Your OC is at the Beach with the One Above You!

In her usual coy decorum, Rochester was quick to remark to the musician with an amused snort, "You know, I hate to be rude, but... Those sunglasses would probably make you as blind as a mole in this sort of bright environment. It is one thing to be protecting your eyes from the harsh sun, which is fair, but..." She facetiously reached an arm out to their sunglasses, as if to pretend to take them down- Emphasis on "pretend." A thin smile laced onto her face could be seen while she hummed, "... Wearing such conspicuous lenses is a bit counterproductive for you now, wouldn't it?"

To be fair, though, Rochester probably wasn't making the situation any better. Anyone associated with a grandma - let alone one in a somewhat stuffy-looking outfit - was sure to draw attention to themselves, and the fussing from the older woman's part wasn't particularly helpful either. Alas...

"Whatever," she hummed with a nonchalant shrug, "It is not my responsibility to be dictating what you wear in a given day or moment now, mm? Honestly, I do think that they would look decent if it weren't so bright and fucking balmy outside." Start counting the f-words, kids. "Honestly!" Rochester insisted as a grin started to appear on her face, "I do mean it! If the fucking sky was overcast, and there was so much less glare, maybe there would not be so much fucking need to, well, combine restraint with effectiveness, yes?" She sniffed under her breath before running her fingers through her hair.

In the background, the elder could hear the faint hum of music in the background, perhaps as performers attempted to engage in some last-minute practice before the festival itself unfolded- Wait. "The festival?" Rochester bit down a chuckle. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't just any festival.

It was a music festival, to be precise! How could she forget that...

... And the other party's name, which Rochester left unknown as she remarked further, "But before you fucking call me out, I do have to profess that my clothes are actually less stuffy than they seem. I live in the south, though..." She paused, then started to laugh. "Shit..." she muttered under her breath while pulling at the fabric of her skirt, just ever so slightly. Obviously, it wasn't enough to damage it, but it was enoughto make her reflexively jump back a bit as she adjusted the position of her prosthetic foot. "... This does look a bit stuffy in hindsight, huh..." It's a bit late for that, but she's trying her best?

Still chuffing to herself under her breath, she turned to the purported musician and suggested, "That asides! How about we go to a nearby clothes shop and buy something that fits this beach weather? Besides..." With the same grin from before, she gestured in the direction of the music with her shoulder. "I heard that the music festival is coming up soon," Rochester sniffed, "and I'm sure that both of us would hate to look like utter fucking fools when that shit rolls around, huh!"

I'll try my best to do a follow-up for NP!!

The sun was only just starting to set, but the beach was still as busy as ever, with tons of people stoking bonfires and generally having a good time. So of course Lexiarch was doing the exact opposite. Isolating himself on the pier, no one around but the thoughts floating around in his head to reflect on- or so he thought, until Rochester showed up to admire the water nearby.

The nobody glanced at the woman standing next to him on the pier as he leaned on a railing. "Did you come out here to get some alone time too?" Well, she certainly wasn't the age of all the teens and young adults partying on the shore- nor was she particularly dressed for a swim- but he was one to talk, or well, think. "I come out here to reflect on life and stuff all the time after work. Something about the water just sorta draws me here, I suppose. This isn't my usual spot though, but a bunch of kids doing a bonfire of sorts took my typical place. I can leave if I'm bothering you." 

"HEY! LOOK OUT!" The young man turned around and immediately gets hit with a beach ball and falls back. "Wuh oh..." The goat girl rushes towards him as she puts up her sunglasses, "Aw geez, I'm sorry about that dude, didn't think I'd hit it that far...here, lemme help ya!" She grabs his hand to pull him up. "Hah, what a fall. Ah! What's ya name?" The man replied, giving the goat girl a look, "L...Lexiarch? Ah gotcha! Name's Nazeli!" She does a finger gun wink.

"Saaay, how about you and I play some beach ball tossing, eh?" Lexiarch paused for a moment, but rejected the offer. "Oh... no? So, you just, gonna standing around here?" He nods. "But... if ya just gonna be alone, why come here in the first place?" The young man gives an explanation. "Ah, I see." Nazeli turns her direction towards the ocean, "The water does look nice, I can't really...see what you see, but I bet it's something important." Nazeli gets an idea, "OH! How about I bring ya some ice cream?" Lexiarch tries to deny for one, "Oh pfft, don't worry about it, I was about to get my third treat, just wait here!" She immediately runs off.

