Ankyra Sound What even is my life, lol

The Beta was ankle deep in a tidal pool, standing strangely still. She only ever did for one reason and one reason only: hunting. Her golden eyes were trained on her quarry: a fish, stranded by the high tide in the pool, swimming tediously in circles as it awaited the changing of the tides to bring it back to sea. Unluckily for it, it wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Maude's head snuck closer and closer to the water, her mouth agape, waiting for the right moment to strike out and catch the delicious looking fish. The famine may be over, but she was too busy with her other duties to sit down and eat a proper meal at times. This would be a lucky break for her.

you're probably sick of me and kja but this looked lonely & i couldn't resist. :p

 

Fish was not something that Kjalarr enjoyed eating, admittedly. It had become a reluctant staple of his diet during the famine and he'd sworn himself off of it when the prey had begun to return in full force. Most days, since Whittier's death, Kjalarr tried to make a habit of avoiding the beach. There was plenty of the Megalith Forest to keep him from truly needed to venture onto the Sound's beach except when he ran his patrols. Yet, Kjalarr knew that avoiding the beach wasn't going to help him heal from his brother's death. The hardest part of it was done: informing the Frostfur's. He'd visited the stretch of sand, though was, admittedly, unable to remember the exact place where he'd found Whit's body. He'd spent a long time staring out at the sea, wondering how it could spare his own life once but take the life of another. The Fates had dictated that Kjalarr was destined to live a long life while Whittier was not. He would never grow old, never take a mate, never have children, never fall in love. Survivor's guilt tugged like a phantom at Kjalarr's heart for a moment before he pushed it away. It hadn't been his fault. It wasn't his fault.

He had turned away from the sea, his back to the whipping, salty brine as it tousled his fur this way and that, heading towards the tide pools. A familiar shape came into his view: dark against the varying shades of greys that made up the sandy dunes and light water. She was still, her muscles taunt in her concentration. Maude was incredibly focused on her task at that moment and for a second he admired the grace of it. “Maude!” Kjalarr boomed as she lunged for whatever little sea beast she'd been stalking moments before, a grin of cheek spreading across the viking's lips.

Maude barely breathed, careful not to make the surface of the water tremble anymore than it already was. Her mouth opened bit by bit as the fish swam in circles around her leg; tempting her dearly. She was finally ready to strike, confident that she would catch the fish and secure a fresh meal for herself...that was until a particular Cap'n made his presence known. Loudly. And jarringly.

Maude lunged forward, but Kjalarr surprised her, sending her heart into her throat. Instead of sinking her jaws around the fish, she bit her paw instead, the pain and shock buckling her limbs. She crashed face first into the water, thoroughly shocked by the whole event. Her golden eyes were wide as doubloons as she turned towards his pale form. Yew fookin'- She began, scrambling to her feet. Why is it that ev'ry time I 'unt 'round yew I get 'urt, huh?! She snapped, a crooked smile across her face. The situation was simultaneously hilarious and painful, and she couldn't decide on what expression to keep on her visage; a visible cringe took over her face through her smile.

Maude's focus was intense and it was almost — almost — enough to make Kjalarr rethink his attempt of cheeky sabotage. His penchant for trouble making and cheek in general was too strong. As was his desire to retain some normalcy between them. They had stepped out of the comfort of stark black and white of their “relationship” with one another the past couple of times they'd been in one another's presence and while Kjalarr wasn't, by any means, unwelcome to the vast and mysterious area of gray the change had booted the pair into (with a swift kick in the ass, mind) until they figured it out he was determined to try to be a point of consistency: by irritating Maude in the way that the pirate had once vexed him. Whether he was successful or not he didn't know but at least, at the end of the day, he could say that he tried because he didn't know what else to do and when he had tried to get Maude to explain it — the change that is — she had been unhelpful.

He missed the fact that she bit her paw but he saw her fall face first in the water and a unbridled snort left the Viking's leathery nostrils, followed by a booming laughter when she swore at him. A more well mannered man would have fussed over whether she was alright or not but he was heathen born and the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. “I suppose it is true,” He mused as he drew nearer. “when they fall for me they fall hard, though there wasn't ever any mention of falling face first into water so-” He gave a lofty shrug, grinning from ear to ear. It was bullshit, all of it. Something Kjalarr had pulled from the top of his head just to be cheeky.

