beach dreams
When Etty had been alive, they had loathed the heat. One too many days spent in the desert south of the Oriens, hiding from roving patrols of other shooters, stashing supplies in heavily disguised weapons caches. They would have much rather spent their summer days then safely inside their house at the outskirts of the capital, hiding from the heat in the darkness of their room. Now, with their shooter’s fur shed for the skin of a robber, and the warmth of living blood and energy fled from their body, Etty soaked in the heat of the sun like their afterlife depended on it. Summer was busy season for the circus Etty worked for, and currently their roving caravan was settled where the mountains met the tropics, not too far from the siren call of the beach and ocean.
There are hours until the evening performance, so Etty sets out for a walk, wanting to soak up the sun, maybe dip their claws in hot sand and sparkling tropical ocean. A few other performers offer to tag along, but Etty waves them off, wanting to be alone for a while. They love working for the circus, but travelling caravan living doesn’t lend itself very well to alone time, and Etty is used to spending most of their time alone. Such was the life of an outcast turned rebel turned smuggler. It wasn’t a line of work that invited company, and after the raid that killed them and the rest of their associates (Probably. Etty’s memories were very much still coming into focus, but it’s hard to imagine anyone surviving that.)
Etty can smell the ocean before it comes into their view. Though the capital bordered the ocean, Etty hadn’t spent much time their in their life, having lived inland, closer to the edges of the plains and forest than the coast. Of course, they’d spent plenty of time around the ocean after coming to in the Gravewastes, and suddenly having the freedom to wander that wasn’t afforded to them hiding from other shooters in their lifetime. Especially once they started partying. A great number of robber raves happened where wetlands met coastal land, accompanied by roaring bonfires and any number of illicit substances and questionable snacks. Etty wasn’t immune to a good party, nowadays. The other performers in the circus knew how to throw a shindig, that was for sure. But for the most part, Etty avoided the parties and tried to focus on remembering who they used to be, what they used to want. Anything to ease the desperate gnawing in their hollow chest that reminded them something was missing.
But today was not about that. It was not about digging through the fragments of their memories, or about the circus, or about the time they spent post-robber-awakening making bad choices. Today was about taking a long, luxurious nap in the sand with the ocean lapping at the tips of their claws. After all, no fear of drowning when you’re already dead. As Etty made their way from the trail they were walking to the sand of the beach, they stretched their arms above their head, shifting the bag slung over their shoulders. Digging through the pockets, Etty slipped a large pair of dark glasses over their eyes, shielding them from the sun, and snagged a glass bottle of their favorite fizzy starfruit soda. They had a few other snacks in the bag, bits of fruit, and nice meat bought with a generous tip from a friend who’d come to the circus.
Etty surveyed the beach, looking for the perfect spot to stretch out. It was dotted with the occasional other beachgoers, mostly couples and families, but a few other loners as well, laid out on towels, reading under big shady umbrellas. A ways down the beach, free of any other visitors, was a small cove, tucked into one of the rock formations that lead up into the base of the mountains. Etty had spent a fair amount of time there that summer, any time they could sneak away for a few hours of peace and sunlight. Setting down their bag, Etty tugged their loose dress over their head, worn only to cover up their swimsuit and stitches as they made their way to their favorite spot. People were more and more used to robbers moving through regular society, but Etty still preferred to cover up when they ventured too far from the circus, or other areas where the undead were slightly more common. It was mostly to avoid the inevitable questions about how they died, and why they’d been brought back. The faint and fading glow of the dead lifegem in Etty’s chest could be seen through their white bikini top, lending the fabric a vague pink tint when they stretched.
Laying out a towel to lay on and a bundled up extra towel for a pillow, Etty spread themselves out in the little cove, shifting until all their skin was exposed to the midday sun. With a content sigh, they popped a berry into their mouth and closed their eyes to soak in the atmosphere of the beach. Waves lapping at their clawed feet, sun-warmed sand between her fingers, a soft breeze ruffling their hair and the jagged edges of their fins. With summer beginning to wane, this was one of their last chances to enjoy what had become one of their favorite pastimes. Etty thought the beach naps had been good for them, honestly. The more time they spent sleeping in the warm sand, the more they dreamed. The more Etty dreamed, the more convinced they were that the dreams were leading them to whatever they were looking for, for whatever left them with this gnawing, empty loneliness in their chest, and not just because their body was all but hollow now.
Today, Etty’s dream felt more like a memory of another, earlier summer day. Faces in their dreams are always vague, out of focus. This time, it is a blur of orange and red, slowly getting lost in the background of the sun sinking into the ocean. From their blearly dream distance, the orange blur looks like a crafter, and Etty’s ears perk up. Aware of their ears once more, Etty realizes they’re their old ears. An old memory, a memory from before their death. The distant orange crafter shouts, waving a huge arm in Etty’s direction.
“Etts!” his voice booms “Come see what ———- dug up in this tide pool.”
As always, any names spoken in Etty’s dreams sound garbled, but familiarity tugs at their mind as they walk through the sand, so they move towards the bodies, but they don’t get any closer. They never do. Etty continues to walk, though, because the warm sand feels good, and the silhouettes in the distance still feel their chest with warmth, even if they stay on the horizon, forever out of reach, blending in with the warm tones of the sunset. The smaller body— another crafter, Etty thinks, squinting in the fading daylight— lets out a peal of laughter, hefting a large crustacean over their head. Etty slows their walk until they simply stop walking altogether, halting at the edge of the ocean to feel the water against their paws.
The water lapping against Etty’s knees as the tide comes in raises them from their slumber. Sunset hasn’t begun, but but the sky is beginning to change colors, a watercolor wash along the horizon, so with a yawn and a stretch, Etty stands, dusting stray sand from their thighs, scattered there by the breeze. They tug their dress back on, shake out their towel, and after popping another handful of berries into their mouth, they begin their journey across the beach, along the trails, and back to the circus to warm up for tonight’s performance. Tonight, Etty will be the Dazzling Etoile, doing flips and contorting their body into pretzels from the precarious perch of a tightrope, tossing the occasional knife down onto the hay bale targets below. Being the Dazzling Etoile requires a fair amount of prep work, so the hours between Etty’s beach vacation and the opening of the tent will be spent limbering up in the grass, enjoying the last rays of warmth from the summer sun.