that shot from his brother was incapable of reaching him. His lip curled in mock disgust and he drew his head upward to scoff.

drat -- rannveing's aim, while of course manly and spectacular, was frustrated by the distanct ford had put between him. no amount of pushing, straining, or forcing would make rannveig's piss dart the some five hundred feet (slight exaggeration) that ford had expertly imposed. rannveig frowled as he felt his reserves slow to a tinkle; a waste of a good product, if you asked him.

shaking one hind leg, he followed after the brute. if play wasn't on the agenda, he could find other ways to torment his brother -- any way to pass the time, right?

OKAY i'm out on this one lmfao i'm gonna archive <3

The skeletal brute turned away from his slate brother to continue his roam along the edge of the earth. Every so often, he would glance back to peer at Rannveig and breath a heavy breath in hopes that he could tantalize his sibling in a beachside race. The lapping of the waves seemed to soften, turning their coastline march into a quiet stroll. Without having to worry whether or not the joker would unleash another stream of piss on him, Ford set out at a steady jog. His sights were set on the distance, searching for the land that he knew to be theirs. There was nothing in between that would have prevented them from attaining their goal.