( there's a sharp whistle, daunting, one that erupts into an explosion of light up above the fabricated ocean water; she doesn't have to go inside of it to know, doesn't have to swim to the depths or paddle all the way out to the horizon to understand that it probably isn't a true ocean, just like this isn't a true beach. it's not the depths of a forgotten sea, either, the depths of a place she would never return from--it seems to be just one place of many, in a resort she doesn't understand, in a place that's unfamiliar. already she's asked some of the staff for any kind of information; there's not much to be had, and if noctis is in this place, then he's hiding well.
another firework careens up into the sky--this one in the shape of something rather inappropriate. she shouldn't laugh, but it seems unstoppable; her knees press up to her chest, arms wrapping around them to duck her chin down to muffle it.
she's seated out on the beach, near a bonfire that another group had left burning before retreating back to their bungalow. she had woken up in one of them as well: had spent the day searching, investigating, learning about her surroundings. by the time she'd gone back, someone else had been in 'her' bunk--which had been fine. she'd gathered up the few things she'd acquired and gone back out to the beach. camping: that's something that friends like to do, isn't it?
still, she has no friends here--not yet. she's biding her time, enjoying the fireworks, dressed in a plain white tank top over a plain white bikini, a towel stretched out beneath her; she doesn't mind if anyone wants to join her by the fire, doesn't mind if someone puts it out. instead, she'll reward anyone with a small smile of encouragement, and relative silence: at least for one moment. )
They're not going to chase people off the beach after midnight, are they? ( with a bit of soft worry. ) I'm afraid this is where I've got to sleep.
SWIM UP TO THE BAR.
( mermaids are something she's never seen--the things of legend, maybe, or of pretty storybooks, and though she wouldn't balk at the idea of them, out in the oceans somewhere back home, she gets the feeling they shouldn't look like this. it's early evening, the sun starting to set over the water, and she's wading patiently behind a few guests clamoring for the bar, complaining about the staff behind it. apparently these fish-people are not who they wanted to see, or who they were promised: the bartenders offer them glasses of 'complimentary seawater' and turn them away.
that's no good, given that she hasn't exactly decided what to drink, what to ask, or if she even wants to try anything.
with a soft pull forward, she offers the bartenders a gentle smile, bowing her head in appreciation. one of them offers her a menu, which she pulls over to the side of the bar, wondering over it with her fingertips. everything sounds sweet and delicious, but is it worth it? her chin lifts to eye a few of the other patrons; none of the ones left enjoying themselves at the bar seem to be having any trouble.
there's another few people, looking at the menu with her, after a few moments--she pushes it towards one person in particular, smiling faintly, before she edges back to the bar proper. there, she nearly bumps shoulders with someone; there's a quick apology, and a dart of her eyes towards the glass they hold. )
I'm so sorry, could you tell me what you got? I'm wondering what would be the best choice, and recommendations are always best.
( judging by the color, it's hard to tell what the drink might be--one of her hands folds up towards her chin, considering, as she waits for the answer. )
DAYDREAM PARASOL. ( her suit: clubs )
( the voice sounds strange. distant. a distorted wailing, something painful and angry, something that she's heard before: the speech of an astral, echoed and strange. when her eyes open, there's nothing there: no waves, no airships, no sounds of destruction. just the big stretch of an ocean, and the pretty, glittering sand of the beach, and a sky that doesn't look like the sky she'd been under earlier.
just an illusion, then? her thoughts race, her heart hammering in her chest; there's no one else here, it seems, no one else on the beach except one other person, someone who's closer to the waves, standing just at the edge where the ocean laps at the shore. another split second, and her head is filled with that same voice: inhuman, angry, demanding. it's not as though she expects that leviathan is here, of course, not like she's back home. but it's persistent enough that she's padding out through the sand towards the other person, hoping to stop them.
one of her hands reaches out, catching the stranger by the wrist. ) I'm sorry.
( it's a little reckless, maybe--but that hand gropes up along their arm, tugging, until she can slide herself in, arms loose around the other person's middle, pressed in against their back. )
I'm sorry, but we should stay away from the water. ( she doesn't want to have to explain it: and why does it feel so hot, out here? she's in a swimsuit and it still feels like she's sweating beneath the press of her bangs. )
Come back this way. We'll find something better to do.
SCAVENGER HUNT: HARD MODE.
( she isn't sure she wants to know what a 'fuck pillory' is, or why it exists in this place. just the name alone is enough to inspire her to seek some way to complete the list, even if the items on it are absolutely ghastly. how would one even measure a cup of-- maybe it's better to start from the bottom and work back up to the top; with a slow breath, she works her hair up into a loose bun, pulled out of her face, and sets her sights on the beach across from her.
surely others are playing this game, or at the very least, are aware of its existence. asking someone to donate something for the sake of being spared the pillory seems easy enough--until it comes time to approach anyone. she works her way carefully along the beach, hands pressed together at her front, worrying over one set of beach chairs, and then the next, trying to think of who might be comfortable, who might be willing enough to help.
it never occurred to her that she might be approached instead--but she does stop in her tracks, once someone flags to get her attention. with a warm smile: )
Ah, are you also...in need of supplies?
( she holds up one hand, the display of her watch showing the list of scavenger hunt items in indication. )
If you wouldn't mind...sparing...your bottoms, then... ( there's a soft, cringing sort of smile, lifting her hand to hold it above her eyes to shield them from the sun. ) ...Well. The very least we could do is trade, of course.
