warmeryouth | Let the only sound be the overflow. {Open}

Entry tags:

Let the only sound be the overflow. {Open}

Bailey loves Siren Cove mostly for the access to the water. He doesn't have to try nearly as hard to hide his clothes on the beach or maneuver in between people to change into his siren form, that of a seal. He can jump right in the water and lose himself to the tides, frolicking around and avoiding potential predators. He particularly enjoys jumping over the waves, rolling around and letting his belly flop onto the water. In these moments, the ones where he doesn't have to think, he finds the kind of freedom he could only dream about in New York. Here, there is no pack to belong to; he can keep to himself and immerse himself in his powers without anyone knowing the better. A potentially dangerous situation, but that only really adds to the thrill of it, for Bailey.

It's pretty early in the morning when he begins his swim today; he spends about two hours in the water, losing himself to his seal form. When he finally crawls onto the shore, the crisp air makes him think it's around seven in the morning, the latest he can ever sleep when he allows himself to sleep in.

He glances around quickly, to make sure he's alone on his section of the beach, before changing back to his very naked human self. He jogs over to beneath the pier, where he's hidden his clothes. He changes into everything but his shirt when he feels the weight of another's gaze upon him.

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry," he begins to explain as he turns around. "I didn't think anyone else would be around this time of day."

[OOC: Feel free to have witnessed Bailey transform into/back from his seal form, to have watched him swim for two hours, or to just catch him half-naked under the docks. And yes, this icon is very necessary. ;)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Brigid didn't often walk along the beach, but after a marathon at her wheel, she'd needed to be away from clay for a bit and refresh her mind before trying to sleep. She'd seen the seal emerge from the water and paused her walk, intrigued. It wasn't until the man had reclaimed his clothing that she'd continued forward, not approaching in case he wasn't looking for conversation.

It wasn't until he spoke that she looked up and over with a smile. "S'fine. I'm not usually out and walkin this early, but I needed a bit of the water after all night with clay."

"Hello again Brigid," he says when he realizes who he's speaking to, flushing a bit as he hurriedly stuffs his shirt over his wet curls. He offers her a smile as soon as he's fully dressed, appreciative to run into her again after their last conversation. "The water always relaxes me, I find. Even I'm not swimming, I like sinking into the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. It's like a lullaby."

He turns to face her fully. "And how is the clay, since last night?"

As she hadn't been struck blind, she admired the man's chest before he covered it up. Not blind, and definitely not dead. "I do like the sound of the waves. It makes me miss home a bit less," she smiled back. His comment had her looking down at the cargo pants and cotton shirt she wore, about a quarter of which had clay and slip smears.

"It's goin well," she laughed a little. "Been at m'wheel most of the last day and m'shelves are filled and ready for firin tomorrow. I'll have a kiln full, t'be sure."

"I'm glad it can help provide comfort, even so far from home," he tells her with a smile, trying not to think of how lovely she looks against the backdrop of the beach. She looks like she is herself a part of nature, even in her cargo pants. He can't help but find the smudges of clay across her outfit endearing.

"I'll have to come by and check out your store some time," he says. "I'd love to have some decorations for my classroom."

"I'd be happy t'show ye about if ye can find the time," Brigid nodded, "and don't go runnin off if I'm at the wheel when ye do. I'm not fussed about bein disturbed when I'm workin and can blather about the things I've got on m'shelves just fine while I'm at it. Classroom, is it?" She continued after a pause. "You're a teacher, then?"

"I would never run off," he promises her with another smile. He's never seen anyone work with clay up close, and he gets the feeling Brigid especially loves what she does. He can only imagine what that kind of passion looks like up close. "I am," he says. "You're looking at Siren Cove Middle School's newest music teacher."

"Good. Then I'll hope t'see ye sometime soon then. I can even show ye a bit of what I do, if ye'd like," Brigid replied and knew colour had crept into her face again, but maybe it wasn't obvious from the colour already there due to the wind off the water and her walk.

"Middle school?" she asked, trying to equate that to her own education and not coming up with a match, age-wise. "What ages does middle school cover?"

"I'd be honored if you would show me," he tells her, his own face flushing in response to the color on hers. He could listen to her speak for hours, he thinks, and not just because of her accent. She has a way of speaking, like the sound of the water against the shore, that is most soothing.

"Here, I believe it is ages 11 to 14," he says.

