08-04-2020, 09:36 AM
a little white light in a
sea gone black
sea gone black
≋
With the help of the moon and the flames atop the stranger's head, Oceane is able to recognize the woman's familiar lineage. It's not an immediate thought as her amber eyes lay themselves upon the woman, or even a sudden one granted to her like the powering of a bulb. Instead, it comes slowly, building momentum in her mind and tugging forth memories she had purposefully rendered long-lost until finally it clicks in her head.
She had spent much of her time in Pangea avoiding Anaxarete's hellhounds. Quite thankfully, her encounters with them had been few and far between, but she would often watch from afar as they tore across the wastelands, their movements more slippery and silent than a natural equine's could ever be. Oceane remembers the way they would click to each other, and she ponders now, as the sightless woman tosses verbal barbs at her, if she, too, can speak that alien language. “Must have been a trick of the light,” Oceane muses with a grin while watching the way the flames flick atop the xenomorph's head, deciding she has neither the motivation or desire to convince the stranger of something she cannot see.
The silver glow of the moon catches on the sharp, prehensile tail that flicks about with agitation, drawing the woman's momentary attention (is she far enough away to avoid that sharp blade?) before her golden gaze returns to the woman's face. She's greeted by a display of whetted canines - a threat she recognizes but is not entirely disturbed by, having dealt with far too much in the past year to back down at the first sign of malice.
“Perhaps,” she intones at the woman's accusation, “And for that, you have my apologies.” She laughs quietly and shifts her opaline body beneath the moon before flicking her ears away from the conversation at hand and to the small collection of wildlife who linger nearby, too smart and fearful to venture closer to the xenomorph with murderous incisors and flamed horns.
Their survival instincts are sufficient, removing the responsibility from Oceane to tell them to stay away. “You'll likely come up empty-handed tonight, even once I depart.” She lets out a quiet sigh, shuffles the wings habitually at her sides, “Maybe when we meet again in the future, you'll feel more open to casual conversation and I'll feel more open to beckoning the wildlife closer than ushering them away.”
She had spent much of her time in Pangea avoiding Anaxarete's hellhounds. Quite thankfully, her encounters with them had been few and far between, but she would often watch from afar as they tore across the wastelands, their movements more slippery and silent than a natural equine's could ever be. Oceane remembers the way they would click to each other, and she ponders now, as the sightless woman tosses verbal barbs at her, if she, too, can speak that alien language. “Must have been a trick of the light,” Oceane muses with a grin while watching the way the flames flick atop the xenomorph's head, deciding she has neither the motivation or desire to convince the stranger of something she cannot see.
The silver glow of the moon catches on the sharp, prehensile tail that flicks about with agitation, drawing the woman's momentary attention (is she far enough away to avoid that sharp blade?) before her golden gaze returns to the woman's face. She's greeted by a display of whetted canines - a threat she recognizes but is not entirely disturbed by, having dealt with far too much in the past year to back down at the first sign of malice.
“Perhaps,” she intones at the woman's accusation, “And for that, you have my apologies.” She laughs quietly and shifts her opaline body beneath the moon before flicking her ears away from the conversation at hand and to the small collection of wildlife who linger nearby, too smart and fearful to venture closer to the xenomorph with murderous incisors and flamed horns.
Their survival instincts are sufficient, removing the responsibility from Oceane to tell them to stay away. “You'll likely come up empty-handed tonight, even once I depart.” She lets out a quiet sigh, shuffles the wings habitually at her sides, “Maybe when we meet again in the future, you'll feel more open to casual conversation and I'll feel more open to beckoning the wildlife closer than ushering them away.”
@[Fiorina]
“”
“”
i must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by
and all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by