She dragged herself out of the water, shaking her bedraggled pelt and making sure that he got the full brunt of her attack (though, they were seawolves. It wouldn't make much difference if he got sprayed a little). The wench growled at his booming laughter, her smoldering gaze focused intently on him now rather than a fish. Aye, they fall for ye alright, She closed the distance between them, straining her neck so her gaze could meet his levelly damnhewastall But it's only cuz yer face is so ugly they pass out. She snorted, spraying what water was trapped in her nose into his face before jumping away.

Ye owe me lunch, ye pig-faced chunk o' bat spit! She spouted one of the many ridiculous but insulting curses Tortuga pirates were known for, not caring if he understood it. Hell, she didn't even understand some of them at times. Her point was clear though.

Maude was not courteous about shaking her coat out, and he was pelted with flying droplets of sea water as he was close and she was obviously being pointed about it. If it was meant to discourage Kjalarr's cheek it hadn't worked but he suspected that Maude knew that, or at the very least had to suspect it. He'd been born near the ocean — vikings were sea faring wolves, typically settling close to the shore or bay's or something with access to water. At least, his father had and had also been born close by the sea and that was good enough for Kjalarr to set a basis for his culture. Her gaze was intense as it zeroed in on him and Kjalarr merely grinned at her. No doubt her gaze was sharp enough to bring a man to his knees ...but Kjalarr wasn't that type of man.

Her low growl had went ignored and Kjalarr sneered down at her when Maude closed the distance between them, agreeing that they fell for him but then gave him a nice jab about him supposedly being so ugly that they all passed out. “Mmm, well I've heard no complaints so far,” He rolled along with it and offered with a lofty shrug of his broad shoulders. “well besides yours but since you seem to be of an unpopular opinion I'm going to ignore it.” He added cheerfully, blinking slowly as she snorted water in his face, and after she jumped away told him that he owed her lunch and added something that Kjalarr thought was supposed to be an insult.

“Hmm,” He drew, teasingly. “I mean I guess I have some gentlemanly duty to get a lady a lunch,” It probably was true considering he was the reason her hunt had failed. He almost told her to scrounge something up from one of the caches but didn't because that seemed rude and he was beginning to feel bad for causing her to not get her lunch.

Her nose wrinkled as he turned the insult back at her. Sometimes t'unpopular insults are t'right ones. Was all she had to say back. He hardly flinched at her snort, nor at her Tortugan-insult (probably not one of her best, anyway), but he obliged her in getting her lunch, which was better than nothing.

She cackled, Gentl'man? Kjalarr was far from one and she was far from a lady. Well, Sir Kjal, ye'd better 'urry up an' feed yer lady 'fore she gets cranky. She plopped on the sand, looking as regal as possible (which wasn't much, given her mangey status), nibbling at her bitten paw.

Kjalarr rolled his eyes, theatrically so she might get the full effect of his annoyance. He wasn't fazed by her insult — not really. If he had been she'd have known it because Kjalarr was a vain beast and didn't take too kindly to having his vanity (and pride, at that) shattered as it was when he took things personally. Somewhere along the line, he'd stopped taking everything Maude said so personal, but that seemed to make everything strange and awkward. “Ok,” The viking huffed. “that was a bit of a stretch, I'll admit.” Vikings weren't gentleman. They were raiders and there was no room for finesse in that sort of family business.

She ordered him about, using the words “your lady” (as to which did not escape the cheeky viking's notice, ehem) and he grinned devilishly at her as she plopped down imitating royalty. “Careful Maude,” Kjalarr purred at her, his grin tooth exposing. “Only Caiaphas can tell me what to do.” He warned her playfully and then he sobered up with a heavy sigh. “Does it have to be fish?” He complained audibly, peering down at the tide pools, littered with sea critters waiting for the high tide to come back in and sweep them back to the ocean.

She laughed at Kjalarr's "warning", but she readily bossed him around anyway. This was a rare occurrence, him letting her tell him what to do. She savored every second of it while it lasted.

She was fine with any kind of food, fish or otherwise, but the complaint in his voice made her smirk and hold firm. Aye. It does. She said smugly, idly tending to her torn flesh — damn did it hurt — as she watched him peer down at the tidal pools. She wanted to go one step further and demand a specific breed of fish, but that was just crossing the line. No, she was content riling him up this way.

