Sea Lion Shores unus

mb @Smokestep? eyes emoji

Anger swelled beneath her breast, towards herself and that boy, but mostly the latter. She couldn’t get over how he’d just turned and left, treating her as if she was some lesser creature, so easily tossed away. So she waited, not within the woods but in the areas surrounding it, expecting him to come to his senses and come crawling back to her—to which she would respond with shouts and I knew it!’s before accepting him back into her good graces (did she even have a heart big enough to do such a thing?). But he was taking too long to come crawling back and she was growing tired of waiting, each day that passed further cementing the notion that maybe she wasn’t as great as she thought herself to be—that maybe she could be cast aside without so much as a second thought.

The possibility was one that she couldn’t stand, so she left the forest alone—for now.

Venturing a short ways off from the treeline, Sorina soon found herself staring down the coast and at an overweight glob of flesh. Her brows pinched together as she tried to figure out what the fuck that thing is, inching closer to inspect it—until it bellowed some strange, gargled gibberish. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the blubbery nudist and shouted, “What the fuck are you?!” at it.

The sea lions were perfect prey on the right day, but Smokestep was not looking for a meal with a stranger on that particular outing. Instead, he was scoping out the hunting grounds in preparation for bringing some of the crew for a chance to fill their caches. He had not actually eaten one of the sea lions since Awinita and Wirt had joined him on the edges of the ocean. The seafarer imagined that there would be several on that day and that he could make proper plans to take a hunting party for the Ironsea crew. Winter was difficult, but it was even more so without the proper food. Still, the sea would provide for them as long as he was dutiful to her, and Smokestep had never been anything but devoted to the ocean water.

Climbing over the hills, the pallid seafarer looked down at the small group of sea creatures, flapping on the shores with a few blubbery barks. He watched them for a few long moments before a dark figure appeared from the treeline and caught sight of the lions on the shore. Smokestep followed them pointedly with his snout, frowning. He began to close the distance between him and the stranger in long strides. When he finally grew closer, his ears drew forward as she shouted violently toward the prey animals, frightening one of them toward the waters. Shaking his head, he continued to trek toward the woman.

It was the sea lion receiving the blunt end of her fury that flopped its way back towards the shoreline. Sorina, still wanting to know what it was and what the fuck was wrong with it, took off after it—which only made it move faster, fleeing from the girl’s shouts as it escaped back into the ocean. Skidding to a stop, the serpent let out an over-exaggerated huff, flustered and just outright annoyed by the homely mass’ quick escape. She lingered along the water’s edge for a long minute after, staring out across the sea as she searched for some sign of life; there were plenty of others sunning themselves farther down the beach, but she felt particularly appalled by the escapee.

When she broke her stare and turned, it was to greet the approach of incoming footfalls. Although the scent of salt was thick in the air, her senses were not terribly clouded and she noticed immediately that it was a male approaching her. With stiff legs and her tail lashing behind her, she regarded him through a narrowed gaze. “The fuck do you want?” she asked oh so kindly, posture straightening whilst she stared him down. He was bigger than the single-eyed boy and as white as the brine of the sea, sporting eyes that did not match; he was impressive, she would admit, but his looks could not contest her own.

The sea lion was not enthralled with the loud-mouthed wench, and demonstrated its distaste for her by flopping its arms and waddling back into the waters. This was an unfortunate turn of events for Smokestep, for the pirate was waltzing directly into a verbal shooting range, and he seemed to have a bullseye painted against his skull. When the inky woman turned to him and spat a greeting, the seafarer smirked coldly and drew his skull upward without a moment of pause. The dual colors of his gaze roamed over her frame with a sad tsk noise before he shook his head.

“Don't want nothin' ta do wit ye, lass. Yer a bit o' a handful, far as I can tell,” he remarked in a careless drawl. His dark lips did not move from their curled perch, and he swished his tail at her lackadaisically. The seafaring lad had no fear when it came to the verbal assault of others, but he was not particularly inclined to endure it so close to his home. If she was looking to spit fire, he would char his body to hold his pride.

The male’s head rose and she matched it, brimming with the arrogance of her maternal lineage as her posture straightened out and her eyes narrowed in on him. Her tail lashed back and forth as she felt his gaze on her body, the tsk making her nose scrunch up and expression contort into a scowl. Where the fuck did he get the right to tsk at her?! There was a newfound vigour behind the sporadic whips of her tail, irritation evident. “Then fuck off,” she spat back. Why was he even there, if not for her? Surely, it wasn’t for those things—but what if it was?

As the thought settled in her mind, the corners of her lips twitched as a smirk threatened to tear through. Maybe he was into those things, and that’s why he was there. By the way he spoke, so terribly broken and improper, she automatically assumed he was just the type stupid enough to choose some ugly sack of blubber over a finely crafted beauty such as herself.

While he hadn’t the faintest idea that she thought him a dullard who would rather fornicate with the mass of meat that flopped against the shore, she didn’t know how truthful that statement might have been. Smokestep was certain that he would have rather risked his chances with the sea lions than with the inky furred mistress. Of course, she didn’t seem to keen on keeping him around for company. She offered him a sharp dismissal, and while he was tempted to test his luck with her, the ghost was not eager to start battles with strangers so close to his home; not until he had truly claimed it.
 
The pirate regarded her with a stare that breathed disinterest. He bore into her for a quick moment before he turned and strolled away from her sour tongue and her dark coat. If she was really all that foul, it would have only been a matter of time before he broke through her temper and forced her to lash at him physically. Smokestep wasn’t the type to sink his fangs into lasses, so the beach called him in a few lengthy strides away from her.

Surprisingly, the male listened—and how truly wonderful that was!

Sorina had grown to expect being disobeyed since her departure from home, and especially so after meeting the One-Eyed Coward. No matter what she said or ordered him to do, her words were ignored or blatantly defied. So, the moment they weren’t, her head rose a bit higher and her tail even swayed back and forth a handful of times, obviously pleased. But there was a voice that nagged at her, insisting it was only a fluke and that, if challenged again, the pallid blubber-fucker would act just the same as the boy from before—it was a possibility that she was not willing to tempt into becoming a reality, and so she turned and took her leave, walking without urgency in the direction opposite to where he’d gone.

The pale yearling had learned early on that it was wiser to depart than it was to stick around where he wasn’t wanted. While he was fonder of fighting for the right to stand about awkwardly, the pirate still believed that it wouldn’t have been right of him to scrap with a pretty woman. Her tongue had been sharp, and her words had lashed against him, but they had struck only the thickness of his hide. The boy was not that easy to drag into the pit. The woman had given him direction in a tone that did not waver in its delivery, so he did not feel the need to test her. When she did not follow him in his departure, Smokestep assumed that she had gathered what she needed and turned back to see her trotting off in the opposite direction. With a smirk and a flick of his tail, he forgot about the cold words and the stranger’s shadowed figure as he sought hunting grounds for his crew.