“Salted is the blood, I could the say the same for land dwellers.” she shrugs at the commentary about her blood: her posture maintained and presence on display as she seems unafraid of the fangs and their venom- of the sharpness and danger. “Vulgaris,” she mimics: sounding it out and allowing the word and name to hang for a moment before pointed down the fleshy tendrils of her mouth into an almost triangular shape and mass.
The black chitinous beak is hidden but the infernal clicking exists when she speaks: even in her husky voice and its smoke, with the accent so ancient and old that time has work it into little more than a thing of dreams and nightmares. She considers with her teal eyes, his shape, and the barbell-like irises become blackened paper-thin slits while the orange flecks glisten and glimmer.
Porous and flesh, her watery skin gleans and stretches herself on the land as form of orientation and direction: the til and its writhing mass grabbing and curling freely- folding in on itself as she lays the unbitten tendril on her shoulder atop the paddle-shaped top of the other and rubs where the wound is still stinging and fresh. Like hands, wringing and grasping onto one another.
“Where you might sniff, feel the heat…” she recalls sea serpents- the kraits whose thermal vision and smell often brought them to fish. “Perhaps hunt in other manners, I lack certain abilities without use of centuries old methods. My tendrils are how I… smell, taste- how I recognize something for what it is beyond eyesight: which is deceptive when dealing with prey on land. That poke was to confirm my thoughts: you are not prey so much as a type of predator.”
Shrugging, she continues. “Efficient on land, but likely not at sea: differents ground for us.” had she the ability she might’ve laughed but instead her beak clatters beneath the tendrils and clicks in what represents the attempt at it.
A flicker of silver in the water does, however, catch her attention and with lightning quick reflexes she shoots one of the tendrils into the river and brings out a fish. Pale green and silver, scaley and flopping wildly she curls around it and blood drips from where the barbs near her suction cups dig into it.
Holding it out she eases it towards Vulgaris: the bloated belly evident. “Roe inside, salty; but sweet, a treat in a way. It seems there are more and more monsters in this place- something admirable and intriguing.”
Yidhra
@[vulgaris]