Maude did not seem all that threatened by his warning, which if Kjalarr was being entirely honest with himself, didn't surprise him much at all. She'd never been intimidated him, never found him threatening like others did and perhaps that was the part that vexed him the very most in the beginning. That, and how she'd talked to him. The northman had always had something of an ego and she had been unabashed at (in his mind) talking to him like he was a piece of shit stuck to the bottom of her paw. Funny how these days he actually missed when she ribbed him endlessly with jibes, and found himself confused as to what it meant that she didn't. Sometimes she did, but it didn't seem to have the same level of loathing they'd held before. Being hated was something that Kjalarr knew how to deal with, knew how to combat never mind that the Frostfur's (with the possible exception of Bazi) had showered him with nothing but love growing up.

Then again, months ago (it felt more like years), he'd been an aggressive teenager with reckless abandon that did stupid things like attacking a bear to prove he was worth something. The scars, while he was extremely lucky or blessed (or cursed?) to have walked away with only them were a touch of badassery he knew that he had taken a gamble with his life. He squinted at her, deadpan, when she confirmed that it did, indeed. have to be fish. Gods, he hated fish. He rolled his eyes and looked away from her to the tide pool. “Which one were you trying to catch?” He asked with unbidden reluctance. He wasn't the greatest fisherman in the world and he couldn't even guarantee that he'd actually be able to catch one for her.

Maude flopped on her side, her head lifted to watch Kjalarr as he walked towards the tidal pool. He turned back to look at her and the look on his face was priceless. He didn't like fish? was that it? Maude cackled softly (softly was an unfamiliar term to her), smirking as he asked what fish she wanted. 'laskan cod, She replied jokingly. Having been born near the sea and forced to hunt in the tidal pools ever since she could remember, she knew enough fish names to help her identify what was tasty, what wasn't, and what was outright dangerous. Alaskan cod was from Alaska, some place up north that was cold as fuck, but they were large and rare to catch, at least alone. If he knew what the fish was, he would quickly realize she was screwing with him, but if he didn't...

This was going to be funny as hell, lol.

If looks could kill ...well, despite what a younger and past Kjalarr would have wanted he didn't want his glare to kill her. Just chill her. To the bone. Her cackle of a laugh left the viking to assume that instead of chilled she was simply amused and he grit his teeth together, rolling his eyes again. She named off a fish, he assumed. He wasn't savvy on the names of fish — and that hadn't been what he'd meant when he asked her. He'd been looking for more of a …“tell me what color it is in the tide pool” sort of thing. “The fuck is an alaskan cod?” The alpha growled his question out, clearly annoyed. He squinted at her. This was a headache. Now he knew why he didn't have manners. “And don't say fish, I know that much.” He added grouchily, biting his tongue lightly to keep himself from reneging on his single attempt at manners. He wasn't a gentleman anyway, really. He'd never been and he never would be.

Maude feigned surprise. Ye don't know wot a 'laskan cod is? She gaped at Kjalarr. She instantly got to work drawing in the sand. A strange shape took form in the ground near her paws: its rear looked similar to a fish, but its front sported long curling tentacles and a misshaped pupil. 'tis a strange lookin' fish, aye, but its a fish, She looked at Kjalarr seriously, urging him to go back to the tidal pool and search for the strange fish.

“Beyond that it's a fish, no,” And she was honestly lucky that he even knew that. He might have been born in the Bay but fish had not been his staple diet and even then he'd done most of his growing up on Nova Peak and then in Jade Fern Grove with Scimitar and his family. The first time that Kjalarr could remember eating fish had been during the famine, if he was being entirely honest and frankly it had taken all of his will power to choke down the little bit he had. As it turned out, the viking would rather be a cannibal than have to survive on fish (and that was pretty bad, yikes). He bent over her drawing to inspect it, letting out a low, derisive snort. “I've never seen a fish like that before,” He squinted at her, his tail waving behind him, annoyed. “And I'm not looking for that.” If she wanted to be that specific, or y'know if she wanted to eat that mythological creature she'd drawn up for him (for it looked like something out of a Saga) then she'd be hunting it on her own.

Well, ye should've. In Tortuga we ate it all the time, She snorted, looking like a know it all when it came to fish (which, she honestly was, given her birthplace). The Beta rolled her eyes sarcastically. Ye ain't originally from t'seashore, are ye?

Uh-uh-uh, If she had fingers, she would have waggled one in Kjalarr's face. Ye owe me. Ye gotta get me somet'in',