OOC & WILDCARD.
current player trying a new character! she is 24, ota in terms of age/gender, hard-no's would be noncon & bathroom-related kinks. canon point is the end of chapter 9 in ffxv. feel free to throw me a wildcard, or PM if you'd like to plot.
lunafreya nox fleuret | final fantasy xv
( there's a sharp whistle, daunting, one that erupts into an explosion of light up above the fabricated ocean water; she doesn't have to go inside of it to know, doesn't have to swim to the depths or paddle all the way out to the horizon to understand that it probably isn't a true ocean, just like this isn't a true beach. it's not the depths of a forgotten sea, either, the depths of a place she would never return from--it seems to be just one place of many, in a resort she doesn't understand, in a place that's unfamiliar. already she's asked some of the staff for any kind of information; there's not much to be had, and if noctis is in this place, then he's hiding well.
another firework careens up into the sky--this one in the shape of something rather inappropriate. she shouldn't laugh, but it seems unstoppable; her knees press up to her chest, arms wrapping around them to duck her chin down to muffle it.
she's seated out on the beach, near a bonfire that another group had left burning before retreating back to their bungalow. she had woken up in one of them as well: had spent the day searching, investigating, learning about her surroundings. by the time she'd gone back, someone else had been in 'her' bunk--which had been fine. she'd gathered up the few things she'd acquired and gone back out to the beach. camping: that's something that friends like to do, isn't it?
still, she has no friends here--not yet. she's biding her time, enjoying the fireworks, dressed in a plain white tank top over a plain white bikini, a towel stretched out beneath her; she doesn't mind if anyone wants to join her by the fire, doesn't mind if someone puts it out. instead, she'll reward anyone with a small smile of encouragement, and relative silence: at least for one moment. )
They're not going to chase people off the beach after midnight, are they? ( with a bit of soft worry. ) I'm afraid this is where I've got to sleep.
SWIM UP TO THE BAR.
( mermaids are something she's never seen--the things of legend, maybe, or of pretty storybooks, and though she wouldn't balk at the idea of them, out in the oceans somewhere back home, she gets the feeling they shouldn't look like this. it's early evening, the sun starting to set over the water, and she's wading patiently behind a few guests clamoring for the bar, complaining about the staff behind it. apparently these fish-people are not who they wanted to see, or who they were promised: the bartenders offer them glasses of 'complimentary seawater' and turn them away.
that's no good, given that she hasn't exactly decided what to drink, what to ask, or if she even wants to try anything.
with a soft pull forward, she offers the bartenders a gentle smile, bowing her head in appreciation. one of them offers her a menu, which she pulls over to the side of the bar, wondering over it with her fingertips. everything sounds sweet and delicious, but is it worth it? her chin lifts to eye a few of the other patrons; none of the ones left enjoying themselves at the bar seem to be having any trouble.
there's another few people, looking at the menu with her, after a few moments--she pushes it towards one person in particular, smiling faintly, before she edges back to the bar proper. there, she nearly bumps shoulders with someone; there's a quick apology, and a dart of her eyes towards the glass they hold. )
I'm so sorry, could you tell me what you got? I'm wondering what would be the best choice, and recommendations are always best.
( judging by the color, it's hard to tell what the drink might be--one of her hands folds up towards her chin, considering, as she waits for the answer. )
DAYDREAM PARASOL. ( her suit: clubs )
( the voice sounds strange. distant. a distorted wailing, something painful and angry, something that she's heard before: the speech of an astral, echoed and strange. when her eyes open, there's nothing there: no waves, no airships, no sounds of destruction. just the big stretch of an ocean, and the pretty, glittering sand of the beach, and a sky that doesn't look like the sky she'd been under earlier.
just an illusion, then? her thoughts race, her heart hammering in her chest; there's no one else here, it seems, no one else on the beach except one other person, someone who's closer to the waves, standing just at the edge where the ocean laps at the shore. another split second, and her head is filled with that same voice: inhuman, angry, demanding. it's not as though she expects that leviathan is here, of course, not like she's back home. but it's persistent enough that she's padding out through the sand towards the other person, hoping to stop them.
one of her hands reaches out, catching the stranger by the wrist. ) I'm sorry.
( it's a little reckless, maybe--but that hand gropes up along their arm, tugging, until she can slide herself in, arms loose around the other person's middle, pressed in against their back. )
I'm sorry, but we should stay away from the water. ( she doesn't want to have to explain it: and why does it feel so hot, out here? she's in a swimsuit and it still feels like she's sweating beneath the press of her bangs. )
Come back this way. We'll find something better to do.
SCAVENGER HUNT: HARD MODE.
( she isn't sure she wants to know what a 'fuck pillory' is, or why it exists in this place. just the name alone is enough to inspire her to seek some way to complete the list, even if the items on it are absolutely ghastly. how would one even measure a cup of-- maybe it's better to start from the bottom and work back up to the top; with a slow breath, she works her hair up into a loose bun, pulled out of her face, and sets her sights on the beach across from her.
surely others are playing this game, or at the very least, are aware of its existence. asking someone to donate something for the sake of being spared the pillory seems easy enough--until it comes time to approach anyone. she works her way carefully along the beach, hands pressed together at her front, worrying over one set of beach chairs, and then the next, trying to think of who might be comfortable, who might be willing enough to help.
it never occurred to her that she might be approached instead--but she does stop in her tracks, once someone flags to get her attention. with a warm smile: )
Ah, are you also...in need of supplies?
( she holds up one hand, the display of her watch showing the list of scavenger hunt items in indication. )
If you wouldn't mind...sparing...your bottoms, then... ( there's a soft, cringing sort of smile, lifting her hand to hold it above her eyes to shield them from the sun. ) ...Well. The very least we could do is trade, of course.
OOC & WILDCARD.
current player trying a new character! she is 24, ota in terms of age/gender, hard-no's would be noncon & bathroom-related kinks. canon point is the end of chapter 9 in ffxv. feel free to throw me a wildcard, or PM if you'd like to plot.