"Aaand I'm back! I, hah, forgot to ask what flavor ya wanted, but I went with the classic, vanilla!" She hands the cone over to Lexiarch, as he thanks her. "No prob! Here, if ya want, I'll leave ya alone, I hope whatever it is you came here for comes in the mind! Hopefully I won't hit ya again, hehe!" Lexiarch rolls his eyes, as Nazeli walks off, "See ya, dude!"

Jan-Paul sweated. His skin and hair matched in color while he kept his arms stretched in some kind of t-pose. His entire frame staggered. As he couldn’t find his balance on his roller skates.
He stared at Nazeli, then his gaze dropped at her roller skates. It was no secret that Jan-Paul had put on his own to impress the goat-humanoid. It was no secret that he was failing.
She made it look so easy, Jan-Paul pondered to himself. Like a goat climbing a mountain.
“B..But the roads are sandy,” he said. Pointing at the tiled pathway that snaked through the beach-area. “We could fall,” he added.
Vot. Did he feel vulnerable without his cloak. Without his golden shoes and shirt.
The merchant-son stared down at his own frame. He wore Hawaii-shorts that just reached his knees. His torso (with like 2 chest hairs) was naked and exposed to the elements. His stomach-skin had a crusty feeling to it when he rubbed it with his thumb. The pinnacle of manhood.
“O-Okay, yes we can try..” he told poor Nazeli. “You go first, and I’ll try to follow.” Emphasize on ‘follow’.

Void. It went horribly wrong, horribly quick.
It was as if Nazeli was born with roller skates instead of feet. Her movements were graceful and she managed to keep herself standing on the sandy-pathway. Jan-Paul was the opposite. He flapped around with his arms, trembled on his legs and occasionally fell head-first into the sand.
“Ach this is not going to work out,” Jan-Paul finally admitted. After he’d fallen for the 5th time.
“I’m a horrible skater. Just leave me here on the beach. Let the water reclaim me. It’s where I belong anyway,” he muttered. (His mouth was full with sand).
He pressed his forehead against the sand. Allowing his self-pity to wash over him.

Jan-Paul lay there for several seconds, face down arms spread, skin burning when he finally managed to refind his dignity.
“Or,” he said. Lifting his head from the sand. “We can get some ice-cream. Something chilled,” he added. Jan-Paul rubbed the sand from his forehead, leaving red strain marks.
“I can pay for it. I’m rich,” Jan-Paul said. A glitter formed in his eyes.
Who needs rollerskates when you’re rich?
“I’m rich,” he repeated. As if the words finally started to have a meaning to him. Jan-Paul clumsy scrambled back on his feet and beamed Nazeli a big toothy smile. “I can buy you the entire ice cream parlor if you like.”
Or you could get some humble-pie. The size of the Empire State Building, or so the ''cool''' kids say these days.

--

Jan-Paul even though the sun isn't strong/hardly piercing through the smog and clouds.

“Yes, there was a fire a few days ago,” Johnson grunted to the Easterling with a wave of his hand, though… It was clear that he didn’t want to prattle endlessly about it. In fact, the only reason why he even brought the subject up in the first place was that it had been haunting the press - and therefore folks’ consciences - since then. “Nothing of value was lost, really. Sure, maybe a few people had to be hospitalized, but… At least nobody died. Besides, the buildings were all rather cramped together, like a school of herring. That’s an unfortunate flaw within the city’s planning. There’d be much less fires if it were more open, wouldn’t you agree?”

With a shake of his head, the aristocrat then resigned himself to the fact that - admittedly - being degraded from planning an arson to babysitting his “ally’s” nephew was just the tiniest bit humiliating. His mouth hung open as he considered asking Jan-Paul how his nose was doing, and if he still needed some cold lozenges, but… He then pursed his lips shut in favor of holding his hands behind his back and letting out an unceremonious snort.

“Whatever,” the older man dismissed as he hopped onto a rock and gave it an unceremonious kick, “I don’t expect someone as young as you to understand the intricacies behind political tact. Well, you’re more tact than your uncle at the very least, but…” Johnson then paused to draw his lip back, perhaps into a snarl. As he perched himself on top of the rock, brows furrowed, he couldn’t help but ponder over the words Roswell had told him when the fire first tore through the building. “Political suicide, huh,” he couldn’t help but mutter as he tested the taste of those words against his palate. Bitter, and maybe a bit asinine. Just like Roswell’s feelings towards Johnson, and (increasingly so) the politician’s sentiments towards Roswell.

It was only a few months ago that on a similar beach, Johnson had confronted Roswell as a friend, and he had lightly teased the leidsman for his persistent attraction towards Brown. Friends. A few months ago, they were friends.

Johnson’s gaze skimmed over Jan-Paul once more as he asked, “By the way, sir… How come your uncle asked you to be out here at this moment? To get some fresh air? To explore?” He shifted his focus over to the lapping of those dreary grey waves, before kicking another layer of dust off the rock. “I don’t think there’s anything worth finding here,” the aristocrat chuffed wryly, “except maybe another cold or fever.” Thanks for making it sound like you wanted to get Jan-Paul sick, old man. “It’s nothing like those diseases you can find down in Starqbeek, but it’s something to consider nonetheless, mm?”

With another shake of his head, the middle-aged man eventually hopped down from the rocks and landed on the ground with a surprising amount of grace. He nonetheless deliberately lagged behind the Easterling, or at least stayed off to the side, just so he could scrutinize the other more thoroughly. It wasn’t like the merchant was a threat to him, unlike a certain guardian of his, but… Johnson blinked and scraped his foot against the tightly packed peat.

“Either way, it’s better to get shot than to die from illness, or so I’ve heard. Be careful, Jan-Paul. You wouldn’t want to get lost again now, do you?” Whatever the fuck that meant. That totally ignored the fact that Johnson was probably one of the worst sorts of guardians the shrimp could even have.

I'll try my best to do a follow-up for NP or ELSE.

Oh look, it's that idiot.

..Which one is the idiot, though?

Benito lumbered down the beach, beyond irritated. Sand was coarse, grainy, it got into the seams of his armor jacket, and when the wind blew it across the shore, bits of it landed on the already tattered pelt resting over his head. Worst of all -- and perhaps more at the expense of the man he was following -- he was out of breath. He didn't do well in the heat, huffing and puffing loudly, obnoxiously, as he stomped his feet into the ground, leaving deep -- as deep as a human's could be, anyway -- prints in his wake as he tried and often failed to match the other's. Maybe he was bored. Maybe, deep down behind all that hatred, the sand sparked curiosity in him.

"I don't know why we're this far from the walk. The better walk." he drawled, "This is worse." Probably for the sake of everyone else. Benito smelled...  gamey, sweaty, and musky. He was a real musky husky! And maybe Johnson was better off not being known as the guy who had a musky husky following him through a crowd, do to venture through a less-populated part of the beach was a good idea. Benito was too stupid to use his brain and just fucking leave the aristocrat alone, anyway.

"In this heat, though," Benito carried on, "A body would cook. Bodies smell worse in the heat. Have you noticed that? Have you?" He himself didn't understand why that was, sudden shift of topic aside. He could wonder, but he didn't have the brain capacity to do that, either.

So slowly, Benito ceased to a halt. He fell silent, odd-colored eyes crossing to the sea as it lapped on the beach.

He thought it was ugly. He thought it was hideous. Why would anyone like a beach?

It was quiet, he was quiet, buffering. And, again so slowly, he took a step after Johnson.

"The elder sun is gone."

It's called interdimensional Hell, get the fuck over it.

A GUN??????????????

Xander felt out of place. He tagged behind Moreno and the hunting rifle felt misplaced in his hands. He was never a man of guns. Or weapons in general. The loud barking of the two dogs made Xander shiver, just as Moreno’s smile did. They’ve been tracking a hare for what? 10 minutes now? Oh, Xander was already sick and tired of it.
Sand had crept into his boots. The brined air curled his mutton-chops and teared his eyes.
“It’s just a simple hare, sir. Maybe we should leave it,” he pleaded. “It made its hole here in the dunes,” Xander mused out loud. “So sir, with all due respect, of course, I don’t think it’s worth the pursuit. Sir. The hares more in-lands are meatier sir. They have more to eat than these dune-hares,” he said. Xander sucked in his lower lip.
Would this be the time that I confess that I’m a strict vegetarian? The singer’s gaze darted over Moreno’s face. Hardened by the thrill of the hunt. Sand rested in the man’s brow in his wild manes.
No. Xander simply concluded. This was not the time to admit that he hated meat.
“Of course sir, you’re the expert here,” he said. As he silently lifted his hunting rifle higher. It was an old thing. Partly made of wood, that was darkened by the traces of gun-powder.
Xander had no idea how it worked. Something about cocking its handle. Something about gun-powder.
He again shot Moreno a look. Would this be the right time to confess that I never shot a gun? The answer was another: No.

“Oh you should tag along with the Emperor’s hunting’s party once, my friend,” he told Moreno. Just to occupy the empty air between them. “He got dogs too. Sir.”
Xander’s gaze shifted towards the dogs that accompanied them. He wasn’t a dog person too...
Void. Xander had a miserable time.
“Oh yes, sir... I hunt a lot in that party,” he lied. Actually, he used the Emperor’s letters and invitation as firewood for his stove. “A lot of woodlands. A lot of.., Dogs. Really, you should go in my place next time sir,” he said. Xander’s brows raised as he slowly realized the magnitude of those words.
“You should go… In my place next time sir,” he repeated, softer and mostly to himself.
“Yes! Sir, I, still got some invitations lying around my home sir, I can send them to you. It’s no effort! not really. I do it with love, sir,” Xander insisted.

--

Blou on the beach

"Ahh, the beach feels so good today! Far better than the cold earlier!" Ennette sighed contently while brushing some hair behind her ear. It was a futile attempt, however, as the wind was eager to blow it back in her face. After sputtering over what was a far less majestic look than she'd hoped, she spun around partially to avoid the wind pushing more hair in her face, and partially to look at Xander. "I always feel better at beaches. I think it's because of my siren blood. It's calling out to the sea, I think. My specific siren culture, though, we're more music-oriented than sea life, so we don't have fins or anything like the others." They were a peculiar clan, one that had its own serving of isolation, by what she'd heard. She wondered if that was why they were always so strict about music traditions.
"You taught my father, right?" she asked as she knelt down to playfully poke at Blou. "I've heard tales, even from him, that he's a bad singer, but is he really? A siren that can't sing, I don't think it's possible! Was he really as bad as they say? And if so, why did you keep teaching him, if you don't mind me asking? I'd love to hear more stories about what he's like. Oh! Did he come by this beach a lot, too?"
As she waited for an answer, she picked up Blou's wings and made her dance around.

"Beach time~!" Rin smiled happily as he ran to the shore with a surfboard in hand, clearly excited for the time he was spending together with Philip. His orange and pink gradiant swimming trunks were on him, but his shirt was off already. His tail was wagging with excitement, one of his arm wrapped around his surfboard, smirking a little.

"You're a lifeguard right? I think I heard that from somewhere-" He shrugged a little, his free hand reaching out torwards Philip as a big grin was on this wolf.

"You probably know how to surf already but..- Want to share a board with me?" He looked into Philip's eyes with softness in his voice, his occupied hand adjusting the board a little as if to emphasize it.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" 

Smithson, needless to say, was imploding juuuuuuust a bit from the summer heat. Then again, though, it sort of served him right for wearing his usual cloak, better suited for colder weather and breezes than anything else, instead of something more thin and flowing.

Still, the aristocrat clutched his cloak to himself before peering over at the wolf and asking, "I hate to be intrusive, but are you here for the waves? Or the breeze? Or the sun?" He paused to peer back up at the sky. "I'm personally fond of all three, or either one depending on my mood, but that's sort of inevitable when you consider the fact that I've been living here for... Well... A few decades at this point." What a way to flex there, old man.

The scenery was genuinely quite idyllic though, almost as if it were ripped from a heavily edited travel magazine. Almost. The sky was a light shade of blue, with only scant clouds to accent the otherwise monochrome scape. Fine grains of sand occasionally swirled about due to the breeze, though it wasn't enough to cover up anyone's feet (or paws) by any means. And more importantly, the water was clear. If anyone waded through the shallows, they would've easily been able to see their feet going through the sand and the foam- Well... Minus the occasional opaque strand of seaweed that managed to drift to shore, of course.

And it was one of these strands of seaweed that Smithson picked up with his fingers as he showed it to the other party and sniffed, "You get used to everything about this beach in time, by the way. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Like this piece of seaweed for example." He gave it a quick shake, causing it to flop about in the most miserable manner possible. Siiiigh. "It's not very appealing, but they don't turn up very often... I sure hope that they don't get stuck to anything anyhow... Like that surfboard of yours..." He stumbled slightly over one word: surfboard.

You should know better. You've been living by the sea for years, and yet... Yet you pull this? Seriously?

"It's best to get rid of seaweed if it ever gets stuck to anything," Smithson advised with a wave of his hand while peering over at the canine, "Just... Giving out some advice. I doubt that anyone comes here for the seaweed anyhow." The aristocrat let out a faintly amused chuff before placing his hands on his own hips and peering back up at the sky. "Or the hot weather, but at the same time... There's nothing that an iced drink can do during those times, huh?"