It was comforting to know she wasn't the only one colouring, and it made her smile a little wider. "A difficult age, that. Just on th'edge of still learnin and knowin everything. Or, at least, that's what I thought when I was that age. It wasn't until I'd grown a bit more I realised how little I did know. Harsh lesson, that," Brigid said in a voice that was almost stern, but she said it with a teasing wink.

"And I'd be happy t'give ye a demonstration anytime. I'm forever blathering about clay and wheel. Ye may end up bein sorry ye asked."

"Yes, I remember I wasn't exactly what one would call 'easy' at that stage of life," he grins, delighting in the fact that they're both red, talking together in the early morning light. "I'm looking forward to the challenge."

"I doubt that," he tells her with a grin.

That smile did nothing to quell the heat in her cheeks, but she found she didn't mind in the slightest. It was a nice feeling; a little fluttery, a little warm, and altogether pleasant.

"Excitement about a challenge is half the battle, I'm thinkin. If ye were goin in with dread, I'd think ye'd not fare nearly so well. Bein ready t'tackle it gives ye the right attiude goin in. I'm sure ye'll give them music they'll remember for years past yer time with them."

"That's how I try to look at it," he agrees with a nod. "Especially with this age group. I hope I can help them find some music that means something to them, at least."

"Is this yer first time teachin, or are ye just new here t'Siren Cove?" Brigid asked, "either way, I'm thinkin the students here are lucky t'have ye."

"Both," he admits with another, sheepish grin. "I've only just got my licence and the whole works. I'm excited. And thank you, that means a lot."

"Yer very welcome." Brigid looked back at the town, the edges of it visible from the sand they stood on before turning back to Bailey. "It's a nice enough place, but a bit odd at times, innit?"

"I think so," he agrees, following her gaze back to town. "But I think its also part of the charm, don't you?"

"Aye, it is," Brigid agreed. "I'm not sure what I was expectin from America, but this wasn't quite it. Happily so."

This was April's fault.

Aoife turned away when the naked man jogs past. It had looked like a remotely good idea for taking her mind of things, to accept the siren's offer of swimming lessons, but of course something like this happened.

Beautiful man. She blushed. It was time for her to walk the other way and disappear.

Bailey winces when he catches the lovely young woman turn away. He puts his clothes on and makes his way over to her, hoping to soothe her unease.

"Miss? I assure you, I am fully clothed now," he tells her as he approaches. "I am sorry you came across me like that."

"Really, it's all my fault. It's like I have a radar for it, or something. Largely undressed people."

Oh, that definitely made things better. She exhales before turning to him with a smile. "There's no apology needed. It's not like you were flaunting yourself for little children or old ladies. Or both."

"That sounds like a fun radar to have," he tells her with a grin and a wink.

"Ah, I like to flaunt for the ladies, but never quite so nakedly," he says, shaking his head, still grinning. "And what brings a pretty lady such as yourself out on such a fine morning?"

"You can have it. It's all yours." She keeps her eyes firmly on a spot behind his ear.

"I was planning on taking a swim. Maybe meeting her with a fr- acquaintance." Because April definitely wasn't a friend. Possibly not even the type of person to be seen with. "I love the ocean, but I'm not very com- I will remember that. My sister will love that. Flaunting men."

"Ah, I fear I would not handle it with nearly as much grace as yourself," he tells her.

"Ah, I've just come from a swim. It's a great day for it; the water's warmer than it usually is," he says. "I hope you and your friend enjoy yourselves."

"She's not my frie-" She giggles. "What? The - oh, the radar. Yes, it's a heavy burden, keeping me from bonding with the elements."

I'm going crazy. "Warmer than usual? That's convenient. Nice, I mean, nice. Keeps me from running into my clothes directly. But thank you, naked g- how should I call you?"

"I'm Bailey," he assures her with a laugh of his own. "And what might I call you, miss?"

"Cassandra. Cassie, if you wish so." She makes a little nix. "And drop the miss as soon as possible, it always makes me feel like I'm part of a Jane Austen story. I mean, I rather have you just use my name."

The one that will keep me far away from 'witches', 'town drama' and 'murderous women' as possible.

Edited 2014-08-17 22:17 (UTC)

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassandra," he tells her. "That's a name that could be from a Jane Austen novel."

"Really, you think so? Well, at least you didn't make a 'joke' about nobody ever listening to me."

Now she gives herself some more time to look at him. "Did you read her work? Austen's, I mean. I don't think Cassandra created a lot."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Let the only sound be the overflow. {Open}

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject