She knows him, she knows his face: she knows the curves of his body, and yet- most of all… she knows his teeth and their jagged edges beneath his lips. She knows the blue and gold will glitter in the sun, shimmer and shine with reflections of the water: and most of all she knows that when he breathes… the water will rattle in his lungs.
He smells like salt, and blood.
“Ivar.” she purrs. Her smoky voice dripping and chilled, teasing and taunting.
To his eyes she is spattered and speckled, the grey and blue, and black still painting her skin; but where fur once stretched across the body there is now a porous and watery skin, dripping with moisture and rivulets of the sea. Her teal eyes are speckled with orange flecks and the barbell shaped irises contract as she peers at him.
Fuller figured and less bony there is ripple of muscle beneath her skin and the crusted barnacles on her back legs remain; but the immediate difference is on her neck, shoulders, and where her tail should have been. A writhing mass of tentacles coat her neck, the barbed edges and suckers exposing as they stretch and cling: and even her tail seems to mimic such a thing.
Yet her shoulders possess only tentacles two on each side, lengthy and elongated with a paddle like tip: the fleshy appendages stretching and wrapped around her legs.
“So good to see you again.” she chuckles, deep and water-logged. Her nose and jaws are strange, the mouth moving in an exaggerated way and finally Ivar can see why.
Yidhra has folded the facial tendrils into replicas of what her face used to look like; but as she laughs they splay and the beak nestled in the mass snaps. Folded back into place she steps from the shadows of the trees and more towards the waters, her hooves feeling the cold sea as it ebbs and flows.
“I’m not surprised to see you here. So shallow and close to shore, right where the bait fish swim before the ocean becomes dark. This new plague is… interesting, but, I believe you are safe here. Regardless, do you like it? I find this form far more appropriate.” and with that she stretches a tendril down, grasping the shell of some poor clam: lifting and pressing it within the confines of her beak.
Consumption and delicacy, the salty tang… and for a moment she recalls the pitch black depths with fondness: her gaze peering at Ivar.
Yidhra
@[Ivar] Hey bae