He whisked a droplet of sweat away from his forehead and inquired, "Though... The only real selections are tea and juice, if I remember correctly." That was a lie. Coffee was available, just nonexistent in Smithson's mind. "Just don't drink and surf at the same time. I can watch you go about, but I can't do much about it if you wipe out in that matter, mm?"

I'll try my best to do a follow-up for NP if I have the time??

Smithson glared at gabe " take off your suit for goodness sake its 100 degrees out here " gabe crossed his arms and sat in the sand refusing. Stubborn pyro. " its getting hot just looking at you in that stupid suit " gabe still refused and took off his gas mask " no. Im ugly and I refuse " he put the mask back on. This fight continued until a wave crashed over the two a muffled laugh was heard from pyro whos fire retardant suit dried extremely quick. All you could hear was a muffled " told ya so "

Nathaniel took a step back. He brushed his hands and looked at the pallets and timber they've collected. It was a massive pile. Still smaller than even Nathaniel though. It mostly existing of old dried cargo-boxes. The two of them had split up into slats with axes.
"We just light the fire and we'll have a massive bonfire in no-time," the Easterling said. Baring his sharp fangs in a smile.
"The entire city will at least smell it," Nathaniel continued. Then placed his hands on his side. "Which is partly the reason why we'd build it here," he said. His head turned into the wind, that bellowed from the sea and towards the city. "On the beach."
Nathaniel's heavy boot dug himself in the soaked sand. "The other is because we don't want to burn down the city, right?" He shot the Pyro a look. A questionable one at that. "Right?" He repeated.

The harpooner took another step back and then gestured at their pile of timber with his hands. "I'll give you the honor to lighten him up," Nathaniel said. While rubbing the sand and sweat from his brow.
"Just remember it's a celebrational thing," Nathaniel continued. While picking up small tokens made of Hemp-rope, that oddly resembled humans in some way and oozed them with pitch.
"So try to be a little bit respective," Nathaniel laughed. Jokingly.
"We don't want to upset the Void without...Offerings."

--

Nathaniel, I hate magic, Clement adopts/(steals) another magic child. More  at 7

Vannayne was lying unconscious underneath a beach walkway, the coat he wore was only on one arm which was tucked underneath him, whilst his other arm laid half outstretched revealing the large tattoo like markings which run up it. His head had dried blood across the forehead from a wound that had now stopped bleeding. His consciousness began to return to him as he heard heavy footsteps approaching, groaning slightly, he opened his mismatched eyes, one brown and one gold. He could hear someone talking but was unable to focus on the words they were saying. After a minute or so Vannayne's vision focused on the large figure that was leaning over him, flinching and scrambling backwards, the frightened male looked up at the stranger with wide eyes.

"P...please stay away from me....." He said as he felt his heart begin to race. "Please.....I don't want to hurt you." He continued as tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes. It caught him off guard when the stranger seemed to laugh at that statement, the shifter understood why, he was a scrawny guy compared to the much larger man in front of him, but regardless he persisted. "Please....I don't know when it's going to-" His sentence was cut short when he felt a familiar rise of power within him, he looked up the stranger pleadingly, his eyes now flickering from their brown and gold to bright purple; in addition to this the markings on his visible arm began to flicker and glow in the same purple light as well as his necklace. "N....no....please run away!" He screamed, part of him was thankful that there was barely anyone else on the beach. 

As he finished his sentence four shadowy tendrils emerged from behind him, the ends forming into clawed hand which scraped against the wood and sand. Overwhelmed and terrified that his past would repeat it's self Vannayne cradled his face in his hands and started crying as the shadowed hands lashed out towards the stranger. The shifter wasn't sure how long it was until the shadows recoiled and disappeared, regardless the shifter was rocking back and forth, cursing his abilites aloud, he had never wanted his powers, they had ruined everything, taken his family away from him and turned him into a monster. It was then a noise drew his attention again, it was the man's voice from earlier. With tears still running down his face, Vannayne looked up, his eyes were back to normal and the purple glow from his arm and necklace had vanished. "How.....how did you survive that?" He asked in shock. "I.....I thought....I thought you-" He shook his head, still clearly shaken about what had happened. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to, my.....my magic is....unstable......I never wanted it, it's ruined everything." He said crying as he gritted his teeth. "I hate it so much!"  

"I'm sorry, I....I promise you won't ever see me again, I'm so sorry." He sobbed into his hands.

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